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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f757fed --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52881 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52881) diff --git a/old/52881-0.txt b/old/52881-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8e6ba7b..0000000 --- a/old/52881-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10345 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Joyful Wisdom, by Friedrich Nietzsche - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Joyful Wisdom - -Author: Friedrich Nietzsche - -Contributor: Paul V. Cohn -Maude D. Petre - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Thomas Common - -Release Date: August 23, 2016 [EBook #52881] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JOYFUL WISDOM *** - - - - -Produced by Thierry Alberto, readbueno and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE COMPLETE WORKS - OF - FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - - _The First Complete and Authorised English Translation_ - - EDITED BY - DR OSCAR LEVY - -[Illustration] - - VOLUME TEN - - THE JOYFUL WISDOM - - ("LA GAYA SCIENZA") - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Of the First Edition of - One Thousand Five Hundred - Copies this is - No. - - - - - _FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE_ - - THE - - JOYFUL WISDOM - - ("LA GAYA SCIENZA") - - - TRANSLATED BY - - THOMAS COMMON - - - WITH POETRY RENDERED BY - - PAUL V. COHN - - AND - - MAUDE D. PETRE - - _I stay to mine house confined, - Nor graft my wits on alien stock; - And mock at every master mind - That never at itself could mock._ - - - T. N. FOULIS - - 13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - - EDINBURGH: & LONDON - - 1910 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - Printed at THE DARIEN PRESS, _Edinburgh_. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - EDITORIAL NOTE vii - - PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION 1 - - JEST, RUSE AND REVENGE: A PRELUDE IN RHYME 11 - - BOOK FIRST 29 - - BOOK SECOND 93 - - BOOK THIRD 149 - - BOOK FOURTH: SANCTUS JANUARIUS 211 - - BOOK FIFTH: WE FEARLESS ONES 273 - - APPENDIX: SONGS OF PRINCE FREE-AS-A-BIRD 355 - - - - - EDITORIAL NOTE - - -"The Joyful Wisdom," written in 1882, just before "Zarathustra," is -rightly judged to be one of Nietzsche's best books. Here the essentially -grave and masculine face of the poet-philosopher is seen to light up and -suddenly break into a delightful smile. The warmth and kindness that -beam from his features will astonish those hasty psychologists who have -never divined that behind the destroyer is the creator, and behind the -blasphemer the lover of life. In the retrospective valuation of his work -which appears in "Ecce Homo" the author himself observes with truth that -the fourth book, "Sanctus Januarius," deserves especial attention: "The -whole book is a gift from the Saint, and the introductory verses express -my gratitude for the most wonderful month of January that I have ever -spent." Book fifth "We Fearless Ones," the Appendix "Songs of Prince -Free-as-a-Bird," and the Preface, were added to the second edition in -1887. - -The translation of Nietzsche's poetry has proved to be a more -embarrassing problem than that of his prose. Not only has there been a -difficulty in finding adequate translators—a difficulty overcome, it is -hoped, by the choice of Miss Petre and Mr Cohn,—but it cannot be denied -that even in the original the poems are of unequal merit. By the side of -such masterpieces as "To the Mistral" are several verses of -comparatively little value. The Editor, however, did not feel justified -in making a selection, as it was intended that the edition should be -complete. The heading, "Jest, Ruse and Revenge," of the "Prelude in -Rhyme" is borrowed from Goethe. - - - - - PREFACE TO THE SECOND - EDITION. - - - 1. - -Perhaps more than one preface would be necessary for this book; and -after all it might still be doubtful whether any one could be brought -nearer to the _experiences_ in it by means of prefaces, without having -himself experienced something similar. It seems to be written in the -language of the thawing-wind: there is wantonness, restlessness, -contradiction and April-weather in it; so that one is as constantly -reminded of the proximity of winter as of the _victory_ over it: the -victory which is coming, which must come, which has perhaps already -come.... Gratitude continually flows forth, as if the most unexpected -thing had happened, the gratitude of a convalescent—for _convalescence_ -was this most unexpected thing. "Joyful Wisdom": that implies the -Saturnalia of a spirit which has patiently withstood a long, frightful -pressure—patiently, strenuously, impassionately, without submitting, but -without hope—and which is now suddenly o'erpowered with hope, the hope -of health, the _intoxication_ of convalescence. What wonder that much -that is unreasonable and foolish thereby comes to light: much wanton -tenderness expended even on problems which have a prickly hide, and are -not therefore fit to be fondled and allured. The whole book is really -nothing but a revel after long privation and impotence: the frolicking -of returning energy, of newly awakened belief in a to-morrow and -after-to-morrow; of sudden sentience and prescience of a future, of near -adventures, of seas open once more, and aims once more permitted and -believed in. And what was now all behind me! This track of desert, -exhaustion, unbelief, and frigidity in the midst of youth, this advent -of grey hairs at the wrong time, this tyranny of pain, surpassed, -however, by the tyranny of pride which repudiated the _consequences_ of -pain—and consequences are comforts,—this radical isolation, as defence -against the contempt of mankind become morbidly clairvoyant, this -restriction upon principle to all that is bitter, sharp, and painful in -knowledge, as prescribed by the _disgust_ which had gradually resulted -from imprudent spiritual diet and pampering—it is called -Romanticism,—oh, who could realise all those feelings of mine! He, -however, who could do so would certainly forgive me everything, and more -than a little folly, boisterousness and "Joyful Wisdom"—for example, the -handful of songs which are given along with the book on this -occasion,—songs in which a poet makes merry over all poets in a way not -easily pardoned.—Alas, it is not only on the poets and their fine -"lyrical sentiments" that this reconvalescent must vent his malignity: -who knows what kind of victim he seeks, what kind of monster of material -for parody will allure him ere long? _Incipit tragœdia_, it is said at -the conclusion of this seriously frivolous book; let people be on their -guard! Something or other extraordinarily bad and wicked announces -itself: _incipit parodia_, there is no doubt... - - - 2. - -——But let us leave Herr Nietzsche; what does it matter to people that -Herr Nietzsche has got well again?... A psychologist knows few questions -so attractive as those concerning the relations of health to philosophy, -and in the case when he himself falls sick, he carries with him all his -scientific curiosity into his sickness. For, granting that one is a -person, one has necessarily also the philosophy of one's personality, -there is, however, an important distinction here. With the one it is his -defects which philosophise, with the other it is his riches and powers. -The former _requires_ his philosophy, whether it be as support, -sedative, or medicine, as salvation, elevation, or self-alienation; with -the latter it is merely a fine luxury, at best the voluptuousness of a -triumphant gratitude, which must inscribe itself ultimately in cosmic -capitals on the heaven of ideas. In the other more usual case, however, -when states of distress occupy themselves with philosophy (as is the -case with all sickly thinkers—and perhaps the sickly thinkers -preponderate in the history of philosophy), what will happen to the -thought itself which is brought under the _pressure_ of sickness? This -is the important question for psychologists: and here experiment is -possible. We philosophers do just like a traveller who resolves to awake -at a given hour, and then quietly yields himself to sleep: we surrender -ourselves temporarily, body and soul, to the sickness, supposing we -become ill—we shut, as it were, our eyes on ourselves. And as the -traveller knows that something _does not_ sleep, that something counts -the hours and will awake him, we also know that the critical moment will -find us awake—that then something will spring forward and surprise the -spirit _in the very act_, I mean in weakness, or reversion, or -submission, or obduracy, or obscurity, or whatever the morbid conditions -are called, which in times of good health have the _pride_ of the spirit -opposed to them (for it is as in the old rhyme: "The spirit proud, -peacock and horse are the three proudest things of earthly source"). -After such self-questioning and self-testing, one learns to look with a -sharper eye at all that has hitherto been philosophised; one divines -better than before the arbitrary by-ways, side-streets, resting-places, -and _sunny_ places of thought, to which suffering thinkers, precisely as -sufferers, are led and misled: one knows now in what direction the -sickly _body_ and its requirements unconsciously press, push, and allure -the spirit—towards the sun, stillness, gentleness, patience, medicine, -refreshment in any sense whatever. Every philosophy which puts peace -higher than war, every ethic with a negative grasp of the idea of -happiness, every metaphysic and physic that knows a _finale_, an -ultimate condition of any kind whatever, every predominating, æsthetic -or religious longing for an aside, a beyond, an outside, an above—all -these permit one to ask whether sickness has not been the motive which -inspired the philosopher. The unconscious disguising of physiological -requirements under the cloak of the objective, the ideal, the purely -spiritual, is carried on to an alarming extent,—and I have often enough -asked myself, whether, on the whole, philosophy hitherto has not -generally been merely an interpretation of the body, and a -_misunderstanding of the body_. Behind the loftiest estimates of value -by which the history of thought has hitherto been governed, -misunderstandings of the bodily constitution, either of individuals, -classes, or entire races are concealed. One may always primarily -consider these audacious freaks of metaphysic, and especially its -answers to the question of the _worth_ of existence, as symptoms of -certain bodily constitutions; and if, on the whole, when scientifically -determined, not a particle of significance attaches to such affirmations -and denials of the world, they nevertheless furnish the historian and -psychologist with hints so much the more valuable (as we have said) as -symptoms of the bodily constitution, its good or bad condition, its -fullness, powerfulness, and sovereignty in history; or else of its -obstructions, exhaustions, and impoverishments, its premonition of the -end, its will to the end. I still expect that a philosophical -_physician_, in the exceptional sense of the word—one who applies -himself to the problem of the collective health of peoples, periods, -races, and mankind generally—will some day have the courage to follow -out my suspicion to its ultimate conclusions, and to venture on the -judgment that in all philosophising it has not hitherto been a question -of "truth" at all, but of something else,—namely, of health, futurity, -growth, power, life.... - - - 3. - -It will be surmised that I should not like to take leave ungratefully of -that period of severe sickness, the advantage of which is not even yet -exhausted in me: for I am sufficiently conscious of what I have in -advance of the spiritually robust generally, in my changeful state of -health. A philosopher who has made the tour of many states of health, -and always makes it anew, has also gone through just as many -philosophies: he really _cannot_ do otherwise than transform his -condition on every occasion into the most ingenious posture and -position,—this art of transfiguration _is_ just philosophy. We -philosophers are not at liberty to separate soul and body, as the people -separate them; and we are still less at liberty to separate soul and -spirit. We are not thinking frogs, we are not objectifying and -registering apparatuses with cold entrails,—our thoughts must be -continually born to us out of our pain, and we must, motherlike, share -with them all that we have in us of blood, heart, ardour, joy, passion, -pang, conscience, fate and fatality. Life—that means for us to transform -constantly into light and flame all that we are, and also all that we -meet with; we _cannot_ possibly do otherwise. And as regards sickness, -should we not be almost tempted to ask whether we could in general -dispense with it? It is great pain only which is the ultimate -emancipator of the spirit; for it is the teacher of the _strong -suspicion_ which makes an X out of every U[1], a true, correct X, -_i.e._, the ante-penultimate letter.... It is great pain only, the long -slow pain which takes time, by which we are burned as it were with green -wood, that compels us philosophers to descend into our ultimate depths, -and divest ourselves of all trust, all good-nature, veiling, gentleness, -and averageness, wherein we have perhaps formerly installed our -humanity. I doubt whether such pain "improves" us; but I know that it -_deepens_ us. Be it that we learn to confront it with our pride, our -scorn, our strength of will, doing like the Indian who, however sorely -tortured, revenges himself on his tormentor with his bitter tongue; be -it that we withdraw from the pain into the oriental nothingness—it is -called Nirvana,—into mute, benumbed, deaf self-surrender, -self-forgetfulness, and self-effacement: one emerges from such long, -dangerous exercises in self-mastery as another being, with several -additional notes of interrogation, and above all, with the _will_ to -question more than ever, more profoundly, more strictly, more sternly, -more wickedly, more quietly than has ever been questioned hitherto. -Confidence in life is gone: life itself has become a _problem_.—Let it -not be imagined that one has necessarily become a hypochondriac thereby! -Even love of life is still possible—only one loves differently. It is -the love of a woman of whom one is doubtful.... The charm, however, of -all that is problematic, the delight in the X, is too great in those -more spiritual and more spiritualised men, not to spread itself again -and again like a clear glow over all the trouble of the problematic, -over all the danger of uncertainty, and even over the jealousy of the -lover. We know a new happiness.... - - - 4. - -Finally, (that the most essential may not remain unsaid), one comes back -out of such abysses, out of such severe sickness, and out of the -sickness of strong suspicion—_new-born_, with the skin cast; more -sensitive, more wicked, with a finer taste for joy, with a more delicate -tongue for all good things, with a merrier disposition, with a second -and more dangerous innocence in joy; more childish at the same time, and -a hundred times more refined than ever before. Oh, how repugnant to us -now is pleasure, coarse, dull, drab pleasure, as the pleasure-seekers, -our "cultured" classes, our rich and ruling classes, usually understand -it! How malignantly we now listen to the great holiday-hubbub with which -"cultured people" and city-men at present allow themselves to be forced -to "spiritual enjoyment" by art, books, and music, with the help of -spirituous liquors! How the theatrical cry of passion now pains our ear, -how strange to our taste has all the romantic riot and sensuous bustle -which the cultured populace love become (together with their aspirations -after the exalted, the elevated, and the intricate)! No, if we -convalescents need an art at all, it is _another_ art—a mocking, light, -volatile, divinely serene, divinely ingenious art, which blazes up like -a clear flame, into a cloudless heaven! Above all, an art for artists, -only for artists! We at last know better what is first of all necessary -_for it_—namely, cheerfulness, _every_ kind of cheerfulness, my friends! -also as artists:—I should like to prove it. We now know something too -well, we men of knowledge: oh, how well we are now learning to forget -and _not_ know, as artists! And as to our future, we are not likely to -be found again in the tracks of those Egyptian youths who at night make -the temples unsafe, embrace statues, and would fain unveil, uncover, and -put in clear light, everything which for good reasons is kept -concealed.[2] No, we have got disgusted with this bad taste, this will -to truth, to "truth at all costs," this youthful madness in the love of -truth: we are now too experienced, too serious, too joyful, too singed, -too profound for that.... We no longer believe that truth remains truth -when the veil is withdrawn from it: we have lived long enough to believe -this. At present we regard it as a matter of propriety not to be anxious -either to see everything naked, or to be present at everything, or to -understand and "know" everything. "Is it true that the good God is -everywhere present?" asked a little girl of her mother: "I think that is -indecent":—a hint to philosophers! One should have more reverence for -the _shamefacedness_ with which nature has concealed herself behind -enigmas and motley uncertainties. Perhaps truth is a woman who has -reasons for not showing her reasons? Perhaps her name is Baubo, to speak -in Greek?... Oh, those Greeks! They knew how _to live_: for that purpose -it is necessary to keep bravely to the surface, the fold and the skin; -to worship appearance, to believe in forms, tones, and words, in the -whole Olympus of appearance! Those Greeks were superficial—_from -profundity_! And are we not coming back precisely to this point, we -dare-devils of the spirit, who have scaled the highest and most -dangerous peak of contemporary thought, and have looked around us from -it, have _looked down_ from it? Are we not precisely in this -respect—Greeks? Worshippers of forms, of tones, and of words? And -precisely on that account—artists? - -RUTA, near GENOA - -_Autumn, 1886._ - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - This means literally to put the numeral X instead of the numeral V - (formerly U); hence it means to double a number unfairly, to - exaggerate, humbug, cheat.—TR. - -Footnote 2: - - An allusion to Schiller's poem: "The Veiled Image of Sais."—TR. - - - - - JEST, RUSE AND REVENGE. - - A PRELUDE IN RHYME. - - - 1. - - _Invitation._ - - Venture, comrades, I implore you, - On the fare I set before you, - You will like it more to-morrow, - Better still the following day: - If yet more you're then requiring, - Old success I'll find inspiring, - And fresh courage thence will borrow - Novel dainties to display. - - - 2. - - _My Good Luck._ - - Weary of Seeking had I grown, - So taught myself the way to Find: - Back by the storm I once was blown, - But follow now, where drives the wind. - - - 3. - - _Undismayed._ - - Where you're standing, dig, dig out: - Down below's the Well: - Let them that walk in darkness shout: - "Down below—there's Hell!" - - - 4. - - _Dialogue._ - - _A._ Was I ill? and is it ended? - Pray, by what physician tended? - I recall no pain endured! - _B._ Now I know your trouble's ended: - He that can forget, is cured. - - - 5. - - _To the Virtuous._ - - Let our virtues be easy and nimble-footed in motion, - Like unto Homer's verse ought they to come _and to go_. - - - 6. - - _Worldly Wisdom._ - - Stay not on level plain, - Climb not the mount too high, - But half-way up remain— - The world you'll best descry! - - - 7. - - _Vademecum—Vadetecum._ - - Attracted by my style and talk - You'd follow, in my footsteps walk? - Follow yourself unswervingly, - So—careful!