In all artistic endeavors it is immensely helpful to define our audience. It's true that not all art is made for public consumption, but the vast majority of it is, and in those cases a momentous question looms at the outset of our creative process: For whom do we create?

 We always create for ourselves in some capacity, as art itself is fundamentally an expression of that which lives within us, some spiritual state we wish to externalize or reify in material reality. All art involves the shaping, refining and solidifying of our tenuous and fleeting insights, intuitions, feelings or experiences. Yet we also create for others. We wish to communicate something, and one cannot communicate absent an audience. To communicate most effectively we must contemplate: What standard of intellect, education, free-spiritedness, liberality of interpretation and profundity of feeling do we presuppose in our audience? What sort of person do we wish to commune with most powerfully through our work?

 Nietzsche had his standard, and it was of a wildly uncommon variety. This is one of his more interesting and respectable quirks, in my estimation. He truly preferred that most people were incapable of understanding what he was trying to say. But was this wise? Did he perhaps cripple his own teaching and power to influence the course of humanity by expecting too much of those to come, or by defining the character and taste of the “higher man” too narrowly? Did he write books that, while they were always intended “for the few,” were perhaps written for too few after all?

 I cannot say with certainty, but I believe in this way he missed the mark and caused himself far more pain and disconnection from his contemporaries than was truly necessary. Nietzsche was a literary genius of the highest grade––the most powerful and brilliant writer of prose to ever live, in my estimation––but he was also profoundly lonely, sickly, and at times megalomaniacal. As he himself noted, as artists we cannot truly separate ourselves from our work; everything we create is to some extent an autobiography, an expression of our character. Nietzsche's far-sightedness was ultimately more a burden and source of misery for him than it was a blessing. The monstrous gulf he must have felt yawning between himself and his contemporaries surely influenced his approach to writing. This has made his work immensely polarizing, extremely difficult for most to comprehend, and, I suspect, greatly diminished its capacity to effect the ends he cherished so dearly; namely, the evolution of humanity to a higher and more exalted state of being.

 If this is so, what might a better approach be? Is there a more practical, wide-reaching and upright standard which avoids the dreaded pitfalls of pandering to idiocy, indolence, false compassion and intellectual timidity? I think there is. I have meditated on this quesiton time and again over the years, and I've developed a standard of my own. When writing seriously on any subject of real importance I intend, first and foremost, to reach and influence those who possess the following qualities:

• The energy and willingness to reflect seriously upon their present beliefs and values; the capacity to modify those beliefs and values after having confronted alternatives and reflected on their merits and shortcomings.
• The intelligence, stamina and education to read long and fairly complicated sentences, arguments or narratives without losing track of the information necessary to fully appreciate and comprehend the thoughts or sentiments conveyed.
• The capacity to analyze coolly and respect cogent thoughts, observations or arguments which plainly conflict with their pre-existing opinions. To be capable, in other words, of wielding their intellect respectably without emotional reactivity poisoning the effort.
• The ability to read between the lines and infer plausible implications without being spoon-fed every solitary conclusion or thought in a dry academic style. In short, having outgrown the ignoble need to have every claim presented in cut and dry, logically operable units which one can myopically plod through in the fashion of a doddering analytical philosopher.
• The capacity to identify the fruits of passionate interest in a subject as distinct from mere rhetorical devices or emotionally-charged nonsense. That is, the keenness to realize that impassioned and powerful writing is not necessarily a compensation for, nor a camouflaging of, a lack of intellectual candor or discipline. That buffoons often write or speak in impassioned and persuasive ways to mask the penury of their intellect or their ignorance of the relevant facts is no reason to disbar legitimate thinkers from imparting their thoughts in an adventurous spirit, with an impassioned tone.

 Now this may seem a fairly stringent standard, but it's one I believe strikes a respectable balance between retaining integrity and quality without demanding too much of those who are still at the outset of their journey, or who have yet to fully cultivate the qualities of a virtuous, intellectually masterful person.

 That the majority of the population is plainly disbarred by the first two criteria alone does not concern me. Art which is suitable for and relatable to all is quite likely a vapid, forgettable thing which lacks the capacity to impart anything lofty, profound or deeply inspiring. It may be pleasant, but I am not interested in mere pleasantries. I wish to speak to those who aspire to something greater than what they've yet known, who wish to ascend to a higher and more harmonious state of being.

 Whether we choose to write, paint, play music, design buildings or dance this same core and essential question must be confronted before we can hone in on and fully develop our unique brilliance. So I ask you once more, whatever path you've chosen: For whom do you create?