He flies through the air with the greatest of ease,
That daring old fraud on his flying trapeze.
Someone I know recently claimed that he was a trapeze artist in the circus of life and, at first, it amused me to think of him as an aerial acrobat performing amazing feats of daring; a kind of postmodern Jules Léotard.*
Nietzsche would certainly approve: the way in which one extracts the sweetest pleasure from existence is, he says, to live dangerously and whilst Zarathustra doesn't - as far as I recall - encounter a trapeze artist on his wanderings, he does meet a tightrope walker, who is surely a kindred spirit.
And when the funambulist falls to the ground thanks to the malicious actions of a fool, Zarathustra comforts the dying man by allaying his fear of damnation and assuring him that he has lived a noble and worthwhile life: 'You made danger your vocation and there is nothing shameful in that.'
And when the funambulist falls to the ground thanks to the malicious actions of a fool, Zarathustra comforts the dying man by allaying his fear of damnation and assuring him that he has lived a noble and worthwhile life: 'You made danger your vocation and there is nothing shameful in that.'
The thing with my friend, however, is that he hasn't really made danger his vocation; for he performs at all times with a (financial) safety net provided by his parents. This protects him in case of a fall and, in so doing, removes mortal risk from the equation.
No one can deny his skills. But there's something a little disingenuous (almost deceitful, almost cowardly) about his performance. Real courage is always displayed in the face of real danger.
* Note: Jules Léotard (1838 - 1870) was the French acrobatic performer and aerialist who developed the art of trapeze. He also popularized the one-piece outfit that now bears his name and inspired the song 'The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze' (1867), written and sung by the popular Victorian music hall entertainer George Leybourne (aka Champagne Charlie).
See: Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Book IV, Section 283 and Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Prologue, Section 6.
We take the point, albeit with reservations, about the 'economics of risk', but don't think we'd want to sign up for some dualistic/idealistic notion of 'real risk' and the counterfeit kind. All of us are compromised in one form or another and no one's money comes from a 'pure' source in the end - whether that's parents, patrons, banks, employers or crime. Nietzsche was lucky enough to have a (small) university pension from Basel, generous friends, and hence no Damocles'-like threat to tenure or livelihood. Schopenhauer had an inheritance, and so on.
ReplyDeleteSome people 'practise what they preach', some say one thing and do another, and there's a whole spectrum of human-all-too human imperfections in between. We'd suggest it's more honest and 'real' for us all to scrutinise the micropolitics of our petty evasions and lies, than make black and white distinctions in this domain.
For us, risk in life is more mediated by creativity, anxiety, poetry and swimming against the tide. Sometimes it can involve just standing up against power or queering one's own pitch, or carrying the role of scapegoat. A degree of privilege doesn't cancel this. One can be rich and brave, and also a working class sell-out. (Obviously, we'd have thought.)
Probably you're right: no one is innocent and we are all compromised in some manner.
DeleteBut I still think that a trapeze artist who performs without a safety net is more courageous than one who performs with one. It's the fact that they risk death rather than their acrobatic skill that seduces.
Just call me Tino Orsini ...