—shall you follow me. - - - 8. - - _The Third Sloughing._ - - My skin bursts, breaks for fresh rebirth, - And new desires come thronging: - Much I've devoured, yet for more earth - The serpent in me's longing. - 'Twixt stone and grass I crawl once more, - Hungry, by crooked ways, - To eat the food I ate before, - Earth-fare all serpents praise! - - - 9. - - _My Roses._ - - My luck's good—I'd make yours fairer, - (Good luck ever needs a sharer), - Will you stop and pluck my roses? - - Oft mid rocks and thorns you'll linger, - Hide and stoop, suck bleeding finger— - Will you stop and pluck my roses? - - For my good luck's a trifle vicious, - Fond of teasing, tricks malicious— - Will you stop and pluck my roses? - - - 10. - - _The Scorner._ - - Many drops I waste and spill, - So my scornful mood you curse: - Who to brim his cup doth fill, - Many drops _must_ waste and spill— - Yet he thinks the wine no worse. - - - 11. - - _The Proverb Speaks._ - - Harsh and gentle, fine and mean, - Quite rare and common, dirty and clean, - The fools' and the sages' go-between: - All this I will be, this have been, - Dove and serpent and swine, I ween! - - - 12. - - _To a Lover of Light._ - - That eye and sense be not fordone - E'en in the shade pursue the sun! - - - 13. - - _For Dancers._ - - Smoothest ice, - A paradise - To him who is a dancer nice. - - - 14. - - _The Brave Man._ - - A feud that knows not flaw nor break, - Rather then patched-up friendship, take. - - - 15. - - _Rust._ - - Rust's needed: keenness will not satisfy! - "He is too young!" the rabble loves to cry. - - - 16. - - _Excelsior._ - - "How shall I reach the top?" No time - For thus reflecting! Start to climb! - - - 17. - - _The Man of Power Speaks._ - - Ask never! Cease that whining, pray! - Take without asking, take alway! - - - 18. - - _Narrow Souls._ - - Narrow souls hate I like the devil, - Souls wherein grows nor good nor evil. - - - 19. - - _Accidentally a Seducer._[3] - - He shot an empty word - Into the empty blue; - But on the way it met - A woman whom it slew. - - - 20. - - _For Consideration._ - - A twofold pain is easier far to bear - Than one: so now to suffer wilt thou dare? - - - 21. - - _Against Pride._ - - Brother, to puff thyself up ne'er be quick: - For burst thou shalt be by a tiny prick! - - - 22. - - _Man and Woman._ - - "The woman seize, who to thy heart appeals!" - Man's motto: woman seizes not, but steals. - - - 23. - - _Interpretation._ - - If I explain my wisdom, surely - 'Tis but entangled more securely, - I can't expound myself aright: - But he that's boldly up and doing, - His own unaided course pursuing, - Upon my image casts more light! - - - 24. - - _A Cure for Pessimism._ - - Those old capricious fancies, friend! - You say your palate naught can please, - I hear you bluster, spit and wheeze, - My love, my patience soon will end! - Pluck up your courage, follow me— - Here's a fat toad! Now then, don't blink, - Swallow it whole, nor pause to think! - From your dyspepsia you'll be free! - - - 25. - - _A Request._ - - Many men's minds I know full well, - Yet what mine own is, cannot tell. - I cannot see—my eye's too near— - And falsely to myself appear. - 'Twould be to me a benefit - Far from myself if I could sit, - Less distant than my enemy, - And yet my nearest friend's too nigh— - 'Twixt him and me, just in the middle! - What do I ask for? Guess my riddle! - - - 26. - - _My Cruelty._ - - I must ascend an hundred stairs, - I must ascend: the herd declares - I'm cruel: "Are we made of stone?" - I must ascend an hundred stairs: - All men the part of stair disown. - - - 27. - - _The Wanderer._ - - "No longer path! Abyss and silence chilling!" - Thy fault! To leave the path thou wast too willing! - Now comes the test! Keep cool—eyes bright and clear! - Thou'rt lost for sure, if thou permittest—fear. - - - 28. - - _Encouragement for Beginners._ - - See the infant, helpless creeping— - Swine around it grunt swine-talk— - Weeping always, naught but weeping, - Will it ever learn to walk? - Never fear! Just wait, I swear it - Soon to dance will be inclined, - And this babe, when two legs bear it, - Standing on its head you'll find. - - - 29. - - _Planet Egoism._ - - Did I not turn, a rolling cask, - Ever about myself, I ask, - How could I without burning run - Close on the track of the hot sun? - - - 30. - - _The Neighbour._ - - Too nigh, my friend my joy doth mar, - I'd have him high above and far, - Or how can he become my star? - - - 31. - - _The Disguised Saint._ - - Lest we for thy bliss should slay thee, - In devil's wiles thou dost array thee, - Devil's wit and devil's dress. - But in vain! Thy looks betray thee - And proclaim thy holiness. - - - 32. - - _The Slave._ - - _A._ He stands and listens: whence his pain? - What smote his ears? Some far refrain? - Why is his heart with anguish torn? - _B._ Like all that fetters once have worn, - He always hears the clinking—chain! - - - 33. - - _The Lone One._ - - I hate to follow and I hate to lead. - Obedience? no! and ruling? no, indeed! - Wouldst fearful be in others' sight? - Then e'en _thyself_ thou must affright: - The people but the Terror's guidance heed. - I hate to guide myself, I hate the fray. - Like the wild beasts I'll wander far afield. - In Error's pleasing toils I'll roam - Awhile, then lure myself back home, - Back home, and—to my self-seduction yield. - - - 34. - - _Seneca et hoc Genus omne._ - - They write and write (quite maddening me) - Their "sapient" twaddle airy, - As if 'twere _primum scribere, - Deinde philosophari_. - - - 35. - - _Ice._ - - Yes! I manufacture ice: - Ice may help you to digest: - If you _had_ much to digest, - How you would enjoy my ice! - - - 36. - - _Youthful Writings._ - - My wisdom's A and final O - Was then the sound that smote mine ear. - Yet now it rings no longer so, - My youth's eternal Ah! and Oh! - Is now the only sound I hear.[4] - - - 37. - - _Foresight._ - - In yonder region travelling, take good care! - An hast thou wit, then be thou doubly ware! - They'll smile and lure thee; then thy limbs they'll tear: - Fanatics' country this where wits are rare! - - - 38. - - _The Pious One Speaks._ - - God loves us, _for_ he made us, sent us here!— - "Man hath made God!" ye subtle ones reply. - His handiwork he must hold dear, - And _what he made_ shall he deny? - There sounds the devil's halting hoof, I fear. - - - 39. - - _In Summer._ - - In sweat of face, so runs the screed, - We e'er must eat our bread, - Yet wise physicians if we heed - "Eat naught in sweat," 'tis said. - The dog-star's blinking: what's his need? - What tells his blazing sign? - In sweat of face (so runs _his_ screed) - We're meant to drink our wine! - - - 40. - - _Without Envy._ - - His look bewrays no envy: and ye laud him? - He cares not, asks not if your throng applaud him! - He has the eagle's eye for distance far, - He sees you not, he sees but star on star! - - - 41. - - _Heraclitism._ - - Brethren, war's the origin - Of happiness on earth: - Powder-smoke and battle-din - Witness friendship's birth! - Friendship means three things, you know,— - Kinship in luckless plight, - Equality before the foe - Freedom—in death's sight! - - - 42. - - _Maxim of the Over-refined._ - - "Rather on your toes stand high - Than crawl upon all fours, - Rather through the keyhole spy - Than through open doors!" - - - 43. - - _Exhortation._ - - Renown you're quite resolved to earn? - My thought about it - Is this: you need not fame, must learn - To do without it! - - - 44. - - _Thorough._ - - I an Inquirer? No, that's not my calling - Only _I weigh a lot_—I'm such a lump!— - And through the waters I keep falling, falling, - Till on the ocean's deepest bed I bump. - - - 45. - - _The Immortals._ - - "To-day is meet for me, I come to-day," - Such is the speech of men foredoomed to stay. - "Thou art too soon," they cry, "thou art too late," - What care the Immortals what the rabble say? - - - 46. - - _Verdicts of the Weary._ - - The weary shun the glaring sun, afraid, - And only care for trees to gain the shade. - - - 47. - - _Descent._ - - "He sinks, he falls," your scornful looks portend: - The truth is, to your level he'll descend. - His Too Much Joy is turned to weariness, - His Too Much Light will in your darkness end. - - - 48. - - _Nature Silenced._[5] - - Around my neck, on chain of hair, - The timepiece hangs—a sign of care. - For me the starry course is o'er, - No sun and shadow as before, - No cockcrow summons at the door, - For nature tells the time no more! - Too many clocks her voice have drowned, - And droning law has dulled her sound. - - - 49. - - _The Sage Speaks._ - - Strange to the crowd, yet useful to the crowd, - I still pursue my path, now sun, now cloud, - But always pass above the crowd! - - - 50. - - _He lost his Head...._ - - She now has wit—how did it come her way? - A man through her his reason lost, they say. - His head, though wise ere to this pastime lent, - Straight to the devil—no, to woman went! - - - 51. - - _A Pious Wish._ - - "Oh, might all keys be lost! 'Twere better so - And in all keyholes might the pick-lock go!" - Who thus reflects ye may as—picklock know. - - - 52. - - _Foot Writing._ - - I write not with the hand alone, - My foot would write, my foot that capers, - Firm, free and bold, it's marching on - Now through the fields, now through the papers. - - - 53. - - "_Human, All-too-Human._"... - - Shy, gloomy, when your looks are backward thrust, - Trusting the future where yourself you trust, - Are you an eagle, mid the nobler fowl, - Or are you like Minerva's darling owl? - - - 54. - - _To my Reader._ - - Good teeth and a digestion good - I wish you—these you need, be sure! - And, certes, if my book you've stood, - Me with good humour you'll endure. - - - 55. - - _The Realistic Painter._ - - "To nature true, complete!" so he begins. - Who complete Nature to his canvas _wins_? - Her tiniest fragment's endless, no constraint - Can know: he paints just what his _fancy_ pins: - What does his fancy pin? What he _can_ paint! - - - 56. - - _Poets' Vanity._ - - Glue, only glue to me dispense, - The wood I'll find myself, don't fear! - To give four senseless verses sense— - That's an achievement I revere! - - - 57. - - _Taste in Choosing._ - - If to choose my niche precise - Freedom I could win from fate, - I'd be in midst of Paradise— - Or, sooner still—before the gate! - - - 58. - - _The Crooked Nose._ - - Wide blow your nostrils, and across - The land your nose holds haughty sway: - So you, unhorned rhinoceros, - Proud mannikin, fall forward aye! - The one trait with the other goes: - A straight pride and a crooked nose. - - - 59. - - _The Pen is Scratching...._ - - The pen is scratching: hang the pen! - To scratching I'm condemned to sink! - I grasp the inkstand fiercely then - And write in floods of flowing ink. - How broad, how full the stream's career! - What luck my labours doth requite! - 'Tis true, the writing's none too clear— - What then? Who reads the stuff I write? - - - 60. - - _Loftier Spirits._ - - This man's climbing up—let us praise him— - But that other we love - From aloft doth eternally move, - So above even praise let us raise him, - He _comes_ from above! - - - 61. - - _The Sceptic Speaks._ - - Your life is half-way o'er; - The clock-hand moves; your soul is thrilled with fear, - It roamed to distant shore - And sought and found not, yet you—linger here! - - Your life is half-way o'er; - That hour by hour was pain and error sheer: - _Why stay?_ What seek you more? - "That's what I'm seeking—reasons why I'm here!" - - - 62. - - _Ecce Homo._ - - Yes, I know where I'm related, - Like the flame, unquenched, unsated, - I consume myself and glow: - All's turned to light I lay my hand on, - All to coal that I abandon, - Yes, I am a flame, I know! - - - 63. - - _Star Morality._[6] - - Foredoomed to spaces vast and far, - What matters darkness to the star? - - Roll calmly on, let time go by, - Let sorrows pass thee—nations die! - - Compassion would but dim the light - That distant worlds will gladly sight. - - To thee one law—be pure and bright! - ------ - -Footnote 3: - - Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. - -Footnote 4: - - A and O, suggestive of Ah! and Oh! refer of course to Alpha and Omega, - the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet.—TR. - -Footnote 5: - - Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. - -Footnote 6: - - Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. - - - - - BOOK FIRST - - - 1. - -_The Teachers of the Object of Existence._—Whether I look with a good or -an evil eye upon men, I find them always at one problem, each and all of -them: to do that which conduces to the conservation of the human -species. And certainly not out of any sentiment of love for this -species, but simply because nothing in them is older, stronger, more -inexorable, and more unconquerable than that instinct,—because it is -precisely _the essence_ of our race and herd. Although we are accustomed -readily enough, with our usual short-sightedness, to separate our -neighbours precisely into useful and hurtful, into good and evil men, -yet when we make a general calculation, and on longer reflection on the -whole question, we become distrustful of this defining and separating, -and finally leave it alone. Even the most hurtful man is still perhaps, -in respect to the conservation of the race, the most useful of all; for -he conserves in himself or by his effect on others, impulses without -which mankind might long ago have languished or decayed. Hatred, delight -in mischief, rapacity and ambition, and whatever else is called -evil—belong to the marvellous economy of the conservation of the race; -to be sure a costly, lavish, and on the whole very foolish -economy:—which has, however, hitherto preserved our race, _as is -demonstrated to us_. I no longer know, my dear fellow-man and neighbour, -if thou _canst_ at all live to the disadvantage of the race, and -therefore, "unreasonably" and "badly"; that which could have injured the -race has perhaps died out many millenniums ago, and now belongs to the -things which are no longer possible even to God. Indulge thy best or thy -worst desires, and above all, go to wreck!—in either case thou art still -probably the furtherer and benefactor of mankind in some way or other, -and in that respect thou mayest have thy panegyrists—and similarly thy -mockers! But thou wilt never find him who would be quite qualified to -mock at thee, the individual, at thy best, who could bring home to thy -conscience its limitless, buzzing and croaking wretchedness so as to be -in accord with truth! To laugh at oneself as one would have to laugh in -order to laugh _out of the veriest truth_,—to do this the best have not -hitherto had enough of the sense of truth, and the most endowed have had -far too little genius! There is perhaps still a future even for -laughter! When the maxim, "The race is all, the individual is -nothing,"—has incorporated itself in humanity, and when access stands -open to every one at all times to this ultimate emancipation and -irresponsibility.—Perhaps then laughter will have united with wisdom, -perhaps then there will be only "joyful wisdom." Meanwhile, however, it -is quite otherwise, meanwhile the comedy of existence has not yet -"become conscious" of itself, meanwhile it is still the period of -tragedy, the period of morals and religions. What does the ever new -appearing of founders of morals and religions, of instigators of -struggles for moral valuations, of teachers of remorse of conscience and -religious war, imply? What do these heroes on this stage imply? For they -have hitherto been the heroes of it, and all else, though solely visible -for the time being, and too close to one, has served only as preparation -for these heroes, whether as machinery and coulisse, or in the rôle of -confidants and valets. (The poets, for example, have always been the -valets of some morality or other.)—It is obvious of itself that these -tragedians also work in the interest of the _race_, though they may -believe that they work in the interest of God, and as emissaries of God. -They also further the life of the species, _in that they further the -belief in life_. "It is worth while to live"—each of them calls -out,—"there is something of importance in this life; life has something -behind it and under it; take care!" That impulse, which rules equally in -the noblest and the ignoblest, the impulse towards the conservation of -the species, breaks forth from time to time as reason and passion of -spirit; it has then a brilliant train of motives about it, and tries -with all its power to make us forget that fundamentally it is just -impulse, instinct, folly and baselessness. Life _should_ be loved, _for_ -...! Man _should_ benefit himself and his neighbour, _for_ ...! And -whatever all these _shoulds_ and _fors_ imply, and may imply in future! -In order that that which necessarily and always happens of itself and -without design, may henceforth appear to be done by design, and may -appeal to men as reason and ultimate command,—for that purpose the -ethiculturist comes forward as the teacher of design in existence; for -that purpose he devises a second and different existence, and by means -of this new mechanism he lifts the old common existence off its old -common hinges. No! he does not at all want us to _laugh_ at existence, -nor even at ourselves—nor at himself; to him an individual is always an -individual, something first and last and immense, to him there are no -species, no sums, no noughts. However foolish and fanatical his -inventions and valuations may be, however much he may misunderstand the -course of nature and deny its conditions—and all systems of ethics -hitherto have been foolish and anti-natural to such a degree that -mankind would have been ruined by any one of them had it got the upper -hand,—at any rate, every time that "the hero" came upon the stage -something new was attained: the frightful counterpart of laughter, the -profound convulsion of many individuals at the thought, "Yes, it is -worth while to live! yes, I am worthy to live!"—life, and thou, and I, -and all of us together became for a while _interesting_ to ourselves -once more.—It is not to be denied that hitherto laughter and reason and -nature have _in the long run_ got the upper hand of all the great -teachers of design: in the end the short tragedy always passed over once -more into the eternal comedy of existence; and the "waves of innumerable -laughters"—to use the expression of Æschylus—must also in the end beat -over the greatest of these tragedies. But with all this corrective -laughter, human nature has on the whole been changed by the ever new -appearance of those teachers of the design of existence,—human nature -has now an additional requirement, the very requirement of the ever new -appearance of such teachers and doctrines of "design." Man has gradually -become a visionary animal, who has to fulfil one more condition of -existence than the other animals: man _must_ from time to time believe -that he knows _why_ he exists; his species cannot flourish without -periodically confiding in life! Without the belief in _reason in life_! -And always from time to time will the human race decree anew that "there -is something which really may not be laughed at." And the most -clairvoyant philanthropist will add that "not only laughing and joyful -wisdom, but also the tragic, with all its sublime irrationality, counts -among the means and necessities for the conservation of the race!"