I’m The Best Minimalist!
“I’m the best minimalist.” If I told you this with a smile, would you believe me? Friedrich Nietzsche would probably consider me a liar and say that I dissimulate my true nature to abide by society’s “peace treaty (753,)” an unspoken contract amongst people that systemizes and categorizes social communication and measures one’s intelligence and sociability. Nietzsche would also think I’m probably from “cloud-cuckooland (755)” for not understanding the implications and unfurled truths when using words, for example, calling myself the best minimalist.
In Friedrich Nietzsche’s essay, On Truth and Lies in a Non-Moral Sense, Nietzsche emphasizes the weight of words; they are not what they seem to mean at first sight and should not be treated superficially. Nietzsche uses the example of a stone and how it’s customary to say, “A stone is hard.” However, he questions how one can know the nature of hard, “as if “hard” were something familiar to us (754.)” In other words, who or what deems that hard is what stones are? Who or what deems a stone is what one thinks of as gray, solid, and immovable? Now, Nietzsche’s not saying that a stone is a sponge is a can of soda. No, Nietzsche wants the reader to consider the truth of who they are and their communication. He wants people to stop hiding behind the “peace treaty” and to be like a Buddhist, see that the stone is the caterpillar that climbs it and is the air that blows upon them. Nietzsche wants the reader to think “beyond the bounds of human existence (752.)” He wants sedition against the “peace treaty.”
To Nietzsche, society speaks in concepts, the natural progression of words that “..is produced by overlooking what is individual and real… (755.)” For example, stones are gray and immovable. People, then, assign these conceptual truths of gray and immovable stones to all stones-like objects. But to Nietzsche, each stone has individuality: one may be gray or have speckles; another may be the size and weight of a soccer ball; that one over there may be the size of a horse and glistens in the sun. That big-horse stone might even be centuries old, history in a rock. Nietzsche uses the example of a leaf and writes, “…no leaf is ever exactly the same as any other leaf…(755.)”
If no leaf is like the other, then nothing is like the other; everything is individual and different. Isn’t that quite freeing? NO! Because then I’m not the best minimalist. Using Nietzsche’s thinking, how does one define minimalism on a quantitative level? Who or what determines how much is too much or too little? That social contract? Mom? Partner? What determines minimalism, being austere, a robe and some slippers, or just a few necessary amenities (and a tv, books, iPhone, sneakers)? And aren’t their different types of a minimalist? Are some unfastidious? What about the persnickety neat freak minimalist? Or the one that is a minimalist because she hates to cook. But furthermore, what about these people beyond their obsession with “less is more?” The unfastidious minimalist listens to classical music when he attempts to Spring clean. Another jumps ropes with kids after she finishes work. We are more than the sum of our parts; we are those parts. As Nietzsche writes like a Buddhist in meditation, “the leaf is the cause of the leaves (755).”


