The beginning of “On Truth and Lying in a Non-Moral Sense” (“there was once a planet…”) reads like the first lines of a fable, and appropriately so: Nietzsche is telling us a story in which he questions the possibility and value of telling the truth (764). He points out the absurdity of humans valuing their intellect above all else when our existence registers but a blip on the timeline of the universe. N denounces human intellect as “pitiful,” “insubstantial,” “transitory,” “purposeless and arbitrary” (764). The arrogance of human intellect deceives even philosophers and scientists into thinking they are pursuing an objective truth when our actual condition is one of permanent deception. That is, “the intellect shows its greatest strengths in dissimulation”: Our idea of cognition is merely an illusion that we construct for the purpose of self-preservation and social cohesion. After all, what do human beings really know about themselves? Nature doesn’t tell us; “nature knows neither forms nor concepts…but only an ‘X’ which is inaccessible to us and indefinable by us” (767).
After degrading the significance of our intellect, N asks about the origin of our truth drive. He concludes that truth isn’t as important as the belief that we possess the truth, which is a mind-blowing revelation (for me, at least). Not only is objective truth impossible for us to grasp, but we don’t even want it if it isn’t pleasant and life-preserving. Sadly, I have to agree.
I also agree with Nietzsche’s critique of language, its futility in capturing and conveying an objective truth/reality. Our inherently subjective, linguistic mode of representation makes me skeptical about the value we place on truth, a “mobile army of metaphors, metonymies, anthropomorphisms…illusions of which we have forgotten that they are illusions” (768). What’s “meta” about this essay is that N consciously fulfills what he calls “the obligation to lie in accordance with firmly established convention” in order to illustrate his ideas. In this way, for the purpose of communication, illusion may be beneficial. On the other hand, each reader might extract from this essay a completely different understanding of what N’s trying to communicate due to the shaky foundation of metaphors.
At the end, N contrasts the life of a rational intellectual with the life of a liberated artist who is guided “not by concepts but by intuitions” (773). Unlike metaphor, art is honest about being an illusion. N suggests that art allows humans to detach themselves from their rigid views of truth and alter their constructed world for the better.