—And -consequently! Consequently! Consequently! Do you understand me, oh my -brothers? Do you understand this new law of ebb and flow? We also shall -have our time! - - - 2. - -_The Intellectual Conscience._—I have always the same experience over -again, and always make a new effort against it; for although it is -evident to me I do not want to believe it: _in the greater number of men -the intellectual conscience is lacking_; indeed, it would often seem to -me that in demanding such a thing, one is as solitary in the largest -cities as in the desert. Everyone looks at you with strange eyes, and -continues to make use of his scales, calling this good and that bad; and -no one blushes for shame when you remark that these weights are not the -full amount,—there is also no indignation against you; perhaps they -laugh at your doubt. I mean to say that _the greater number of people_ -do not find it contemptible to believe this or that, and live according -to it, _without_ having been previously aware of the ultimate and surest -reasons for and against it, and without even giving themselves any -trouble about such reasons afterwards,—the most gifted men and the -noblest women still belong to this "greater number." But what is -kind-heartedness, refinement and genius to me, if the man with these -virtues harbours indolent sentiments in belief and judgment, if _the -longing for certainty_ does not rule in him, as his innermost desire and -profoundest need—as that which separates higher from lower men! In -certain pious people I have found a hatred of reason, and have been -favourably disposed to them for it: their bad, intellectual conscience -still betrayed itself, at least in this manner! But to stand in the -midst of this _rerum concordia discors_ and all the marvellous -uncertainty and ambiguity of existence, _and not to question_, not to -tremble with desire and delight in questioning, not even to hate the -questioner—perhaps even to make merry over him to the extent of -weariness—that is what I regard as _contemptible_, and it is this -sentiment which I first of all search for in every one:—some folly or -other always persuades me anew that every man has this sentiment, as -man. This is my special kind of unrighteousness. - - - 3. - -_Noble and Ignoble._—To ignoble natures all noble, magnanimous -sentiments appear inexpedient, and on that account first and foremost, -as incredible: they blink with their eyes when they hear of such -matters, and seem inclined to say, "there will, no doubt, be some -advantage therefrom, one cannot see through all walls;"—they are jealous -of the noble person, as if he sought advantage by back-stair methods. -When they are all too plainly convinced of the absence of selfish -intentions and emoluments, the noble person is regarded by them as a -kind of fool: they despise him in his gladness, and laugh at the lustre -of his eye. "How can a person rejoice at being at a disadvantage, how -can a person with open eyes want to meet with disadvantage! It must be a -disease of the reason with which the noble affection is associated,"—so -they think, and they look depreciatingly thereon; just as they -depreciate the joy which the lunatic derives from his fixed idea. The -ignoble nature is distinguished by the fact that it keeps its advantage -steadily in view, and that this thought of the end and advantage is even -stronger than its strongest impulse: not to be tempted to inexpedient -activities by its impulses—that is its wisdom and inspiration. In -comparison with the ignoble nature the higher nature is _more -irrational_:—for the noble, magnanimous, and self-sacrificing person -succumbs in fact to his impulses, and in his best moments his reason -_lapses_ altogether. An animal, which at the risk of life protects its -young, or in the pairing season follows the female where it meets with -death, does not think of the risk and the death; its reason pauses -likewise, because its delight in its young, or in the female, and the -fear of being deprived of this delight, dominate it exclusively; it -becomes stupider than at other times, like the noble and magnanimous -person. He possesses feelings of pleasure and pain of such intensity -that the intellect must either be silent before them, or yield itself to -their service: his heart then goes into his head, and one henceforth -speaks of "passions." (Here and there to be sure, the antithesis to -this, and as it were the "reverse of passion," presents itself; for -example in Fontenelle, to whom some one once laid the hand on the heart -with the words, "What you have there, my dearest friend, is brain -also.") It is the unreason, or perverse reason of passion, which the -ignoble man despises in the noble individual, especially when it -concentrates upon objects whose value appears to him to be altogether -fantastic and arbitrary. He is offended at him who succumbs to the -passion of the belly, but he understands the allurement which here plays -the tyrant; but he does not understand, for example, how a person out of -love of knowledge can stake his health and honour on the game. The taste -of the higher nature devotes itself to exceptional matters, to things -which usually do not affect people, and seem to have no sweetness; the -higher nature has a singular standard of value. Besides, it is mostly of -the belief that it has _not_ a singular standard of value in its -idiosyncrasies of taste; it rather sets up its values and non-values as -the generally valid values and non-values, and thus becomes -incomprehensible and impracticable. It is very rarely that a higher -nature has so much reason over and above as to understand and deal with -everyday men as such; for the most part it believes in its passion as if -it were the concealed passion of every one, and precisely in this belief -it is full of ardour and eloquence. If then such exceptional men do not -perceive themselves as exceptions, how can they ever understand the -ignoble natures and estimate average men fairly! Thus it is that they -also speak of the folly, inexpediency and fantasy of mankind, full of -astonishment at the madness of the world, and that it will not recognise -the "one thing needful for it."—This is the eternal unrighteousness of -noble natures. - - - 4. - -_That which Preserves the Species._—The strongest and most evil spirits -have hitherto advanced mankind the most: they always rekindled the -sleeping passions—all orderly arranged society lulls the passions to -sleep; they always reawakened the sense of comparison, of contradiction, -of delight in the new, the adventurous, the untried; they compelled men -to set opinion against opinion, ideal plan against ideal plan. By means -of arms, by upsetting boundary-stones, by violations of piety most of -all: but also by new religions and morals! The same kind of "wickedness" -is in every teacher and preacher of the _new_—which makes a conqueror -infamous, although it expresses itself more refinedly, and does not -immediately set the muscles in motion (and just on that account does not -make so infamous!). The new, however, is under all circumstances the -_evil_, as that which wants to conquer, which tries to upset the old -boundary-stones and the old piety; only the old is the good! The good -men of every age are those who go to the roots of the old thoughts and -bear fruit with them, the agriculturists of the spirit. But every soil -becomes finally exhausted, and the ploughshare of evil must always come -once more.—There is at present a fundamentally erroneous theory of -morals which is much celebrated, especially in England: according to it -the judgments "good" and "evil" are the accumulation of the experiences -of that which is "expedient" and "inexpedient"; according to this -theory, that which is called good is conservative of the species, what -is called evil, however, is detrimental to it. But in reality the evil -impulses are just in as high a degree expedient, indispensable, and -conservative of the species as the good:—only, their function is -different. - - - 5. - -_Unconditional Duties._—All men who feel that they need the strongest -words and intonations, the most eloquent gestures and attitudes, in -order to operate _at all_—revolutionary politicians, socialists, -preachers of repentance with or without Christianity, with all of whom -there must be no mere half-success,—all these speak of "duties," and -indeed, always of duties, which have the character of being -unconditional—without such they would have no right to their excessive -pathos: they know that right well! They grasp, therefore, at -philosophies of morality which preach some kind of categorical -imperative, or they assimilate a good lump of religion, as, for example, -Mazzini did. Because they want to be trusted unconditionally, it is -first of all necessary for them to trust themselves unconditionally, on -the basis of some ultimate, undebatable command, sublime in itself, as -the ministers and instruments of which, they would fain feel and -announce themselves. Here we have the most natural, and for the most -part, very influential opponents of moral enlightenment and scepticism: -but they are rare. On the other hand, there is always a very numerous -class of those opponents wherever interest teaches subjection, while -repute and honour seem to forbid it. He who feels himself dishonoured at -the thought of being the _instrument_ of a prince, or of a party and -sect, or even of wealthy power (for example, as the descendant of a -proud, ancient family), but wishes just to be this instrument, or must -be so before himself and before the public—such a person has need of -pathetic principles which can at all times be appealed to:—principles of -an unconditional _ought_, to which a person can subject himself without -shame, and can show himself subjected. All more refined servility holds -fast to the categorical imperative, and is the mortal enemy of those who -want to take away the unconditional character of duty: propriety demands -this from them, and not only propriety. - - - 6. - -_Loss of Dignity._—Meditation has lost all its dignity of form; the -ceremonial and solemn bearing of the meditative person have been made a -mockery, and one would no longer endure a wise man of the old style. We -think too hastily and on the way and while walking and in the midst of -business of all kinds, even when we think on the most serious matters; -we require little preparation, even little quiet:—it is as if each of us -carried about an unceasingly revolving machine in his head, which still -works, even under the most unfavourable circumstances. Formerly it was -perceived in a person that on some occasion he wanted to think—it was -perhaps the exception!—that he now wanted to become wiser and collected -his mind on a thought: he put on a long face for it, as for a prayer, -and arrested his step—nay, stood still for hours on the street when the -thought "came"—on one or on two legs. It was thus "worthy of the -affair"! - - - 7. - -_Something for the Laborious._—He who at present wants to make moral -questions a subject of study has an immense field of labour before him. -All kinds of passions must be thought about singly, and followed singly -throughout periods, peoples, great and insignificant individuals; all -their rationality, all their valuations and elucidations of things, -ought to come to light! Hitherto all that has given colour to existence -has lacked a history: where would one find a history of love, of -avarice, of envy, of conscience, of piety, of cruelty? Even a -comparative history of law, as also of punishment, has hitherto been -completely lacking. Have the different divisions of the day, the -consequences of a regular appointment of the times for labour, feast, -and repose, ever been made the object of investigation? Do we know the -moral effects of the alimentary substances? Is there a philosophy of -nutrition? (The ever-recurring outcry for and against vegetarianism -proves that as yet there is no such philosophy!) Have the experiences -with regard to communal living, for example, in monasteries, been -collected? Has the dialectic of marriage and friendship been set forth? -The customs of the learned, of trades-people, of artists, and of -mechanics—have they already found their thinkers? There is so much to -think of thereon! All that up till now has been considered as the -"conditions of existence," of human beings, and all reason, passion and -superstition in this consideration—have they been investigated to the -end? The observation alone of the different degrees of development which -the human impulses have attained, and could yet attain, according to the -different moral climates, would furnish too much work for the most -laborious; whole generations, and regular co-operating generations of -the learned, would be needed in order to exhaust the points of view and -the material here furnished. The same is true of the determining of the -reasons for the differences of the moral climates ("_on what account_ -does this sun of a fundamental moral judgment and standard of highest -value shine here—and that sun there?"). And there is again a new labour -which points out the erroneousness of all these reasons, and determines -the entire essence of the moral judgments hitherto made. Supposing all -these labours to be accomplished, the most critical of all questions -would then come into the foreground: whether science is in a position to -_furnish_ goals for human action, after it has proved that it can take -them away and annihilate them—and then would be the time for a process -of experimenting in which every kind of heroism could satisfy itself, an -experimenting for centuries, which would put into the shade all the -great labours and sacrifices of previous history. Science has not -hitherto built its Cyclopic structures; for that also the time will -come. - - - 8. - -_Unconscious Virtues._—All qualities in a man of which he is -conscious—and especially when he presumes that they are visible and -evident to his environment also—are subject to quite other laws of -development than those qualities which are unknown to him, or -imperfectly known, which by their subtlety can also conceal themselves -from the subtlest observer, and hide as it were behind nothing,—as in -the case of the delicate sculptures on the scales of reptiles (it would -be an error to suppose them an adornment or a defence—for one sees them -only with the microscope; consequently, with an eye artificially -strengthened to an extent of vision which similar animals, to which they -might perhaps have meant adornment or defence, do not possess!) Our -visible moral qualities, and especially our moral qualities _believed to -be_ visible, follow their own course,—and our invisible qualities of -similar name, which in relation to others neither serve for adornment -nor defence, _also follow their own course_: quite a different course -probably, and with lines and refinements, and sculptures, which might -perhaps give pleasure to a God with a divine microscope. We have, for -example, our diligence, our ambition, our acuteness: all the world knows -about them,—and besides, we have probably once more _our_ diligence, -_our_ ambition, _our_ acuteness; but for these—our reptile scales—the -microscope has not yet been invented!—And here the adherents of -instinctive morality will say, "Bravo! He at least regards unconscious -virtues as possible—that suffices us!"—Oh, ye unexacting creatures! - - - 9. - -_Our Eruptions._—Numberless things which humanity acquired in its -earlier stages, but so weakly and embryonically that it could not be -noticed that they were acquired, are thrust suddenly into light long -afterwards, perhaps after the lapse of centuries: they have in the -interval become strong and mature. In some ages this or that talent, -this or that virtue seems to be entirely lacking, as it is in some men; -but let us wait only for the grandchildren and grandchildren's children, -if we have time to wait,—they bring the interior of their grandfathers -into the sun, that interior of which the grandfathers themselves were -unconscious. The son, indeed, is often the betrayer of his father; the -latter understands himself better since he has got his son. We have all -hidden gardens and plantations in us; and by another simile, we are all -growing volcanoes, which will have their hours of eruption:—how near or -how distant this is, nobody of course knows, not even the good God. - - - 10. - -_A Species of Atavism._—I like best to think of the rare men of an age -as suddenly emerging aftershoots of past cultures, and of their -persistent strength: like the atavism of a people and its -civilisation:—there is thus still something in them to _think of_! They -now seem strange, rare, and extraordinary: and he who feels these forces -in himself has to foster them in face of a different, opposing world; he -has to defend them, honour them, and rear them to maturity: and he -either becomes a great man thereby, or a deranged and eccentric person, -unless he should altogether break down betimes. Formerly these rare -qualities were usual, and were consequently regarded as common: they did -not distinguish people. Perhaps they were demanded and presupposed; it -was impossible to become great with them, for indeed there was also no -danger of becoming insane and solitary with them.—It is principally in -the _old-established_ families and castes of a people that such -after-effects of old impulses present themselves, while there is no -probability of such atavism where races, habits, and valuations change -too rapidly. For the _tempo_ of the evolutional forces in peoples -implies just as much as in music; for our case an _andante_ of evolution -is absolutely necessary, as the _tempo_ of a passionate and slow -spirit:—and the spirit of conserving families is certainly of _that_ -sort. - - - 11. - -_Consciousness._—Consciousness is the last and latest development of the -organic, and consequently also the most unfinished and least powerful of -these developments. Innumerable mistakes originate out of consciousness, -which, "in spite of fate," as Homer says, cause an animal or a man to -break down earlier than might be necessary. If the conserving bond of -the instincts were not very much more powerful, it would not generally -serve as a regulator: by perverse judging and dreaming with open eyes, -by superficiality and credulity, in short, just by consciousness, -mankind would necessarily have broken down: or rather, without the -former there would long ago have been nothing more of the latter! Before -a function is fully formed and matured, it is a danger to the organism: -all the better if it be then thoroughly tyrannised over! Consciousness -is thus thoroughly tyrannised over—and not least by the pride in it! It -is thought that here is _the quintessence_ of man; that which is -enduring, eternal, ultimate, and most original in him! Consciousness is -regarded as a fixed, given magnitude! Its growth and intermittences are -denied! It is accepted as the "unity of the organism"!—This ludicrous -overvaluation and misconception of consciousness, has as its result the -great utility, that a too rapid maturing of it has thereby been -_hindered_. Because men believed that they already possessed -consciousness, they gave themselves very little trouble to acquire -it—and even now it is not otherwise! It is still an entirely new -_problem_ just dawning on the human eye and hardly yet plainly -recognisable: _to embody knowledge in ourselves_ and make it -instinctive,—a problem which is only seen by those who have grasped the -fact that hitherto our _errors_ alone have been embodied in us, and that -all our consciousness is relative to errors! - - - 12. - -_The Goal of Science._—What? The ultimate goal of science is to create -the most pleasure possible to man, and the least possible pain? But what -if pleasure and pain should be so closely connected that he who _wants_ -the greatest possible amount of the one _must_ also have the greatest -possible amount of the other,—that he who wants to experience the -"heavenly high jubilation,"[7] must also be ready to be "sorrowful unto -death"?