“The essential thing ‘in heaven and in earth’ is, apparently … that there should be long obedience in the same direction, that thereby results, and has always resulted – in the long run – something which has made life worth living.”
This is a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil.
I really like Nietzsche.
I haven’t always.
Partly because I didn’t understand him.
But I really do now – like him, that is.
I still don’t understand him.
But I do like him.
Because I see in Nietzsche a kind of raw honesty that strips us of all the things we think we know – that exposes us to a level of naked self-awareness that can be very uncomfortable.
That’s the case in the context surrounding the quote above, where Nietzsche is simultaneously bemoaning and celebrating this idea that has developed in human history: that by restricting oneself – “obeying” over the course of a longterm – one will find new levels of inspiration. One will find “something that has made life worth living.”
I’ve experienced this in moments.
Playing a song on an instrument, and your hands just know where to go.
Because you practiced for hours.
Swinging at a pitch, and the ball sails out of the park.
Because you put in hundreds of reps.
Verbalizing thoughts you didn’t know you had.
Because you disciplined yourself to learn something new.
And those moments are truly awesome – a kind of heaven on earth.
In the lengthy context of Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche is thinking critically about this assumption – that the only road to true awareness is “a long obedience in the same direction.”
He criticizes it, in fact, as a symptom of our will to power and concludes ultimately that the moralities societies have created are more like methods of survival than representations of deeper truths.
But at the same time, he knows these moments do happen. He knows a long obedience can create experiences that feel miraculous.
Because as frustrated as Nietzsche was with everyone around him, he was still a human.
He still felt.
And he was still honest enough to admit that good things happened on the back side of a disciplined pursuit of a single thing.
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We could apply this idea of “a long obedience” to any number of categories. And I think it is a good one to apply.
But today I’m reflecting on it personally.
Maybe that’s because this weekend I turn 50. Or maybe it’s just because I’m a uniquely reflective person.
But I am reflecting on it tonight.
And I’m reflecting on the handful of things I’ve committed myself to over the years – family, religion, profession, thought, health.
And I’m not sure any of my endeavors could really be considered “a long obedience” – especially ones that go “in the same direction.”
I tend to get distracted.
But I’m committed now to this fundraising thing.
Because I see it as a meaningful vocation.
A meaningful way to live.
And a profession with a very rare skillset.
And I can see more and more how the nonprofit professionals who are truly good at their profession are the ones who are committed.
Who stay committed to a cause because they believe in something more profound than a paycheck.
And who perform their professional duties with a steadfast faithfulness that results ultimately in a growing community of support.
And that is something certainly worth celebrating.
Not because it makes those leaders a great person or even – contrary to Nietzsche – because it demonstrates a will to be in power even over oneself.
But because in that call to be something there is an opportunity to find oneself.
To be.
To be authentically.
And in that sense, to be free. And to achieve something profound.
In spite of the ways of the world.
In spite of the ways that so many people around you may see life only in immediate terms. May see and treat others as a means to an end. And may approach their profession as merely a way to achieve their own sense of power.
But I’m not worrying about those folks tonight.
Because I have seen how a disciplined authenticity can produce moments of breakthrough.
Moments when the countless battles of self-discipline explode into something that could only be called heavenly.
And maybe that’s what makes our profession great.
That’s what separates average fundraisers from great ones.
Because the great ones know that the best way to achieve that really difficult thing is to be obsessively committed to it – over a long period of time.
Photo by Giammarco Boscaro on Unsplash