The reader of Ecce
Homo is asked to consider nutrition as one of the fine arts, or at least to
give it the virtue of poetics. The hyperborean science of nutrition is not
unrelated to Fourier’s gastrosophy – taste is given an architectonic task in an
endeavor to resolve the problems of the real. Nietzsche calls ‘the casuistry of
selfishness’ that care of the self that relates to nutrition, place, climate
and recreation. Similar considerations
allow him to make a work of art of his life. The guiding idea of an
active Gay Science lies in the injunction ‘to be the poet of our lives – first of
all in the smallest, most everyday matters.’ Dietetics is a moment in the
construction of the self.
Nietzsche’s concern with things that are close at hand, and only those things,
assumes this polarization of the self. The reader is instructed in the
hierarchy of problems as practiced by the philosopher:
‘I am much more interested in a question
on which the ‘salvation of humanity” depends far more than on any theologian’s
credo: the question of nutrition. For ordinary use, one may formulate it thus:
how do you, among all people, have to eat to attain your maximum strength, of
virtu in the renaissance style, of moraline-free virtue.’
The new Nietzschean evaluation makes dietetics an
art of living. A philosophy of existence with practical effects: an alchemy of
efficacy.
More than any other philosopher, Nietzsche has told of the determining role of
the body in the development of a thought or of a work. He very early
established the relationship between physiology and ideas: “the unconscious
disguise of physiological need under the cloak of the objective, ideal, purely
spiritual goes to frightening depths – and I have often asked myself whether,
taking a large view, philosophy has not been merely an interpretation of the
body and a misunderstanding of the body.’
Metaphysics as a residue of the flesh.
Nietzsche’s purification of the body is somewhat reminiscent of Plotinian
asceticism. For the loyal follower of Dionysus it is a matter of familiarizing
the body with those elements that bring lightness, that invite one to dance.
For a genealogy of the god of obscure forces, Apollo can be useful. The concern
with dietetics is Apollonian: it is the art of the sculpture of the self, of
creative power and of a controlled mastery. It is a subtle dialectic of
restraint, of the contained and auxiliary energy of jubilation. Dionysism is a
powerful alchemy: with it, man ‘is no longer an artist, he has become a work of
art.’ Dietetics is the metaphysics of the immanent- practical atheism. It also
incarnates the principle of experimentation that founds the logic of the
halcyon: the body is put to the service of a new aesthetic of knowledge.
Nietzsche gastrosophy is a gateway to new continents.
In The Gay Science, Nietzsche asks
thinkers occupied with moral questions- the ‘philosophical laborers’- to
reconsider their domains of investigation. He says that ’So far, all that has
given color to existence still lacks a history’ Nothing on love, avarice, envy,
the conscience, piety, cruelty. Nothing on the law and punishment, on the way
we divide up our days, or the logic of the timetable. Nothing on the
experiences of communal living, of moral climates, or of the manners of
creative people. Nothing on dietetics either: ‘What is known of the moral
effects of different foods? Is there any philosophy of nutrition? ( The
constant revival of noisy agitation for and against vegetarianism proves that there is no such
philosophy.)’
A new history of this kind will inevitably bring valuable knowledge. Surprises
will appear in the course of such investigations and without doubt diet is the
cause of more forms of behavior than people imagine. Thus, after deploring that
‘neither our lower nor higher schools yet teach care of the body or dietary
theory’, Nietzsche establishes that a criminal is perhaps an individual who
requires ‘the prudence and goodwill of a physician’ capable of integrating
dietetic knowledge in the way he understands his cases. Here we find a traces
of Feuerbach, who says ‘Man is what he eats.”
Diet determines behavior, so could dietetics provide a way of transcending
necessity? How can the non-existence of
free will be reconciled with the possibility of acting on oneself, of
constructing oneself, of willing oneself to be. To choose one’s diet is to plan
one’s essence. Nietzsche argues that our choice is to accept necessity, which
we must first discover. To illustrate his point he makes reference to Alvise
Cornaro (1475-1566), the Venetian author of Discourses
on the Sober Life, and to his work, ‘in which he recommends his meagre diet
as a recipe for a long and happy life - and a virtuous one too.’ The Italian thinks the regimen he follows
is the cause of his longevity. Wrong, writes Nietzsche: confusion of cause and
effect, inversion of causality: ‘the prerequisite of a long life, an
extraordinarily slow metabolism, a small consumption, was the cause of his
meagre diet. He was not free to eat much or
little as he chose, his frugality was not an act of ‘free will’: he became ill
when he ate more.’