(ref. same footnote) And it is so, perhaps! The Stoics at least -believed it was so, and they were consistent when they wished to have -the least possible pleasure, in order to have the least possible pain -from life. (When one uses the expression: "The virtuous man is the -happiest," it is as much the sign-board of the school for the masses, as -a casuistic subtlety for the subtle.) At present also ye have still the -choice: either the _least possible pain_, in short painlessness—and -after all, socialists and politicians of all parties could not -honourably promise more to their people,—or the _greatest possible -amount of pain_, as the price of the growth of a fullness of refined -delights and enjoyments rarely tasted hitherto! If ye decide for the -former, if ye therefore want to depress and minimise man's capacity for -pain, well, ye must also depress and minimise his _capacity for -enjoyment_. In fact, one can further the one as well as the other goal -_by science_! Perhaps science is as yet best known by its capacity for -depriving man of enjoyment, and making him colder, more statuesque, and -more Stoical. But it might also turn out to be the _great -pain-bringer_!—And then, perhaps, its counteracting force would be -discovered simultaneously, its immense capacity for making new sidereal -worlds of enjoyment beam forth! - - - 13. - -_The Theory of the Sense of Power._—We exercise our power over others by -doing them good or by doing them ill—that is all we care for! _Doing -ill_ to those on whom we have to make our power felt; for pain is a far -more sensitive means for that purpose than pleasure:—pain always asks -concerning the cause, while pleasure is inclined to keep within itself -and not look backward. _Doing good_ and being kind to those who are in -any way already dependent on us (that is, who are accustomed to think of -us as their _raison d'être_); we want to increase their power, because -we thus increase our own; or we want to show them the advantage there is -in being in our power,—they thus become more contented with their -position, and more hostile to the enemies of _our_ power and readier to -contend with them. If we make sacrifices in doing good or in doing ill, -it does not alter the ultimate value of our actions; even if we stake -our life in the cause, as martyrs for the sake of our church, it is a -sacrifice to _our_ longing for power, or for the purpose of conserving -our sense of power. He who under these circumstances feels that he "is -in possession of truth," how many possessions does he not let go, in -order to preserve this feeling! What does he not throw overboard, in -order to keep himself "up,"—that is to say, _above_ the others who lack -the "truth"! Certainly the condition we are in when we do ill is seldom -so pleasant, so purely pleasant, as that in which we practise -kindness,—it is an indication that we still lack power, or it betrays -ill-humour at this defect in us; it brings with it new dangers and -uncertainties as to the power we already possess, and clouds our horizon -by the prospect of revenge, scorn, punishment and failure. Perhaps only -those most susceptible to the sense of power, and eager for it, will -prefer to impress the seal of power on the resisting individual,—those -to whom the sight of the already subjugated person as the object of -benevolence is a burden and a tedium. It is a question how a person is -accustomed to _season_ his life; it is a matter of taste whether a -person would rather have the slow or the sudden, the safe or the -dangerous and daring increase of power,—he seeks this or that seasoning -always according to his temperament. An easy booty is something -contemptible to proud natures; they have an agreeable sensation only at -the sight of men of unbroken spirit who could be enemies to them, and -similarly, also, at the sight of all not easily accessible possession; -they are often hard toward the sufferer, for he is not worthy of their -effort or their pride,—but they show themselves so much the more -courteous towards their _equals_, with whom strife and struggle would in -any case be full of honour, _if_ at any time an occasion for it should -present itself. It is under the agreeable feelings of _this_ perspective -that the members of the knightly caste have habituated themselves to -exquisite courtesy toward one another.—Pity is the most pleasant feeling -in those who have not much pride, and have no prospect of great -conquests: the easy booty—and that is what every sufferer is—is for them -an enchanting thing. Pity is said to be the virtue of the gay lady. - - - 14. - -_What is called Love._—The lust of property and love: what different -associations each of these ideas evoke!—and yet it might be the same -impulse twice named: on the one occasion disparaged from the standpoint -of those already possessing (in whom the impulse has attained something -of repose, and who are now apprehensive for the safety of their -"possession"); on the other occasion viewed from the standpoint of the -unsatisfied and thirsty, and therefore glorified as "good." Our love of -our neighbour,—is it not a striving after new _property_? And similarly -our love of knowledge, of truth; and in general all the striving after -novelties? We gradually become satiated with the old, the securely -possessed, and again stretch out our hands; even the finest landscape in -which we live for three months is no longer certain of our love, and any -kind of more distant coast excites our covetousness: the possession for -the most part becomes smaller through possessing. Our pleasure in -ourselves seeks to maintain itself, by always transforming something new -_into ourselves_,—that is just possessing. To become satiated with a -possession, that is to become satiated with ourselves. (One can also -suffer from excess,—even the desire to cast away, to share out, can -assume the honourable name of "love.") When we see any one suffering, we -willingly utilise the opportunity then afforded to take possession of -him; the beneficent and sympathetic man, for example, does this; he also -calls the desire for new possession awakened in him, by the name of -"love," and has enjoyment in it, as in a new acquisition suggesting -itself to him. The love of the sexes, however, betrays itself most -plainly as the striving after possession: the lover wants the -unconditioned, sole possession of the person longed for by him; he wants -just as absolute power over her soul as over her body; he wants to be -loved solely, and to dwell and rule in the other soul as what is highest -and most to be desired. When one considers that this means precisely to -_exclude_ all the world from a precious possession, a happiness, and an -enjoyment; when one considers that the lover has in view the -impoverishment and privation of all other rivals, and would like to -become the dragon of his golden hoard, as the most inconsiderate and -selfish of all "conquerors" and exploiters; when one considers finally -that to the lover himself, the whole world besides appears indifferent, -colourless, and worthless, and that he is ready to make every sacrifice, -disturb every arrangement, and put every other interest behind his -own,—one is verily surprised that this ferocious lust of property and -injustice of sexual love should have been glorified and deified to such -an extent at all times; yea, that out of this love the conception of -love as the antithesis of egoism should have been derived, when it is -perhaps precisely the most unqualified expression of egoism. Here, -evidently, the non-possessors and desirers have determined the usage of -language,—there were, of course, always too many of them. Those who have -been favoured with much possession and satiety, have, to be sure, -dropped a word now and then about the "raging demon," as, for instance, -the most lovable and most beloved of all the Athenians—Sophocles; but -Eros always laughed at such revilers,—they were always his greatest -favourites.—There is, of course, here and there on this terrestrial -sphere a kind of sequel to love, in which that covetous longing of two -persons for one another has yielded to a new desire and covetousness, to -a _common_, higher thirst for a superior ideal standing above them: but -who knows this love? Who has experienced it? Its right name is -_friendship_. - - - 15. - -_Out of the Distance._—This mountain makes the whole district which it -dominates charming in every way, and full of significance: after we have -said this to ourselves for the hundredth time, we are so irrationally -and so gratefully disposed towards it, as the giver of this charm, that -we fancy it must itself be the most charming thing in the district—and -so we climb it, and are undeceived. All of a sudden, it itself, and the -whole landscape around and under us, is as it were disenchanted; we had -forgotten that many a greatness, like many a goodness, wants only to be -seen at a certain distance, and entirely from below, not from above,—it -is thus only that _it operates_. Perhaps you know men in your -neighbourhood who can only look at themselves from a certain distance to -find themselves at all endurable, or attractive and enlivening; they are -to be dissuaded from self-knowledge. - - - 16. - -_Across the Plank._—One must be able to dissimulate in intercourse with -persons who are ashamed of their feelings; they experience a sudden -aversion towards anyone who surprises them in a state of tender, or -enthusiastic and high-running feeling, as if he had seen their secrets. -If one wants to be kind to them in such moments one should make them -laugh, or say some kind of cold, playful wickedness:—their feeling -thereby congeals, and they are again self-possessed. But I give the -moral before the story.—We were once on a time so near one another in -the course of our lives, that nothing more seemed to hinder our -friendship and fraternity, and there was merely a small plank between -us. While you were just about to step on it, I asked you: "Do you want -to come across the plank to me?" But then you did not want to come any -longer; and when I again entreated, you were silent. Since then -mountains and torrents, and whatever separates and alienates, have -interposed between us, and even if we wanted to come to one another, we -could no longer do so! When, however, you now remember that small plank, -you have no longer words,—but merely sobs and amazement. - - - 17. - -_Motivation of Poverty._—We cannot, to be sure, by any artifice make a -rich and richly-flowing virtue out of a poor one, but we can gracefully -enough reinterpret its poverty into necessity, so that its aspect no -longer gives pain to us, and we do not make any reproachful faces at -fate on account of it. It is thus that the wise gardener does, who puts -the tiny streamlet of his garden into the arms of a fountain-nymph, and -thus motivates the poverty:—and who would not like him need the nymphs! - - - 18. - -_Ancient Pride._—The ancient savour of nobility is lacking in us, -because the ancient slave is lacking in our sentiment. A Greek of noble -descent found such immense intermediate stages, and such a distance -betwixt his elevation and that ultimate baseness, that he could hardly -even see the slave plainly: even Plato no longer saw him entirely. It is -otherwise with us, accustomed as we are to the _doctrine_ of the -equality of men, although not to the equality itself. A being who has -not the free disposal of himself and has not got leisure,—that is not -regarded by us as anything contemptible; there is perhaps too much of -this kind of slavishness in each of us, in accordance with the -conditions of our social order and activity, which are fundamentally -different from those of the ancients.—The Greek philosopher went through -life with the secret feeling that there were many more slaves than -people supposed—that is to say, that every one was a slave who was not a -philosopher. His pride was puffed up when he considered that even the -mightiest of the earth were thus to be looked upon as slaves. This pride -is also unfamiliar to us, and impossible; the word "slave" has not its -full force for us even in simile. - - - 19. - -_Evil._—Test the life of the best and most productive men and nations, -and ask yourselves whether a tree which is to grow proudly heavenward -can dispense with bad weather and tempests: whether disfavour and -opposition from without, whether every kind of hatred, jealousy, -stubbornness, distrust, severity, greed, and violence do not belong to -the _favouring_ circumstances without which a great growth even in -virtue is hardly possible? The poison by which the weaker nature is -destroyed is strengthening to the strong individual—and he does not call -it poison. - - - 20. - -_Dignity of Folly._—Several millenniums further on in the path of the -last century!—and in everything that man does the highest prudence will -be exhibited: but just thereby prudence will have lost all its dignity. -It will then, sure enough, be necessary to be prudent, but it will also -be so usual and common, that a more fastidious taste will feel this -necessity as _vulgarity_. And just as a tyranny of truth and science -would be in a position to raise the value of falsehood, a tyranny of -prudence could force into prominence a new species of nobleness. To be -noble—that might then mean, perhaps, to be capable of follies. - - - 21. - -_To the Teachers of Unselfishness._—The virtues of a man are called -_good_, not in respect of the results they have for himself, but in -respect of the results which we expect therefrom for ourselves and for -society:—we have all along had very little unselfishness, very little -"non-egoism" in our praise of the virtues! For otherwise it could not -but have been seen that the virtues (such as diligence, obedience, -chastity, piety, justice) are mostly _injurious_ to their possessors, as -impulses which rule in them too vehemently and ardently, and do not want -to be kept in co-ordination with the other impulses by the reason. If -you have a virtue, an actual, perfect virtue (and not merely a kind of -impulse towards virtue!)—you are its _victim_! But your neighbour -praises your virtue precisely on that account! One praises the diligent -man though he injures his sight, or the originality and freshness of his -spirit, by his diligence; the youth is honoured and regretted who has -"worn himself out by work," because one passes the judgment that "for -society as a whole the loss of the best individual is only a small -sacrifice! A pity that this sacrifice should be necessary! A much -greater pity, it is true, if the individual should think differently, -and regard his preservation and development as more important than his -work in the service of society!" And so one regrets this youth, not on -his own account, but because a devoted _instrument_, regardless of -self—a so-called "good man," has been lost to society by his death. -Perhaps one further considers the question, whether it would not have -been more advantageous for the interests of society if he had laboured -with less disregard of himself, and had preserved himself -longer,—indeed, one readily admits an advantage therefrom, but one -esteems the other advantage, namely, that a _sacrifice_ has been made, -and that the disposition of the sacrificial animal has once more been -_obviously_ endorsed—as higher and more enduring. It is accordingly, on -the one part, the instrumental character in the virtues which is praised -when the virtues are praised, and on the other part, the blind, ruling -impulse in every virtue, which refuses to let itself be kept within -bounds by the general advantage to the individual; in short, what is -praised is the unreason in the virtues, in consequence of which the -individual allows himself to be transformed into a function of the -whole. The praise of the virtues is the praise of something which is -privately injurious to the individual; it is praise of impulses which -deprive man of his noblest self-love, and the power to take the best -care of himself. To be sure, for the teaching and embodying of virtuous -habits a series of effects of virtue are displayed, which make it appear -that virtue and private advantage are closely related,—and there is in -fact such a relationship! Blindly furious diligence, for example, the -typical virtue of an instrument, is represented as the way to riches and -honour, and as the most beneficial antidote to tedium and passion: but -people are silent concerning its danger, its greatest dangerousness. -Education proceeds in this manner throughout: it endeavours, by a series -of enticements and advantages, to determine the individual to a certain -mode of thinking and acting, which, when it has become habit, impulse -and passion, rules in him and over him, _in opposition to his ultimate -advantage_, but "for the general good." How often do I see that blindly -furious diligence does indeed create riches and honours, but at the same -time deprives the organs of the refinement by virtue of which alone an -enjoyment of riches and honours is possible; so that really the main -expedient for combating tedium and passion, simultaneously blunts the -senses and makes the spirit refractory towards new stimuli! (The busiest -of all ages—our age—does not know how to make anything out of its great -diligence and wealth, except always more and more wealth, and more and -more diligence; there is even more genius needed for laying out wealth -than for acquiring it!—Well, we shall have our "grandchildren"!) If the -education succeeds, every virtue of the individual is a public utility, -and a private disadvantage in respect to the highest private -end,—probably some psycho-æsthetic stunting, or even premature -dissolution. One should consider successively from the same standpoint -the virtues of obedience, chastity, piety, and justice. The praise of -the unselfish, self-sacrificing, virtuous person—he, consequently, who -does not expend his whole energy and reason for _his own_ conservation, -development, elevation, furtherance and augmentation of power, but lives -as regards himself unassumingly and thoughtlessly, perhaps even -indifferently or ironically,—this praise has in any case not originated -out of the spirit of unselfishness! The "neighbour" praises -unselfishness because _he profits by it_! If the neighbour were -"unselfishly" disposed himself, he would reject that destruction of -power, that injury for _his_ advantage, he would thwart such -inclinations in their origin, and above all he would manifest his -unselfishness just by _not giving it a good name_! The fundamental -contradiction in that morality which at present stands in high honour is -here indicated: the _motives_ to such a morality are in antithesis to -its _principle_! That with which this morality wishes to prove itself, -refutes it out of its criterion of what is moral! The maxim, "Thou shalt -renounce thyself and offer thyself as a sacrifice," in order not to be -inconsistent with its own morality, could only be decreed by a being who -himself renounced his own advantage thereby, and who perhaps in the -required self-sacrifice of individuals brought about his own -dissolution. As soon, however, as the neighbour (or society) recommended -altruism _on account of its utility_, the precisely antithetical -proposition, "Thou shalt seek thy advantage even at the expense of -everybody else," was brought into use: accordingly, "thou shalt," and -"thou shalt not," are preached in one breath! - - - 22. - -_L'Ordre du Jour pour le Roi._—The day commences: let us begin to -arrange for this day the business and fêtes of our most gracious lord, -who at present is still pleased to repose. His Majesty has bad weather -to-day: we shall be careful not to call it bad; we shall not speak of -the weather,—but we shall go through to-day's business somewhat more -ceremoniously and make the fêtes somewhat more festive than would -otherwise be necessary. His Majesty may perhaps even be sick: we shall -give the last good news of the evening at breakfast, the arrival of M. -Montaigne, who knows how to joke so pleasantly about his sickness,—he -suffers from stone. We shall receive several persons (persons!