I've been re-reading a few pages of de Lubac's Drama of Atheist Humanism; specifically, the beginning pages about Nietzsche. I was struck by Nietzsche's division of the great majority of men into two categories: the believers and common atheists, both of whom, Nietzsche said, are oblivious to, respectively, the reality or significance of the fact that God is dead.
If those are the two types of men, I thought, to whom is Nietzsche writing? Easy enough answer: To those enlightened enough to read and understand him. He's speaking to a handful who, by understanding and, even better, accepting his words become part of the inside circle, part of an elite.
I felt smug at this for a moment: I wasn't reading Nietzsche (or de Lubac's recount of his philosophy) to join some superior circle of men.
But that got me thinking about Albert Jay Nock, the man who appealed to many early conservatives and who said he was writing for "the Remnant." I would be considered an intellectual (term used generously) heir of the Remnant.
I quickly jumped from there to the unsettling realization that all serious study arguably begins with this desire to be set apart from the common man, a desire that, at most levels, is a wicked one because it is steeped in self-regard, a desire to see oneself above others–in a word, in pride.
Now, I say "in most levels" because there could be good reasons to set oneself aside from the common man. The truth, however, is easily-enough illustrated: If the common man, or the common man I am around, is a band of brigands, I'm not wrong to desire to separate myself from them, to be different from then, indeed, to be higher and more noble than them.
To the extent that the common man is displaying bad traits, I am right to separate myself. And even to the extent they are displaying base traits, I am right to separate myself.
Part of the effort of separating oneself involves understanding why they behave the way they do. You can stop behaving like they, but if you share the premises from which their wicked or base emanate, you'll merely adopt a different form of the wicked or base, like the person who thinks the obsessive-golfer is a moron, but then spends sixteen hours a week fishing.
In my experience, I have little doubt that the desire to be set apart catalyzed much of my study. I wanted to be smarter, more knowledgeable, better at debate, than others, so I read and read and read. As I read, I underwent an unwitting transformation, where I began to realize that true knowledge dovetails with wisdom, and the beginning of wisdom is humility in the face of knowing you know nearly nothing next to the All-Knowing.
At that point, it seems the desire for knowledge is pursued for no particular reason. Now I just read. Not to set myself apart (hopefully), but because I want to know, to understand, and maybe contribute to others knowing and understanding–all the while trying to keep a sure eye on my ego to keep it in check because, whenever one starts out to do something good, you never know if it's ego or love, self-regard or other-regard, that triggers it.
Aside: Great bio of Nock:
It's been an unusual and busy week, but a decent one. Regular blogging probably won't resume until Friday.