In fact, you do not choose your dietary regime; you only discover what is most
in harmony with the needs of your organism. Dietetics is the science of
accepting the reign of necessity through the mediation of intelligence – it is
a matter of understanding what best suits the body rather than choosing at
random, or following criteria uninformed by bodily necessity.
The concern with dietetics is a pragmatic illustration of the theory of amor fati as well as an invitation to the
ascetics of ‘become who you are.’ The regimen is the will to self-harmony, the
demand for the consonance of appetition and consent. It presumes the choice of
what is imposed, the selection of the necessary. Hence, Nietzsche’s jubilation
and his satisfaction at being ‘so wise.’
How does one go about making a virtue of this necessity? First of all by
determining the negative: what must not be done. Subsequently, the positive
can be distinguished: what must be done. The negative dietetic is that of
quantity; the positive, that of quality. ‘To the devil with the meals people
make nowadays – in hotels just as much as where the wealthy classes live!’
Overloading the table signifies the will to appearance: ‘what, then, is the
purpose of these meals? – They are
representative! Representative of what, in the name of all the saints? Of
rank? –No, of money: we no longer possess rank!’ The meal as an external sign
of wealth.
Nietzsche takes up arms against ‘The
nourishment of modern man . . . [who] understands how to digest many
things, indeed almost all – it is his kind of ambition.’ Our epoch lies in the
middle, between the lavish and the precious. In the meantime, ‘homo pamphagus is not the most refined
species.’ Vulgarity lies in the indiscriminate. The omnivore is a mistake.
A failure of quality, a lack of suppleness, of lightness and of finesse are the
characteristics of a negative diet, of which the German cuisine is the archetype.
This cuisine alla tedesca is
characterized by “Soup before the meal . . .overcooked meats, vegetables cooked
with fat and flour: the degeneration of pastries and puddings into
paperweights!’ The last is washed down with copious quantities of spirits and
beer. Nietzsche detests the national drink, which he considers responsible for the heaviness of civilization. He
denounces ‘that bland degeneration that beer produces in the spirit.’ No
spirits either. In an autobiographical passage he confides that ‘Strangely
enough, in spite of this extreme vulnerability to small, highly diluted doses of alcohol, I become almost a sailor
when it is the matter of strong
doses.” He experiences this as a high-school student. The right quantity is one
glass- wine or beer – per meal. Bread is also to be banned: it ‘neutralizes the
taste of other foods, expunges it, that is why it is a part of every more extended
meal.’ Of the vegetables, carbohydrates are to be banished. Strangely, Nietzsche sees the excessive consumption of
rice as leading to the use of opium and narcotics. In the same vein, he
associates too much potato with the drinking of absinthe. In both cases the
ingestion will produce ‘ ways of thinking and feeling that have narcotic
effects.’ His reasons for this are obscure; no oral or symbolic tradition, no
custom, provides support for these arguments.
Nor is vegetarianism a solution. If it was the choice of Wagner for a while –
and subsequently of Hitler – it is not at all in keeping with Nietzsche’s
preferences. For him, a vegetarian is ‘one who requires a [fortifying] diet’,
whose strength is exhausted by vegetables just as others by what is bad for them. However, out of
friendship with Gersdorff, Nietzsche for a time experimented with a range of
vegetables. In a letter to a friend, he opens up about his reservations on the
question:
The rule which experience in this field
offers is this: intellectually
productive and emotionally intense natures must have meat. The other mode of
living should be reserved for bakers and bumpkins, who are nothing but digesting
machines . . . . To show you my well-meaning energy, I have kept the same way
of life till now and shall continue until you yourself give me permission to
live otherwise . . . I do agree that in restaurants one is made
accustomed to ‘overfeeding’; that is why I no longer like to eat in them. Also
it is clear that occasional abstention from meat, for dietetic reasons, is extremely
useful. But why, to quote Goethe, make a ‘religion’ out of it? But then it is
inevitably entailed in all such eccentricities, and anyone who is ripe for
vegetarianism is generally also ripe for socialist ‘stew.’
Nietzsche’s biographer C. P. Janz finds it hard to understand why Nietzsche
associates vegetarianism with socialism, other than that at the time of his
letter to Basel (September 1869) the city hosted Bakunin and the fourth
congress of the International Workingmen’s Association. But that is not it at
all. In fact, vegetarianism has its illustrious representative in Rousseau;
Nietzsche is making his dietary regime as close as possible to that of he who
knows primitive man. Furthermore, the author of Emile issues a warning for carnivores: ‘great eaters of meat are in
general more cruel and ferocious than other men.’ Hence the equation meat =
strength = cruelty, vegetables = weakness = kindness, which produce a division
between the weak and the strong, and between aristocrats and elites, and democrats
and socialists.