—what -would that old inflated frog, who will be among them, say, if he heard -this word! "I am no person," he would say, "but always the thing -itself")—and the reception will last longer than is pleasant to anybody; -a sufficient reason for telling about the poet who wrote over his door, -"He who enters here will do me an honour; he who does not—a -favour."—That is, forsooth, saying a discourteous thing in a courteous -manner! And perhaps this poet is quite justified on his part in being -discourteous; they say that the rhymes are better than the rhymester. -Well, let him still make many of them, and withdraw himself as much as -possible from the world: and that is doubtless the significance of his -well-bred rudeness! A prince, on the other hand, is always of more value -than his "verse," even when—but what are we about? We gossip, and the -whole court believes that we have already been at work and racked our -brains: there is no light to be seen earlier than that which burns in -our window.—Hark! Was that not the bell? The devil! The day and the -dance commence, and we do not know our rounds! We must then -improvise,—all the world improvises its day. To-day, let us for once do -like all the world!—And therewith vanished my wonderful morning dream, -probably owing to the violent strokes of the tower-clock, which just -then announced the fifth hour with all the importance which is peculiar -to it. It seems to me that, on this occasion, the God of dreams wanted -to make merry over my habits,—it is my habit to commence the day by -arranging it properly, to make it endurable _for myself_, and it is -possible that I may often have done this too formally, and too much like -a prince. - - - 23. - -_The Characteristics of Corruption._—Let us observe the following -characteristics in that condition of society from time to time -necessary, which is designated by the word "corruption." Immediately -upon the appearance of corruption anywhere, a motley _superstition_ -gets the upper hand, and the hitherto universal belief of a people -becomes colourless and impotent in comparison with it; for -superstition is freethinking of the second rank,—he who gives himself -over to it selects certain forms and formulæ which appeal to him, and -permits himself a right of choice. The superstitious man is always -much more of a "person," in comparison with the religious man, and a -superstitious society will be one in which there are many individuals, -and a delight in individuality. Seen from this standpoint superstition -always appears as a _progress_ in comparison with belief, and as a -sign that the intellect becomes more independent and claims to have -its rights. Those who reverence the old religion and the religious -disposition then complain of corruption,—they have hitherto also -determined the usage of language, and have given a bad repute to -superstition, even among the freest spirits. Let us learn that it is a -symptom of _enlightenment_.—Secondly, a society in which corruption -takes a hold is blamed for _effeminacy_: for the appreciation of war, -and the delight in war perceptibly diminish in such a society, and the -conveniences of life are now just as eagerly sought after as were -military and gymnastic honours formerly. But one is accustomed to -overlook the fact that the old national energy and national passion, -which acquired a magnificent splendour in war and in the tourney, has -now transferred itself into innumerable private passions, and has -merely become less visible; indeed in periods of "corruption" the -quantity and quality of the expended energy of a people is probably -greater than ever, and the individual spends it lavishly, to such an -extent as could not be done formerly—he was not then rich enough to do -so! And thus it is precisely in times of "effeminacy" that tragedy -runs at large in and out of doors, it is then that ardent love and -ardent hatred are born, and the flame of knowledge flashes heavenward -in full blaze.—Thirdly, as if in amends for the reproach of -superstition and effeminacy, it is customary to say of such periods of -corruption that they are milder, and that cruelty has then greatly -diminished in comparison with the older, more credulous, and stronger -period. But to this praise I am just as little able to assent as to -that reproach: I only grant so much—namely, that cruelty now becomes -more refined, and its older forms are henceforth counter to the taste; -but the wounding and torturing by word and look reaches its highest -development in times of corruption,—it is now only that _wickedness_ -is created, and the delight in wickedness. The men of the period of -corruption are witty and calumnious; they know that there are yet -other ways of murdering than by the dagger and the ambush—they know -also that all that is _well said_ is believed in.—Fourthly, it is when -"morals decay" that those beings whom one calls tyrants first make -their appearance; they are the forerunners of the _individual_, and as -it were early matured _firstlings_. Yet a little while, and this fruit -of fruits hangs ripe and yellow on the tree of a people,—and only for -the sake of such fruit did this tree exist! When the decay has reached -its worst, and likewise the conflict of all sorts of tyrants, there -always arises the Cæsar, the final tyrant, who puts an end to the -exhausted struggle for sovereignty, by making the exhaustedness work -for him. In his time the individual is usually most mature, and -consequently the "culture" is highest and most fruitful, but not on -his account nor through him: although the men of highest culture love -to flatter their Cæsar by pretending that they are _his_ creation. The -truth, however, is that they need quietness externally, because -internally they have disquietude and labour. In these times bribery -and treason are at their height: for the love of the _ego_, then first -discovered, is much more powerful than the love of the old, used-up, -hackneyed "fatherland"; and the need to be secure in one way or other -against the frightful fluctuations of fortune, opens even the nobler -hands, as soon as a richer and more powerful person shows himself -ready to put gold into them. There is then so little certainty with -regard to the future; people live only for the day: a condition of -mind which enables every deceiver to play an easy game,—people of -course only let themselves be misled and bribed "for the present," and -reserve for themselves futurity and virtue. The individuals, as is -well known, the men who only live for themselves, provide for the -moment more than do their opposites, the gregarious men, because they -consider themselves just as incalculable as the future; and similarly -they attach themselves willingly to despots, because they believe -themselves capable of activities and expedients, which can neither -reckon on being understood by the multitude, nor on finding favour -with them,—but the tyrant or the Cæsar understands the rights of the -Individual even in his excesses, and has an interest in speaking on -behalf of a bolder private morality, and even in giving his hand to -it. For he thinks of himself, and wishes people to think of him what -Napoleon once uttered in his classical style—"I have the right to -answer by an eternal 'thus I am' to everything about which complaint -is brought against me. I am apart from all the world, I accept -conditions from nobody. I wish people also to submit to my fancies, -and to take it quite as a simple matter, if I should indulge in this -or that diversion." Thus spoke Napoleon once to his wife, when she had -reasons for calling in question the fidelity of her husband.—The times -of corruption are the seasons when the apples fall from the tree: I -mean the individuals, the seed-bearers of the future, the pioneers of -the spiritual colonisation and of a new construction of national and -social unions. Corruption is only an abusive term for the _harvest -time_ of a people. - - - 24. - -_Different Dissatisfactions._—The feeble and as it were feminine -dissatisfied people have ingenuity for beautifying and deepening life; -the strong dissatisfied people—the masculine persons among them, to -continue the metaphor—have the ingenuity for improving and safeguarding -life. The former show their weakness and feminine character by willingly -letting themselves be temporarily deceived, and perhaps even by putting -up with a little ecstasy and enthusiasm on a time, but on the whole they -are never to be satisfied, and suffer from the incurability of their -dissatisfaction; moreover they are the patrons of all those who manage -to concoct opiate and narcotic comforts, and just on that account averse -to those who value the physician higher than the priest,—they thereby -encourage the _continuance_ of actual distress! If there had not been a -surplus of dissatisfied persons of this kind in Europe since the time of -the Middle Ages, the remarkable capacity of Europeans for constant -_transformation_ would perhaps not have originated at all; for the -claims of the strong dissatisfied persons are too gross, and really too -modest to resist being finally quieted down. China is an instance of a -country in which dissatisfaction on a grand scale and the capacity for -transformation have died out for many centuries; and the Socialists and -state-idolaters of Europe could easily bring things to Chinese -conditions and to a Chinese "happiness," with their measures for the -amelioration and security of life, provided that they could first of all -root out the sicklier, tenderer, more feminine dissatisfaction and -Romanticism which are still very abundant among us. Europe is an invalid -who owes her best thanks to her incurability and the eternal -transformations of her sufferings; these constant new situations, these -equally constant new dangers, pains, and make-shifts, have at last -generated an intellectual sensitiveness which is almost equal to genius, -and is in any case the mother of all genius. - - - 25. - -_Not Pre-ordained to Knowledge._—There is a purblind humility not at all -rare, and when a person is afflicted with it, he is once for all -unqualified for being a disciple of knowledge. It is this in fact: the -moment a man of this kind perceives anything striking, he turns as it -were on his heel, and says to himself: "You have deceived yourself! -Where have your wits been! This cannot be the truth!"—and then, instead -of looking at it and listening to it with more attention, he runs out of -the way of the striking object as if intimidated, and seeks to get it -out of his head as quickly as possible. For his fundamental rule runs -thus: "I want to see nothing that contradicts the usual opinion -concerning things! Am _I_ created for the purpose of discovering new -truths? There are already too many of the old ones." - - - 26. - -_What is Living?_—Living—that is to continually eliminate from ourselves -what is about to die; Living—that is to be cruel and inexorable towards -all that becomes weak and old in ourselves, and not only in ourselves. -Living—that means, therefore, to be without piety toward the dying, the -wretched and the old? To be continually a murderer?—And yet old Moses -said: "Thou shalt not kill!" - - - 27. - -_The Self-Renouncer._—What does the self-renouncer do? He strives after -a higher world, he wants to fly longer and further and higher than all -men of affirmation—he _throws away many things_ that would burden his -flight, and several things among them that are not valueless, that are -not unpleasant to him: he sacrifices them to his desire for elevation. -Now this sacrificing, this casting away, is the very thing which becomes -visible in him: on that account one calls him the self-renouncer, and as -such he stands before us, enveloped in his cowl, and as the soul of a -hair-shirt. With this effect, however, which he makes upon us he is well -content: he wants to keep concealed from us his desire, his pride, his -intention of flying _above_ us.—Yes! He is wiser than we thought, and so -courteous towards us—this affirmer! For that is what he is, like us, -even in his self-renunciation. - - - 28. - -_Injuring with one's best Qualities._—Our strong points sometimes drive -us so far forward that we cannot any longer endure our weaknesses, and -we perish by them: we also perhaps see this result beforehand, but -nevertheless do not want it to be otherwise. We then become hard towards -that which would fain be spared in us, and our pitilessness is also our -greatness. Such an experience, which must in the end cost us our life, -is a symbol of the collective effect of great men upon others and upon -their epoch:—it is just with their best abilities, with that which only -_they_ can do, that they destroy much that is weak, uncertain, evolving, -and _willing_, and are thereby injurious. Indeed, the case may happen in -which, taken on the whole, they only do injury, because their best is -accepted and drunk up as it were solely by those who lose their -understanding and their egoism by it, as by too strong a beverage; they -become so intoxicated that they go breaking their limbs on all the wrong -roads where their drunkenness drives them. - - - 29. - -_Adventitious Liars._—When people began to combat the unity of Aristotle -in France, and consequently also to defend it, there was once more to be -seen that which has been seen so often, but seen so unwillingly:—_people -imposed false reasons on themselves_ on account of which those laws -ought to exist, merely for the sake of not acknowledging to themselves -that they had _accustomed_ themselves to the authority of those laws, -and did not want any longer to have things otherwise. And people do so -in every prevailing morality and religion, and have always done so: the -reasons and intentions behind the habit, are only added surreptitiously -when people begin to combat the habit, and _ask_ for reasons and -intentions. It is here that the great dishonesty of the conservatives of -all times hides:—they are adventitious liars. - - - 30. - -_The Comedy of Celebrated Men._—Celebrated men who _need_ their fame, -as, for instance, all politicians, no longer select their associates and -friends without after-thoughts: from the one they want a portion of the -splendour and reflection of his virtues; from the other they want the -fear-inspiring power of certain dubious qualities in him, of which -everybody is aware; from another they steal his reputation for idleness -and basking in the sun, because it is advantageous for their own ends to -be regarded temporarily as heedless and lazy:—it conceals the fact that -they lie in ambush; they now use the visionaries, now the experts, now -the brooders, now the pedants in their neighbourhood, as their actual -selves for the time, but very soon they do not need them any longer! And -thus while their environment and outside die off continually, everything -seems to crowd into this environment, and wants to become a "character" -of it; they are like great cities in this respect. Their repute is -continually in process of mutation, like their character, for their -changing methods require this change, and they show and _exhibit_ -sometimes this and sometimes that actual or fictitious quality on the -stage; their friends and associates, as we have said, belong to these -stage properties. On the other hand, that which they aim at must remain -so much the more steadfast, and burnished and resplendent in the -distance,—and this also sometimes needs its comedy and its stage-play. - - - 31. - -_Commerce and Nobility._—Buying and selling is now regarded as something -ordinary, like the art of reading and writing; everyone is now trained -to it even when he is not a tradesman, exercising himself daily in the -art; precisely as formerly in the period of uncivilised humanity, -everyone was a hunter and exercised himself day by day in the art of -hunting. Hunting was then something common: but just as this finally -became a privilege of the powerful and noble, and thereby lost the -character of the commonplace and the ordinary—by ceasing to be necessary -and by becoming an affair of fancy and luxury:—so it might become the -same some day with buying and selling. Conditions of society are -imaginable in which there will be no selling and buying, and in which -the necessity for this art will become quite lost; perhaps it may then -happen that individuals who are less subjected to the law of the -prevailing condition of things will indulge in buying and selling as a -_luxury of sentiment_. It is then only that commerce would acquire -nobility, and the noble would then perhaps occupy themselves just as -readily with commerce as they have done hitherto with war and politics: -while on the other hand the valuation of politics might then have -entirely altered. Already even politics ceases to be the business of a -gentleman; and it is possible that one day it may be found to be so -vulgar as to be brought, like all party literature and daily literature, -under the rubric: "Prostitution of the intellect." - - - 32. - -_Undesirable Disciples._—What shall I do with these two youths! called -out a philosopher dejectedly, who "corrupted" youths, as Socrates had -once corrupted them,—they are unwelcome disciples to me. One of them -cannot say "Nay," and the other says "Half and half" to everything. -Provided they grasped my doctrine, the former would _suffer_ too much, -for my mode of thinking requires a martial soul, willingness to cause -pain, delight in denying, and a hard skin,—he would succumb by open -wounds and internal injuries. And the other will choose the mediocre in -everything he represents, and thus make a mediocrity of the whole,—I -should like my enemy to have such a disciple. - - - 33. - -_Outside the Lecture-room._—"In order to prove that man after all -belongs to the good-natured animals, I would remind you how credulous he -has been for so long a time. It is now only, quite late, and after an -immense self-conquest, that he has become a _distrustful_ animal,—yes! -man is now more wicked than ever."—I do not understand this; why should -man now be more distrustful and more wicked?—"Because he now has -science,—because he needs to have it!"— - - - 34. - -_Historia abscondita._—Every great man has a power which operates -backward; all history is again placed on the scales on his account, and -a thousand secrets of the past crawl out of their lurking-places—into -_his_ sunlight. There is absolutely no knowing what history may be some -day. The past is still perhaps undiscovered in its essence! There are -yet so many retroactive powers needed! - - - 35. - -_Heresy and Witchcraft._—To think otherwise than is customary—that is by -no means so much the activity of a better intellect, as the activity of -strong, wicked inclinations,—severing, isolating, refractory, -mischief-loving, malicious inclinations. Heresy is the counterpart of -witchcraft, and is certainly just as little a merely harmless affair, or -a thing worthy of honour in itself. Heretics and sorcerers are two kinds -of bad men; they have it in common that they also feel themselves -wicked; their unconquerable delight is to attack and injure whatever -rules,—whether it be men or opinions. The Reformation, a kind of -duplication of the spirit of the Middle Ages at a time when it had no -longer a good conscience, produced both of these kinds of people in the -greatest profusion. - - - 36. - -_Last Words._—It will be recollected that the Emperor Augustus, that -terrible man, who had himself as much in his own power, and who could be -silent as well as any wise Socrates, became indiscreet about himself in -his last words; for the first time he let his mask fall, when he gave to -understand that he had carried a mask and played a comedy,—he had played -the father of his country and wisdom on the throne well, even to the -point of illusion! _Plaudite amici, comoedia finita est!_—The thought of -the dying Nero: _qualis artifex pereo!_ was also the thought of the -dying Augustus: histrionic conceit! histrionic loquacity! And the very -counterpart to the dying Socrates!—But Tiberius died silently, that most -tortured of all self-torturers,—_he_ was _genuine_ and not a -stage-player! What may have passed through his head in the end! Perhaps -this: "Life—that is a long death. I am a fool, who shortened the lives -of so many! Was _I_ created for the purpose of being a benefactor? I -should have given them eternal life: and then I could have _seen them -dying_ eternally. I had such good eyes _for that_: _qualis spectator -pereo!_" When he seemed once more to regain his powers after a long -death-struggle, it was considered advisable to smother him with -pillows,—he died a double death. - - - 37. - -_Owing to three Errors._—Science has been furthered during recent -centuries, partly because it was hoped that God's goodness and wisdom -would be best understood therewith and thereby—the principal motive in -the soul of great Englishmen (like Newton); partly because the absolute -utility of knowledge was believed in, and especially the most intimate -connection of morality, knowledge, and happiness—the principal motive in -the soul of great Frenchmen (like Voltaire); and partly because it was -thought that in science there was something unselfish, harmless, -self-sufficing, lovable, and truly innocent to be had, in which the evil -human impulses did not at all participate—the principal motive in the -soul of Spinoza, who felt himself divine, as a knowing being:—it is -consequently owing to three errors that science has been furthered. - - - 38. - -_Explosive People._—When one considers how ready are the forces of young -men for discharge, one does not wonder at seeing them decide so -unfastidiously and with so little selection for this or that cause: -_that_ which attracts them is the sight of eagerness about any cause, as -it were the sight of the burning match—not the cause itself. The more -ingenious seducers on that account operate by holding out the prospect -of an explosion to such persons, and do not urge their cause by means of -reasons; these powder-barrels are not won over by means of reasons! - - - 39. - -_Altered Taste._—The alteration of the general taste is more important -than the alteration of opinions; opinions, with all their proving, -refuting, and intellectual masquerade, are merely symptoms of altered -taste, and are certainly _not_ what they are still so often claimed to -be, the causes of the altered taste. How does the general taste alter? -By the fact of individuals, the powerful and influential persons, -expressing and tyrannically enforcing without any feeling of shame, -_their_ _hoc est ridiculum, hoc est absurdum_; the decisions, therefore, -of their taste and their disrelish:—they thereby lay a constraint upon -many people, out of which there gradually grows a habituation for still -more, and finally a _necessity for all_. The fact, however, that these -individuals feel and "taste" differently, has usually its origin in a -peculiarity of their mode of life, nourishment, or digestion, perhaps in -a surplus or deficiency of the inorganic salts in their blood and brain, -in short in their _physis_; they have, however, the courage to avow -their physical constitution, and to lend an ear even to the most -delicate tones of its requirements: their æsthetic and moral judgments -are those "most delicate tones" of their _physis_. - - - 40. - -_The Lack of a noble Presence._—Soldiers and their leaders have always a -much higher mode of comportment toward one another than workmen and -their employers. At present at least, all militarily established -civilisation still stands high above all so-called industrial -civilisation; the latter, in its present form, is in general the meanest -mode of existence that has ever been. It is simply the law of necessity -that operates here: people want to live, and have to sell themselves; -but they despise him who exploits their necessity, and _purchases_ the -workman. It is curious that the subjection to powerful, fear-inspiring, -and even dreadful individuals, to tyrants and leaders of armies, is not -at all felt so painfully as the subjection to such undistinguished and -uninteresting persons as the captains of industry; in the employer the -workman usually sees merely a crafty, blood-sucking dog of a man, -speculating on every necessity, whose name, form, character, and -reputation are altogether indifferent to him. It is probable that the -manufacturers and great magnates of commerce have hitherto lacked too -much all those forms and attributes of a _superior race_, which alone -make persons interesting; if they had had the nobility of the nobly-born -in their looks and bearing, there would perhaps have been no socialism -in the masses of the people. For these are really ready for _slavery_ of -every kind, provided that the superior class above them constantly shows -itself legitimately superior, and _born_ to command—by its noble -presence! The commonest man feels that nobility is not to be improvised, -and that it is his part to honour it as the fruit of protracted -race-culture,—but the absence of superior presence, and the notorious -vulgarity of manufacturers with red, fat hands, brings up the thought to -him that it is only chance and fortune that has here elevated the one -above the other; well then—so he reasons with himself—let _us_ in our -turn tempt chance and fortune! Let us in our turn throw the dice!—and -socialism commences. - - - 41. - -_Against Remorse._—The thinker sees in his own actions attempts and -questionings to obtain information about something or other; success and -failure are _answers_ to him first and foremost. To vex himself, -however, because something does not succeed, or to feel remorse at -all—he leaves that to those who act because they are commanded to do so, -and expect to get a beating when their gracious master is not satisfied -with the result. - - - 42. - -_Work and Ennui._—In respect to seeking work for the sake of the pay, -almost all men are alike at present in civilised countries; to all of -them work is a means, and not itself the end; on which account they are -not very select in the choice of the work, provided it yields an -abundant profit. But still there are rarer men who would rather perish -than work without _delight_ in their labour: the fastidious people, -difficult to satisfy, whose object is not served by an abundant profit, -unless the work itself be the reward of all rewards. Artists and -contemplative men of all kinds belong to this rare species of human -beings; and also the idlers who spend their life in hunting and -travelling, or in love affairs and adventures. They all seek toil and -trouble in so far as these are associated with pleasure, and they want -the severest and hardest labour, if it be necessary. In other respects, -however, they have a resolute indolence, even should impoverishment, -dishonour, and danger to health and life be associated therewith. They -are not so much afraid of ennui as of labour without pleasure; indeed -they require much ennui, if _their_ work is to succeed with them. For -the thinker and for all inventive spirits ennui is the unpleasant "calm" -of the soul which precedes the happy voyage and the dancing breezes; he -must endure it, he must _await_ the effect it has on him:—it is -precisely _this_ which lesser natures cannot at all experience! It is -common to scare away ennui in every way, just as it is common to labour -without pleasure. It perhaps distinguishes the Asiatics above the -Europeans, that they are capable of a longer and profounder repose; even -their narcotics operate slowly and require patience, in contrast to the -obnoxious suddenness of the European poison, alcohol. - - - 43. - -_What the Laws Betray._—One makes a great mistake when one studies the -penal laws of a people, as if they were an expression of its character; -the laws do not betray what a people is, but what appears to them -foreign, strange, monstrous, and outlandish. The laws concern themselves -with the exceptions to the morality of custom; and the severest -punishments fall on acts which conform to the customs of the -neighbouring peoples. Thus among the Wahabites, there are only two -mortal sins: having another God than the Wahabite God, and—smoking (it -is designated by them as "the disgraceful kind of drinking"). "And how -is it with regard to murder and adultery?"—asked the Englishman with -astonishment on learning these things. "Well, God is gracious and -pitiful!" answered the old chief.—Thus among the ancient Romans there -was the idea that a woman could only sin mortally in two ways: by -adultery on the one hand, and—by wine-drinking on the other. Old Cato -pretended that kissing among relatives had only been made a custom in -order to keep women in control on this point; a kiss meant: did her -breath smell of wine? Wives had actually been punished by death who were -surprised taking wine: and certainly not merely because women under the -influence of wine sometimes unlearn altogether the art of saying No; the -Romans were afraid above all things of the orgiastic and Dionysian -spirit with which the women of Southern Europe at that time (when wine -was still new in Europe) were sometimes visited, as by a monstrous -foreignness which subverted the basis of Roman sentiments; it seemed to -them treason against Rome, as the embodiment of foreignness. - - - 44. - -_The Believed Motive._—However important it may be to know the motives -according to which mankind has really acted hitherto, perhaps the -_belief_ in this or that motive, and therefore that which mankind has -assumed and imagined to be the actual mainspring of its activity -hitherto, is something still more essential for the thinker to know. For -the internal happiness and misery of men have always come to them -through their belief in this or that motive,—_not_ however, through that -which was actually the motive! All about the latter has an interest of -secondary rank. - - - 45. - -_Epicurus._—Yes, I am proud of perceiving the character of Epicurus -differently from anyone else perhaps, and of enjoying the happiness of -the afternoon of antiquity in all that I hear and read of him:—I see his -eye gazing out on a broad whitish sea, over the shore-rocks on which the -sunshine rests, while great and small creatures play in its light, -secure and calm like this light and that eye itself. Such happiness -could only have been devised by a chronic sufferer, the happiness of an -eye before which the sea of existence has become calm, and which can no -longer tire of gazing at the surface and at the variegated, tender, -tremulous skin of this sea. Never previously was there such a moderation -of voluptuousness. - - - 46. - -_Our Astonishment._—There is a profound and fundamental satisfaction in -the fact that science ascertains things that _hold their ground_, and -again furnish the basis for new researches:—it could certainly be -otherwise. Indeed, we are so much convinced of all the uncertainty and -caprice of our judgments, and of the everlasting change of all human -laws and conceptions, that we are really astonished _how persistently_ -the results of science hold their ground! In earlier times people knew -nothing of this changeability of all human things; the custom of -morality maintained the belief that the whole inner life of man was -bound to iron necessity by eternal fetters:—perhaps people then felt a -similar voluptuousness of astonishment when they listened to tales and -fairy stories. The wonderful did so much good to those men, who might -well get tired sometimes of the regular and the eternal. To leave the -ground for once! To soar! To stray! To be mad!—that belonged to the -paradise and the revelry of earlier times; while our felicity is like -that of the shipwrecked man who has gone ashore, and places himself with -both feet on the old, firm ground—in astonishment that it does not rock. - - - 47. - -_The Suppression of the Passions._—When one continually prohibits the -expression of the passions as something to be left to the "vulgar," to -coarser, bourgeois, and peasant natures—that is, when one does not want -to suppress the passions themselves, but only their language and -demeanour, one nevertheless realises _therewith_ just what one does not -want: the suppression of the passions themselves, or at least their -weakening and alteration,—as the court of Louis XIV. (to cite the most -instructive instance), and all that was dependent on it, experienced. -The generation _that followed_, trained in suppressing their expression, -no longer possessed the passions themselves, but had a pleasant, -superficial, playful disposition in their place,—a generation which was -so permeated with the incapacity to be ill-mannered, that even an injury -was not taken and retaliated, except with courteous words. Perhaps our -own time furnishes the most remarkable counterpart to this period: I see -everywhere (in life, in the theatre, and not least in all that is -written) satisfaction at all the _coarser_ outbursts and gestures of -passion; a certain convention of passionateness is now desired,—only not -the passion itself! Nevertheless _it_ will thereby be at last reached, -and our posterity will have a _genuine savagery_, and not merely a -formal savagery and unmannerliness. - - - 48. - -_Knowledge of Distress._—Perhaps there is nothing by which men and -periods are so much separated from one another, as by the different -degrees of knowledge of distress which they possess; distress of the -soul as well as of the body. With respect to the latter, owing to lack -of sufficient self-experience, we men of the present day (in spite of -our deficiencies and infirmities), are perhaps all of us blunderers and -visionaries in comparison with the men of the age of fear—the longest of -all ages,—when the individual had to protect himself against violence, -and for that purpose had to be a man of violence himself. At that time a -man went through a long schooling of corporeal tortures and privations, -and found even in a certain kind of cruelty toward himself, in a -voluntary use of pain, a necessary means for his preservation; at that -time a person trained his environment to the endurance of pain; at that -time a person willingly inflicted pain, and saw the most frightful -things of this kind happen to others, without having any other feeling -than for his own security. As regards the distress of the soul, however, -I now look at every man with respect to whether he knows it by -experience or by description; whether he still regards it as necessary -to simulate this knowledge, perhaps as an indication of more refined -culture; or whether, at the bottom of his heart, he does not at all -believe in great sorrows of soul, and at the naming of them has in his -mind a similar experience as at the naming of great corporeal -sufferings, such as tooth-aches, and stomach-aches. It is thus, however, -that it seems to be with most people at present. Owing to the universal -inexperience of both kinds of pain, and the comparative rarity of the -spectacle of a sufferer, an important consequence results: people now -hate pain far more than earlier man did, and calumniate it worse than -ever; indeed people nowadays can hardly endure the _thought_ of pain, -and make out of it an affair of conscience and a reproach to collective -existence. The appearance of pessimistic philosophies is not at all the -sign of great and dreadful miseries; for these interrogative marks -regarding the worth of life appear in periods when the refinement and -alleviation of existence already deem the unavoidable gnat-stings of the -soul and body as altogether too bloody and wicked; and in the poverty of -actual experiences of pain, would now like to make _painful general -ideas_ appear as suffering of the worst kind.—There might indeed be a -remedy for pessimistic philosophies and the excessive sensibility which -seems to me the real "distress of the present":—but perhaps this remedy -already sounds too cruel, and would itself be reckoned among the -symptoms owing to which people at present conclude that "existence is -something evil." Well! the remedy for "the distress" is _distress_. - - - 49. - -_Magnanimity and allied Qualities._—Those paradoxical phenomena, such as -the sudden coldness in the demeanour of good-natured men, the humour of -the melancholy, and above all _magnanimity_, as a sudden renunciation of -revenge or of the gratification of envy—appear in men in whom there is a -powerful inner impulsiveness, in men of sudden satiety and sudden -disgust. Their satisfactions are so rapid and violent that satiety, -aversion, and flight into the antithetical taste, immediately follow -upon them: in this contrast the convulsion of feeling liberates itself, -in one person by sudden coldness, in another by laughter, and in a third -by tears and self-sacrifice. The magnanimous person appears to me—at -least that kind of magnanimous person who has always made most -impression—as a man with the strongest thirst for vengeance, to whom a -gratification presents itself close at hand, and who _already_ drinks it -off _in imagination_ so copiously, thoroughly, and to the last drop, -that an excessive, rapid disgust follows this rapid licentiousness;—he -now elevates himself "above himself," as one says, and forgives his -enemy, yea, blesses and honours him. With this violence done to himself, -however, with this mockery of his impulse to revenge, even still so -powerful, he merely yields to the new impulse, the disgust which has -become powerful, and does this just as impatiently and licentiously, as -a short time previously he _forestalled_, and as it were exhausted, the -joy of revenge with his fantasy. In magnanimity there is the same amount -of egoism as in revenge, but a different quality of egoism. - - - 50. - -_The Argument of Isolation._—The reproach of conscience, even in the -most conscientious, is weak against the feeling: "This and that are -contrary to the good morals of _your_ society." A cold glance or a wry -mouth, on the part of those among whom and for whom one has been -educated, is still _feared_ even by the strongest. What is really feared -there? Isolation! as the argument which demolishes even the best -arguments for a person or cause!