Nietzschean dietetics is a science of measure: neither excess (rice, potatoes)
nor insufficiency (meat), and proscriptions (alcohol, stimulants) – in order to
promote harmony, a coherence between hygienic practice and necessity.
Housewives’ ignorance of these basic rules of nutrition has produced a Germany
that is coarse, heavy, without subtlety. Nietzsche criticizes ‘stupidity in the
kitchen,’ attacks ‘the women as cook’ and inveighs against ‘the dreadful
thoughtlessness with which the nourishment of the family and the master of the
house is provided for.’ So ‘it is through bad female cooks – through the
complete absence of reason in the kitchen, that the evolution of man has been
longest retarded and most harmed: even today things are hardly any better.’ For
a long time the stupid idea has held sway that a man can be made to order at
little cost – simplistic eugenicism or the mysterious management of the body.
Nietzsche falls into the trap of this platitude and thinks that an appropriate
diet has the capacity to produce a well-defined species, with distinct
qualities. Nourishment as a means of selection. A harmonious balance will
produce a controlled vitality, for ‘species which receive plentiful nourishment
and an excess of care and protection soon tend very strongly to produce
variations of their type and are rich in marvels and monstrosities. Plato falls
into just as simplistic a mythology of dietetics as the instrument of
eugenicism. Happily Nietzsche does not pursue this argument. It seems that the
hypothesis remains unique in his work and without further development. His lack
of any major concern with collective solutions leads him to restrict his
science of dietetics to uniquely individual ends.
To German cuisine, heavy and devoid of subtlety, Nietzsche opposes that of
Piedmont, which he sees as light and delicate. Against alcohol he lauds the
virtues of water and confides that he always carries a cup to drink from the
many fountains that adorn Nice, Turin and Sils-Maria. Rather than coffee, he
suggests drinking tea, but only in the morning, very strong and in small
quantities: ‘Tea is very unwholesome and sicklies one o’er the whole day if it
is too weak by a single degree.’ He also likes chocolate and recommends
drinking it for irritating climates unsuitable for drinking tea. He compares
the respective merits of the Dutch Van Houton and the Swiss Sprungli cocoas.
Beyond the nature and quality of food and drink, Nietzsche integrates into
dietetic styles of eating, conduct of meals, and the requirements of the
nutritional operation. The first imperative is to ‘know the size of one’s
stomach.’ The second is to eat a hearty meal rather than a light one. Digestion is easier when it has a full stomach
to work on. Finally, the time spent at the table must be calculated- neither
too long, to avoid putting on weight, nor too short, to avoid strain on the
stomach muscles and excessive gastric secretion.
On the question of the alimentary regime, Nietzsche confesses that his
‘experiences in this matter are as bad as possible.’ He continues: ‘I am amazed
how late I heard this question, how late I learned ‘reason’ from these experiences. Only the
complete worthlessness of our German education – its idealism- explains to me
to some extent why at precisely this point I was backward to the point of
holiness.’ In fact the whole of his correspondence with his mother testifies to
the primitive character of his mode of nutrition, and this throughout his life.
At no time did Nietzsche seem to want to break
from charcuterie and fatty foods.
In 1877 his dietary programme was the following:
Midday:
Soup, of a quarter of a teaspoon of Liebig extract, before the meal. Two ham
sandwiches and an egg. Six to eight nuts with bread. Two apples. Two pieces of
ginger. Two biscuits. Evening: an egg with bread. Five nuts. Sweetened milk
with a crispbread or three biscuits.
In June 1879 his diet was still the same, but he has added figs and increased
his consumption of milk, probably to relieve stomach ache. There is virtually
no meat – it is expensive. During the 1880s
a large part of correspondence with his mother consisted in orders for
sausages and hams – of which he deplored the lack of skill in the salting – and
in requests to stop sending pears. During the time he spent in Engadine he was concerned
about his provisions and was constantly checking that he could buy tins of
corned beef. In 1884 his letters told the whole story of his deteriorating
body: stomach cramps, unbearable headaches, poor vision, vomiting. Reading
Foster’s Textbook of Physiology
converted him to the remedy of English beers – stout and pale ale. He forgot
his anathemas against his compatriots’ preferred drink, but it was to help him
sleep- at least that was what he believed. The following year, in Nice, he
lunched on millet bread and milk, then dined at the Pension de Geneve, where ‘everything
is nicely roasted and without fat’, in contrast with the Menton, where ‘they
cook like the Wurttembergers.’
Dairy products appear in 1886, in Sils-Maria. In a letter to his mother he extolled the virtue of ‘quark with fermented milk
added, in the Russian style.’ He goes on: “I have now found something that
seems to be doing me some good- I eat goat cheese, with milk . . .
and then I ordered five pounds of malto leguminose directly from the factory
. .