—It is thus that the gregarious instinct -speaks in us. - - - 51. - -_Sense for Truth._—Commend me to all scepticism where I am permitted to -answer: "Let us put it to the test!" But I don't wish to hear anything -more of things and questions which do not admit of being tested. That is -the limit of my "sense for truth": for bravery has there lost its right. - - - 52. - -_What others Know of us._—That which we know of ourselves and have in -our memory is not so decisive for the happiness of our life as is -generally believed. One day it flashes upon our mind what _others_ know -of us (or think they know)—and then we acknowledge that it is the more -powerful. We get on with our bad conscience more easily than with our -bad reputation. - - - 53. - -_Where Goodness Begins._—Where bad eyesight can no longer see the evil -impulse as such, on account of its refinement,—there man sets up the -kingdom of goodness; and the feeling of having now gone over into the -kingdom of goodness brings all those impulses (such as the feelings of -security, of comfortableness, of benevolence) into simultaneous -activity, which were threatened and confined by the evil impulses. -Consequently, the duller the eye so much the further does goodness -extend! Hence the eternal cheerfulness of the populace and of children! -Hence the gloominess and grief (allied to the bad conscience) of great -thinkers. - - - 54. - -_The Consciousness of Appearance._—How wonderfully and novelly, and at -the same time how awfully and ironically, do I feel myself situated with -respect to collective existence, with my knowledge! I have _discovered_ -for myself that the old humanity and animality, yea, the collective -primeval age, and the past of all sentient being, continues to meditate, -love, hate, and reason in me,—I have suddenly awoke in the midst of this -dream, but merely to the consciousness that I just dream, and that I -_must_ dream on in order not to perish; just as the sleep-walker must -dream on in order not to tumble down. What is it that is now -"appearance" to me! Verily, not the antithesis of any kind of -essence,—what knowledge can I assert of any kind of essence whatsoever, -except merely the predicates of its appearance! Verily not a dead mask -which one could put upon an unknown X, and which to be sure one could -also remove! Appearance is for me the operating and living thing itself; -which goes so far in its self-mockery as to make me feel that here there -is appearance, and Will o' the Wisp, and spirit-dance, and nothing -more,—that among all these dreamers, I also, the "thinker," dance my -dance, that the thinker is a means of prolonging further the terrestrial -dance, and in so far is one of the masters of ceremony of existence, and -that the sublime consistency and connectedness of all branches of -knowledge is perhaps, and will perhaps, be the best means for -_maintaining_ the universality of the dreaming, the complete, mutual -understandability of all those dreamers, and thereby _the duration of -the dream_. - - - 55. - -_The Ultimate Nobility of Character._—What then makes a person "noble"? -Certainly not that he makes sacrifices; even the frantic libertine makes -sacrifices. Certainly not that he generally follows his passions; there -are contemptible passions. Certainly not that he does something for -others and without selfishness; perhaps the effect of selfishness is -precisely at its greatest in the noblest persons.—But that the passion -which seizes the noble man is a peculiarity, without his knowing that it -is so: the use of a rare and singular measuring-rod, almost a frenzy: -the feeling of heat in things which feel cold to all other persons: a -divining of values for which scales have not yet been invented: a -sacrificing on altars which are consecrated to an unknown God: a bravery -without the desire for honour: a self-sufficiency which has -superabundance, and imparts to men and things. Hitherto, therefore, it -has been the rare in man, and the unconsciousness of this rareness, that -has made men noble. Here, however, let us consider that everything -ordinary, immediate, and indispensable, in short, what has been most -preservative of the species, and generally the _rule_ in mankind -hitherto, has been judged unreasonable and calumniated in its entirety -by this standard, in favour of the exceptions. To become the advocate of -the rule—that may perhaps be the ultimate form and refinement in which -nobility of character will reveal itself on earth. - - - 56. - -_The Desire for Suffering._—When I think of the desire to do something, -how it continually tickles and stimulates millions of young Europeans, -who cannot endure themselves and all their ennui,—I conceive that there -must be a desire in them to suffer something, in order to derive from -their suffering a worthy motive for acting, for doing something. -Distress is necessary! Hence the cry of the politicians, hence the many -false, trumped-up, exaggerated "states of distress" of all possible -kinds, and the blind readiness to believe in them. This young world -desires that there should arrive or appear _from the outside_—not -happiness—but misfortune; and their imagination is already busy -beforehand to form a monster out of it, so that they may afterwards be -able to fight with a monster. If these distress-seekers felt the power -to benefit themselves, to do something for themselves from internal -sources, they would also understand how to create a distress of their -own, specially their own, from internal sources. Their inventions might -then be more refined, and their gratifications might sound like good -music: while at present they fill the world with their cries of -distress, and consequently too often with the _feeling of distress_ in -the first place! They do not know what to make of themselves—and so they -paint the misfortune of others on the wall; they always need others! And -always again other others!—Pardon me, my friends, I have ventured to -paint my _happiness_ on the wall. - ------ - -Footnote 7: - - Allusions to the song of Clara in Goethe's "Egmont."—TR. - - - - - BOOK SECOND - - - 57. - -_To the Realists._—Ye sober beings, who feel yourselves armed against -passion and fantasy, and would gladly make a pride and an ornament out -of your emptiness, ye call yourselves realists and give to understand -that the world is actually constituted as it appears to you; before you -alone reality stands unveiled, and ye yourselves would perhaps be the -best part of it,—oh, ye dear images of Sais! But are not ye also in your -unveiled condition still extremely passionate and dusky beings compared -with the fish, and still all too like an enamoured artist?[8]—and what -is "reality" to an enamoured artist! Ye still carry about with you the -valuations of things which had their origin in the passions and -infatuations of earlier centuries! There is still a secret and -ineffaceable drunkenness embodied in your sobriety! Your love of -"reality," for example—oh, that is an old, primitive "love"! In every -feeling, in every sense-impression, there is a portion of this old love: -and similarly also some kind of fantasy, prejudice, irrationality, -ignorance, fear, and whatever else has become mingled and woven into it. -There is that mountain! There is that cloud! What is "real" in them? -Remove the phantasm and the whole human _element_ therefrom, ye sober -ones! Yes, if ye could do _that_! If ye could forget your origin, your -past, your preparatory schooling,—your whole history as man and beast! -There is no "reality" for us—nor for you either, ye sober ones,—we are -far from being so alien to one another as ye suppose, and perhaps our -good-will to get beyond drunkenness is just as respectable as your -belief that ye are altogether _incapable_ of drunkenness. - - - 58. - -_Only as Creators!_—It has caused me the greatest trouble, and for ever -causes me the greatest trouble, to perceive that unspeakably more -depends upon _what things are called_, than on what they are. The -reputation, the name and appearance, the importance, the usual measure -and weight of things—each being in origin most frequently an error and -arbitrariness thrown over the things like a garment, and quite alien to -their essence and even to their exterior—have gradually, by the belief -therein and its continuous growth from generation to generation, grown -as it were on-and-into things and become their very body; the appearance -at the very beginning becomes almost always the essence in the end, and -_operates_ as the essence! What a fool he would be who would think it -enough to refer here to this origin and this nebulous veil of illusion, -in order to _annihilate_ that which virtually passes for the -world—namely, so-called "reality"! It is only as creators that we can -annihilate!—But let us not forget this: it suffices to create new names -and valuations and probabilities, in order in the long run to create new -"things." - - - 59. - -_We Artists!_—When we love a woman we have readily a hatred against -nature, on recollecting all the disagreeable natural functions to which -every woman is subject; we prefer not to think of them at all, but if -once our soul touches on these things it twitches impatiently, and -glances, as we have said, contemptuously at nature:—we are hurt; nature -seems to encroach upon our possessions, and with the profanest hands. We -then shut our ears against all physiology, and we decree in secret that -"we will hear nothing of the fact that man is something else than _soul -and form_!" "The man under the skin" is an abomination and monstrosity, -a blasphemy of God and of love to all lovers.—Well, just as the lover -still feels with respect to nature and natural functions, so did every -worshipper of God and his "holy omnipotence" formerly feel: in all that -was said of nature by astronomers, geologists, physiologists, and -physicians, he saw an encroachment on his most precious possession, and -consequently an attack,—and moreover also an impertinence of the -assailant! The "law of nature" sounded to him as blasphemy against God; -in truth he would too willingly have seen the whole of mechanics traced -back to moral acts of volition and arbitrariness:—but because nobody -could render him this service, he _concealed_ nature and mechanism from -himself as best he could, and lived in a dream. Oh, those men of former -times understood how to _dream_, and did not need first to go to -sleep!—and we men of the present day also still understand it too well, -with all our good-will for wakefulness and daylight! It suffices to -love, to hate, to desire, and in general to feel,—_immediately_ the -spirit and the power of the dream come over us, and we ascend, with open -eyes and indifferent to all danger, the most dangerous paths, to the -roofs and towers of fantasy, and without any giddiness, as persons born -for climbing—we the night-walkers by day! We artists! We concealers of -naturalness! We moon-struck and God-struck ones! We dead-silent, -untiring wanderers on heights which we do not see as heights, but as our -plains, as our places of safety! - - - 60. - -_Women and their Effect in the Distance._—Have I still ears? Am I only -ear, and nothing else besides? Here I stand in the midst of the surging -of the breakers, whose white flames fork up to my feet;—from all sides -there is howling, threatening, crying, and screaming at me, while in the -lowest depths the old earth-shaker sings his aria, hollow like a roaring -bull; he beats such an earth-shaker's measure thereto, that even the -hearts of these weathered rock-monsters tremble at the sound. Then, -suddenly, as if born out of nothingness, there appears before the portal -of this hellish labyrinth, only a few fathoms distant,—a great -sailing-ship gliding silently along like a ghost. Oh, this ghostly -beauty! With what enchantment it seizes me! What? Has all the repose and -silence in the world embarked here? Does my happiness itself sit in this -quiet place, my happier ego, my second immortalised self? Still not -dead, yet also no longer living? As a ghost-like, calm, gazing, gliding, -sweeping, neutral being? Similar to the ship, which, with its white -sails, like an immense butterfly, passes over the dark sea! Yes! Passing -_over_ existence! That is it! That would be it!——It seems that the noise -here has made me a visionary? All great noise causes one to place -happiness in the calm and the distance. When a man is in the midst of -_his_ hubbub, in the midst of the breakers of his plots and plans, he -there sees perhaps calm, enchanting beings glide past him, for whose -happiness and retirement he longs—_they are women_. He almost thinks -that there with the women dwells his better self; that in these calm -places even the loudest breakers become still as death, and life itself -a dream of life. But still! But still! My noble enthusiast, there is -also in the most beautiful sailing-ship so much noise and bustling, and -alas, so much petty, pitiable bustling! The enchantment and the most -powerful effect of women is, to use the language of philosophers, an -effect at a distance, an _actio in distans_; there belongs thereto, -however, primarily and above all,—_distance_! - - - 61. - -_In Honour of Friendship._—That the sentiment of friendship was regarded -by antiquity as the highest sentiment, higher even than the most vaunted -pride of the self-sufficient and wise, yea as it were its sole and still -holier brotherhood, is very well expressed by the story of the -Macedonian king who made the present of a talent to a cynical Athenian -philosopher from whom he received it back again. "What?" said the king, -"has he then no friend?" He therewith meant to say, "I honour this pride -of the wise and independent man, but I should have honoured his humanity -still higher if the friend in him had gained the victory over his pride. -The philosopher has lowered himself in my estimation, for he showed that -he did not know one of the two highest sentiments—and in fact the higher -of them!" - - - 62. - -_Love._—Love pardons even the passion of the beloved. - - - 63. - -_Woman in Music._—How does it happen that warm and rainy winds bring the -musical mood and the inventive delight in melody with them? Are they not -the same winds that fill the churches and give women amorous thoughts? - - - 64. - -_Sceptics._—I fear women who have become old are more sceptical in the -secret recesses of their hearts than any of the men are; they believe in -the superficiality of existence as in its essence, and all virtue and -profundity is to them only the disguising of this "truth," the very -desirable disguising of a _pudendum_,—an affair, therefore, of decency -and of modesty, and nothing more! - - - 65. - -_Devotedness._—There are noble women with a certain poverty of spirit, -who, in order to _express_ their profoundest devotedness, have no other -alternative but to offer their virtue and modesty: it is the highest -thing they have. And this present is often accepted without putting the -recipient under such deep obligation as the giver supposed,—a very -melancholy story! - - - 66. - -_The Strength of the Weak._—Women are all skilful in exaggerating their -weaknesses, indeed they are inventive in weaknesses, so as to seem quite -fragile ornaments to which even a grain of dust does harm; their -existence is meant to bring home to man's mind his coarseness, and to -appeal to his conscience. They thus defend themselves against the strong -and all "rights of might." - - - 67. - -_Self-dissembling._—She loves him now and has since been looking forth -with as quiet confidence as a cow; but alas! It was precisely his -delight that she seemed so fitful and absolutely incomprehensible! He -had rather too much steady weather in himself already! Would she not do -well to feign her old character? to feign indifference? Does not—love -itself advise her _to do so_? _Vivat comœdia!_ - - - 68. - -_Will and Willingness._—Some one brought a youth to a wise man and said, -"See, this is one who is being corrupted by women!" The wise man shook -his head and smiled. "It is men," he called out, "who corrupt women; and -everything that women lack should be atoned for and improved in men,—for -man creates for himself the ideal of woman, and woman moulds herself -according to this ideal."—"You are too tender-hearted towards women," -said one of the bystanders, "you do not know them!" The wise man -answered: "Man's attribute is will, woman's attribute is -willingness,—such is the law of the sexes, verily! a hard law for woman! -All human beings are innocent of their existence, women, however, are -doubly innocent; who could have enough of salve and gentleness for -them!"—"What about salve! What about gentleness!" called out another -person in the crowd, "we must educate women better!"—"We must educate -men better," said the wise man, and made a sign to the youth to follow -him.—The youth, however, did not follow him. - - - 69. - -_Capacity for Revenge._—That a person cannot and consequently will not -defend himself, does not yet cast disgrace upon him in our eyes; but we -despise the person who has neither the ability nor the good-will for -revenge—whether it be a man or a woman. Would a woman be able to -captivate us (or, as people say, to "fetter" us) whom we did not credit -with knowing how to employ the dagger (any kind of dagger) skilfully -_against us_ under certain circumstances? Or against herself; which in a -certain case might be the severest revenge (the Chinese revenge). - - - 70. - -_The Mistresses of the Masters._—A powerful contralto voice, as we -occasionally hear it in the theatre, raises suddenly for us the curtain -on possibilities in which we usually do not believe; all at once we are -convinced that somewhere in the world there may be women with high, -heroic, royal souls, capable and prepared for magnificent remonstrances, -resolutions, and self-sacrifices, capable and prepared for domination -over men, because in them the best in man, superior to sex, has become a -corporeal ideal. To be sure, it is not the intention of the theatre that -such voices should give such a conception of women; they are usually -intended to represent the ideal male lover, for example, a Romeo; but, -to judge by my experience, the theatre regularly miscalculates here, and -the musician also, who expects such effects from such a voice. People do -not believe in _these_ lovers; these voices still contain a tinge of the -motherly and housewifely character, and most of all when love is in -their tone. - - - 71. - -_On Female Chastity._—There is something quite astonishing and -extraordinary in the education of women of the higher class; indeed, -there is perhaps nothing more paradoxical. All the world is agreed to -educate them with as much ignorance as possible _in eroticis_, and to -inspire their soul with a profound shame of such things, and the -extremest impatience and horror at the suggestion of them. It is really -here only that all the "honour" of woman is at stake; what would one not -forgive them in other respects! But here they are intended to remain -ignorant to the very backbone:—they are intended to have neither eyes, -ears, words, nor thoughts for this, their "wickedness"; indeed knowledge -here is already evil. And then! To be hurled as with an awful -thunderbolt into reality and knowledge with marriage—and indeed by him -whom they most love and esteem: to have to encounter love and shame in -contradiction, yea, to have to feel rapture, abandonment, duty, -sympathy, and fright at the unexpected proximity of God and animal, and -whatever else besides! all at once!—There, in fact, a psychic -entanglement has been effected which is quite unequalled! Even the -sympathetic curiosity of the wisest discerner of men does not suffice to -divine how this or that woman gets along with the solution of this -enigma and the enigma of this solution; what dreadful, far-reaching -suspicions must awaken thereby in the poor unhinged soul; and forsooth, -how the ultimate philosophy and scepticism of the woman casts anchor at -this point!—Afterwards the same profound silence as before: and often -even a silence to herself, a shutting of her eyes to herself.—Young -wives on that account make great efforts to appear superficial and -thoughtless; the most ingenious of them simulate a kind of -impudence.—Wives easily feel their husbands as a question-mark to their -honour, and their children as an apology or atonement,—they require -children, and wish for them in quite another spirit than a husband -wishes for them.—In short, one cannot be gentle enough towards women! - - - 72. - -_Mothers._—Animals think differently from men with respect to females; -with them the female is regarded as the productive being. There is no -paternal love among them, but there is such a thing as love of the -children of a beloved, and habituation to them. In the young, the -females find gratification for their lust of dominion; the young are a -property, an occupation, something quite comprehensible to them, with -which they can chatter: all this conjointly is maternal love,—it is to -be compared to the love of the artist for his work. Pregnancy has made -the females gentler, more expectant, more timid, more submissively -inclined; and similarly intellectual pregnancy engenders the character -of the contemplative, who are allied to women in character:—they are the -masculine mothers.