.Let’s leave off the ham for the moment . . .
also . . . the soup tablets.’ If the dairy products were for the benefit of his
stomach, the consumption of malto-leguminose was not to facilitate digestion.
As for charcuterie, it seems to have been dropped less for dietetic reasons than
because the curing was dreadful and
revolting. Lack of money, however, prohibited the hearty meals that he would
have wished for. Poverty and physical deterioration create privation and reduce
the latitude of choice. The lack of meat is what upset him the most.
At Sils-Maria in August 1887 Nietzsche moved his summer quarters to the Albergo
d’Italia and ate half an hour before anyone else to avoid the noise from the hundred-odd
fellow lodgers, including many children. He told his mother of his refusal to
allow
myself to be fed en masse. I therefore eat alone . . .
every day a lovely steak with spinach and a large omelette with apple marmalade
. . . In the evening some small slices of ham, two egg yolks and two bread
rolls, and nothing else.
At
five in the morning he mad himself a cup of Van Houton chocolate and then
returned to bed to awaken hour later to drink a large cup of tea.
However, charcuterie was still a favorite topic in his correspondence – ‘ham a
la Dr Wiel’, ham sausage – as well as honey, chopped rhubarb and sponge cake.
During his last year of lucidity -1888- he denied himself wine, beer, spirits and
coffee. He drank only water and confessed to ‘an extreme regularity in [his]
mode of living and eating.’ But he still maintained the combinations
steak/omlette, ham/eggs/bread. That summer he was sent 6 kilos of Lachsschinken
(a mild ham) to last four months. When he received the package from his mother
Nietzsche hung the sausages – ‘delicate to the touch’- on a string suspended
from his walls: imagine the philosopher drafting The Anti-Christ beneath a string of sausages . . .
Some weeks before his collapse Nietzsche finally began to eat fruit. In Turin, where
he was staying, he confided that ‘What flattered me most of all was that old
costermonger women won’t relax until they have found the sweetest grapes for
me.’ It took until this period of his life for fruit and vegetables to appear
in the diet of the philosopher. There was never any question of fish. In Nice,
where fresh seafood could be guaranteed,
he showed no interest in the produce of the sea.
However much he denies it, Nietzsche practices a heavy dietetics – a meridional
heaviness certainly, a heaviness of the south, but a heaviness all the same. If
German cuisine is undoubtedly the densest and most indigestible, the Piedmontese
cuisine he opposes it to is scarcely any lighter- apart from white truffles, the
area’s specialty, Piedmont produces stews and pasta, nothing very ethereal. There
is no clear inflexion in Nietzsche’s biography to show the influence of
dietetics: ‘Indeed, till I reached a very mature age I always ate badly,
morally speaking, ‘impersonally’, ‘selflessly’, ‘altruistically’ – for the
benefit of cooks and other fellow Christians.’ In fact, with is ailing stomach,
his deplorable physiology, his deteriorating body, his poverty, and his life as
a nomad doomed to family lodgings better known for their cheap food than their
gastronomic care, everything conspired against a beneficial diet. Where you
might expect boiled or steamed fish (his mother had sent the equipment), Nietzsche
consumed sausage, ham, tongue, game, venison .
. .
If you want to be Nietzschean, you have to remember what he wrote in the Untimely Meditations: “I profit from a
philosopher only insofar as he can be an example'. By this standard Nietzsche
himself would be discredited. He never puts into practice the dietetics of his
theories. On the brink of madness he wrote in one of his books: “I am one
thing, what I write is another matter.’ Nietzsche’s dietetics is in fact a
virtue dreamed of, fantasized about, a way of warding off ingestion that all
too often becomes indigestion. Food is an analogon of the world. Unsuccessful as a poetics,
Nietzsche’s rhetoric of nutrition remains an aesthetic of the harmonious
relation between the real and the self, but once again an aesthetic only
dreamed of. Dietary regime also stems from a will to produce one’s body, to
wish for one’s flesh. Faced with the pure necessity of disharmony, Nietzsche
cannot save a will that yet had promised so much: the transparency of the organism,
the fluidity of mechanisms, the lightness of the machine.
Nietzsche’s dietetics is a fundamental driver of the confusion of ethics and
aesthetics, one of the fine arts whose object is the style of the will. It acts
as a support for the exuberant exercise of the will, or at least of the effort
toward jubilation. Art of the self, banishment of necessity, technique of
immanence, it functions as a theoretical logic and as a will to the ennobling
of the body through a noble style of life. It is enough to give form to Dionysus
while the stale smell of the Crucified still lingers. Gay Science . . .
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