—Among animals the masculine sex is regarded as the -beautiful sex. - - - 73. - -_Saintly Cruelty._—A man holding a newly born child in his hands came to -a saint. "What should I do with the child," he asked, "it is wretched, -deformed, and has not even enough of life to die." "Kill it," cried the -saint with a dreadful voice, "kill it, and then hold it in thy arms for -three days and three nights to brand it on thy memory:—thus wilt thou -never again beget a child when it is not the time for thee to -beget."—When the man had heard this he went away disappointed; and many -found fault with the saint because he had advised cruelty, for he had -advised to kill the child. "But is it not more cruel to let it live?" -asked the saint. - - - 74. - -_The Unsuccessful._—Those poor women always fail of success who become -agitated and uncertain, and talk too much in presence of him whom they -love; for men are most successfully seduced by a certain subtle and -phlegmatic tenderness. - - - 75. - -_The Third Sex._—"A small man is a paradox, but still a man,—but the -small woman seems to me to be of another sex in comparison with -well-grown ones"—said an old dancing-master. A small woman is never -beautiful—said old Aristotle. - - - 76. - -_The greatest Danger._—Had there not at all times been a larger number -of men who regarded the cultivation of their mind—their "rationality"—as -their pride, their obligation, their virtue, and were injured or shamed -by all play of fancy and extravagance of thinking—as lovers of "sound -common sense":—mankind would long ago have perished! Incipient -_insanity_ has hovered, and hovers continually over mankind as its -greatest danger: that is precisely the breaking out of inclination in -feeling, seeing, and hearing; the enjoyment of the unruliness of the -mind; the delight in human unreason. It is not truth and certainty that -is the antithesis of the world of the insane, but the universality and -all-obligatoriness of a belief, in short, non-voluntariness in forming -opinions. And the greatest labour of human beings hitherto has been to -agree with one another regarding a great many things, and to impose upon -themselves a _law of agreement_—indifferent whether these things are -true or false. This is the discipline of the mind which has preserved -mankind;—but the counter-impulses are still so powerful that one can -really speak of the future of mankind with little confidence. The ideas -of things still continually shift and move, and will perhaps alter more -than ever in the future; it is continually the most select spirits -themselves who strive against universal obligatoriness—the investigators -of _truth_ above all! The accepted belief, as the belief of all the -world, continually engenders a disgust and a new longing in the more -ingenious minds; and already the slow _tempo_ which it demands for all -intellectual processes (the imitation of the tortoise, which is here -recognised as the rule) makes the artists and poets runaways:—it is in -these impatient spirits that a downright delight in delirium breaks out, -because delirium has such a joyful _tempo_! Virtuous intellects, -therefore, are needed—ah! I want to use the least ambiguous -word,—_virtuous stupidity_ is needed, imperturbable conductors of the -_slow_ spirits are needed, in order that the faithful of the great -collective belief may remain with one another and dance their dance -further: it is a necessity of the first importance that here enjoins and -demands. _We others are the exceptions and the danger_,—we eternally -need protection!—Well, there can actually be something said in favour of -the exceptions _provided that they never want to become the rule_. - - - 77. - -_The Animal with good Conscience._—It is not unknown to me that there is -vulgarity in everything that pleases Southern Europe—whether it be -Italian opera (for example, Rossini's and Bellini's), or the Spanish -adventure-romance (most readily accessible to us in the French garb of -Gil Blas)—but it does not offend me, any more than the vulgarity which -one encounters in a walk through Pompeii, or even in the reading of -every ancient book: what is the reason of this? Is it because shame is -lacking here, and because the vulgar always comes forward just as sure -and certain of itself as anything noble, lovely, and passionate in the -same kind of music or romance? "The animal has its rights like man, so -let it run about freely; and you, my dear fellow-man, are still this -animal, in spite of all!"—that seems to me the moral of the case, and -the peculiarity of southern humanity. Bad taste has its rights like good -taste, and even a prerogative over the latter when it is the great -requisite, the sure satisfaction, and as it were a universal language, -an immediately intelligible mask and attitude; the excellent, select -taste on the other hand has always something of a seeking, tentative -character, not fully certain that it understands,—it is never, and has -never been popular! The _masque_ is and remains popular! So let all this -masquerade run along in the melodies and cadences, in the leaps and -merriment of the rhythm of these operas! Quite the ancient life! What -does one understand of it, if one does not understand the delight in the -masque, the good conscience of all masquerade! Here is the bath and the -refreshment of the ancient spirit:—and perhaps this bath was still more -necessary for the rare and sublime natures of the ancient world than for -the vulgar.—On the other hand, a vulgar turn in northern works, for -example in German music, offends me unutterably. There is _shame_ in it, -the artist has lowered himself in his own sight, and could not even -avoid blushing: we are ashamed with him, and are so hurt because we -surmise that he believed he had to lower himself on our account. - - - 78. - -_What we should be Grateful for._—It is only the artists, and especially -the theatrical artists who have furnished men with eyes and ears to hear -and see with some pleasure what everyone is in himself, what he -experiences and aims at: it is only _they_ who have taught us how to -estimate the hero that is concealed in each of these common-place men, -and the art of looking at ourselves from a distance as heroes, and as it -were simplified and transfigured,—the art of "putting ourselves on the -stage" before ourselves. It is thus only that we get beyond some of the -paltry details in ourselves! Without that art we should be nothing but -fore-ground, and would live absolutely under the spell of the -perspective which makes the closest and the commonest seem immensely -large and like reality in itself.—Perhaps there is merit of a similar -kind in the religion which commanded us to look at the sinfulness of -every individual man with a magnifying-glass, and to make a great, -immortal criminal out of the sinner; in that it put eternal perspectives -around man, it taught him to see himself from a distance, and as -something past, something entire. - - - 79. - -_The Charm of Imperfection._—I see here a poet, who, like so many men, -exercises a higher charm by his imperfections than by all that is -rounded off and takes perfect shape under his hands,—indeed, he derives -his advantage and reputation far more from his actual limitations than -from his abundant powers. His work never expresses altogether what he -would really like to express, what he _would like to have seen_: he -appears to have had the foretaste of a vision and never the vision -itself:—but an extraordinary longing for this vision has remained in his -soul; and from this he derives his equally extraordinary eloquence of -longing and craving. With this he raises those who listen to him above -his work and above all "works," and gives them wings to rise higher than -hearers have ever risen before, thus making them poets and seers -themselves; they then show an admiration for the originator of their -happiness, as if he had led them immediately to the vision of his -holiest and ultimate verities, as if he had reached his goal, and had -actually _seen_ and communicated his vision. It is to the advantage of -his reputation that he has not really arrived at his goal. - - - 80. - -_Art and Nature._—The Greeks (or at least the Athenians) liked to hear -good talking: indeed they had an eager inclination for it, which -distinguished them more than anything else from non-Greeks. And so they -required good talking even from passion on the stage, and submitted to -the unnaturalness of dramatic verse with delight:—in nature, forsooth, -passion is so sparing of words! so dumb and confused! Or if it finds -words, so embarrassed and irrational and a shame to itself! We have now, -all of us, thanks to the Greeks, accustomed ourselves to this -unnaturalness on the stage, as we endure that other unnaturalness, the -_singing_ passion, and willingly endure it, thanks to the Italians.—It -has become a necessity to us, which we cannot satisfy out of the -resources of actuality, to hear men talk well and in full detail in the -most trying situations: it enraptures us at present when the tragic hero -still finds words, reasons, eloquent gestures, and on the whole a bright -spirituality, where life approaches the abysses, and where the actual -man mostly loses his head, and certainly his fine language. This kind of -_deviation from nature_ is perhaps the most agreeable repast for man's -pride: he loves art generally on account of it, as the expression of -high, heroic unnaturalness and convention. One rightly objects to the -dramatic poet when he does not transform everything into reason and -speech, but always retains a remnant of _silence_:—just as one is -dissatisfied with an operatic musician who cannot find a melody for the -highest emotion, but only an emotional, "natural" stammering and crying. -Here nature _has to_ be contradicted! Here the common charm of illusion -_has to_ give place to a higher charm! The Greeks go far, far in this -direction—frightfully far! As they constructed the stage as narrow as -possible and dispensed with all the effect of deep backgrounds, as they -made pantomime and easy motion impossible to the actor, and transformed -him into a solemn, stiff, masked bogey, so they have also deprived -passion itself of its deep background, and have dictated to it a law of -fine talk; indeed, they have really done everything to counteract the -elementary effect of representations that inspire pity and terror: _they -did not want pity and terror_,—with due deference, with the highest -deference to Aristotle! but he certainly did not hit the nail, to say -nothing of the head of the nail, when he spoke about the final aim of -Greek tragedy! Let us but look at the Grecian tragic poets with respect -to _what_ most excited their diligence, their inventiveness, and their -emulation,—certainly it was not the intention of subjugating the -spectators by emotion! The Athenian went to the theatre _to hear fine -talking_! And fine talking was arrived at by Sophocles!—pardon me this -heresy!—It is very different with _serious opera_: all its masters make -it their business to prevent their personages being understood. "An -occasional word picked up may come to the assistance of the inattentive -listener; but on the whole the situation must be self-explanatory,—the -_talking_ is of no account!"—so they all think, and so they have all -made fun of the words. Perhaps they have only lacked courage to express -fully their extreme contempt for words: a little additional insolence in -Rossini, and he would have allowed la-la-la-la to be sung throughout—and -it might have been the rational course! The personages of the opera are -_not_ meant to be believed "in their words," but in their tones! That is -the difference, that is the fine _unnaturalness_ on account of which -people go to the opera! Even the _recitativo secco_ is not really -intended to be heard as words and text: this kind of half-music is meant -rather in the first place to give the musical ear a little repose (the -repose from _melody_, as from the sublimest, and on that account the -most straining enjoyment of this art),—but very soon something different -results, namely, an increasing impatience, an increasing resistance, a -new longing for _entire_ music, for melody.—How is it with the art of -Richard Wagner as seen from this standpoint? Is it perhaps the same? -Perhaps otherwise? It would often seem to me as if one needed to have -learned by heart both the words _and_ the music of his creations before -the performances; for without that—so it seemed to me—one _may hear_ -neither the words, nor even the music. - - - 81. - -_Grecian Taste._—"What is beautiful in it?"—asked a certain -geometrician, after a performance of the _Iphigenia_—"there is nothing -proved in it!" Could the Greeks have been so far from this taste? In -Sophocles at least "everything is proved." - - - 82. - -_Esprit Un-Grecian._—The Greeks were exceedingly logical and plain in -all their thinking; they did not get tired of it, at least during their -long flourishing period, as is so often the case with the French; who -too willingly made a little excursion into the opposite, and in fact -endure the spirit of logic only when it betrays its _sociable_ courtesy, -its sociable self-renunciation, by a multitude of such little excursions -into its opposite. Logic appears to them as necessary as bread and -water, but also like these as a kind of prison-fare, as soon as it is to -be taken pure and by itself. In good society one must never want to be -in the right absolutely and solely, as all pure logic requires; hence, -the little dose of irrationality in all French _esprit_.—The social -sense of the Greeks was far less developed than that of the French in -the present and the past; hence, so little _esprit_ in their cleverest -men, hence, so little wit, even in their wags, hence—alas! But people -will not readily believe these tenets of mine, and how much of the kind -I have still on my soul!—_Est res magna tacere_—says Martial, like all -garrulous people. - - - 83. - -_Translations._—One can estimate the amount of the historical sense -which an age possesses by the way in which it makes _translations_ and -seeks to embody in itself past periods and literatures. The French of -Corneille, and even the French of the Revolution, appropriated Roman -antiquity in a manner for which we would no longer have the -courage—owing to our superior historical sense. And Roman antiquity -itself: how violently, and at the same time how naïvely, did it lay its -hand on everything excellent and elevated belonging to the older Grecian -antiquity! How they translated these writings into the Roman present! -How they wiped away intentionally and unconcernedly the wing-dust of the -butterfly moment! It is thus that Horace now and then translated Alcæus -or Archilochus, it is thus that Propertius translated Callimachus and -Philetas (poets of equal rank with Theocritus, if we _be allowed_ to -judge): of what consequence was it to them that the actual creator -experienced this and that, and had inscribed the indication thereof in -his poem!—as poets they were averse to the antiquarian, inquisitive -spirit which precedes the historical sense; as poets they did not -respect those essentially personal traits and names, nor anything -peculiar to city, coast, or century, such as its costume and mask, but -at once put the present and the Roman in its place. They seem to us to -ask: "Should we not make the old new for ourselves, and adjust -_ourselves_ to it? Should we not be allowed to inspire this dead body -with our soul? for it is dead indeed: how loathsome is everything -dead!"—They did not know the pleasure of the historical sense; the past -and the alien was painful to them, and as Romans it was an incitement to -a Roman conquest. In fact, they conquered when they translated,—not only -in that they omitted the historical: no, they added also allusions to -the present; above all, they struck out the name of the poet and put -their own in its place—not with the feeling of theft, but with the very -best conscience of the _imperium Romanum_. - - - 84. - -_The Origin of Poetry._—The lovers of the fantastic in man, who at the -same time represent the doctrine of instinctive morality, draw this -conclusion: "Granted that utility has been honoured at all times as the -highest divinity, where then in all the world has poetry come from?—this -rhythmising of speech which thwarts rather than furthers plainness of -communication, and which, nevertheless, has sprung up everywhere on the -earth, and still springs up, as a mockery of all useful purpose! The -wildly beautiful irrationality of poetry refutes you, ye utilitarians! -The wish _to get rid of_ utility in some way—that is precisely what has -elevated man, that is what has inspired him to morality and art!" Well, -I must here speak for once to please the utilitarians,—they are so -seldom in the right that it is pitiful! In the old times which called -poetry into being, people had still utility in view with respect to it, -and a very important utility—at the time when rhythm was introduced into -speech, the force which arranges all the particles of the sentence anew, -commands the choosing of the words, recolours the thought, and makes it -more obscure, more foreign, and more distant: to be sure a -_superstitious utility_! It was intended that a human entreaty should be -more profoundly impressed upon the Gods by virtue of rhythm, after it -had been observed that men could remember a verse better than an -unmetrical speech. It was likewise thought that people could make -themselves audible at greater distances by the rhythmical beat; the -rhythmical prayer seemed to come nearer to the ear of the Gods. Above -all, however, people wanted to have the advantage of the elementary -conquest which man experiences in himself when he hears music: rhythm is -a constraint; it produces an unconquerable desire to yield, to join in; -not only the step of the foot, but also the soul itself follows the -measure,—probably the soul of the Gods also, as people thought! They -attempted, therefore, to _constrain_ the Gods by rhythm and to exercise -a power over them; they threw poetry around the Gods like a magic noose. -There was a still more wonderful idea, and it has perhaps operated most -powerfully of all in the originating of poetry. Among the Pythagoreans -it made its appearance as a philosophical doctrine and as an artifice of -teaching: but long before there were philosophers music was acknowledged -to possess the power of unburdening the emotions, of purifying the soul, -of soothing the _ferocia animi_—and this was owing to the rhythmical -element in music. When the proper tension and harmony of the soul were -lost a person had to _dance_ to the measure of the singer,—that was the -recipe of this medical art. By means of it Terpander quieted a tumult, -Empedocles calmed a maniac, Damon purged a love-sick youth; by means of -it even the maddened, revengeful Gods were treated for the purpose of a -cure. First of all, it was by driving the frenzy and wantonness of their -emotions to the highest pitch, by making the furious mad, and the -revengeful intoxicated with vengeance:—all the orgiastic cults seek to -discharge the _ferocia_ of a deity all at once and thus make an orgy, so -that the deity may feel freer and quieter afterwards, and leave man in -peace. _Melos_, according to its root, signifies a soothing means, not -because the song is gentle itself, but because its after-effect makes -gentle.—And not only in the religious song, but also in the secular song -of the most ancient times the prerequisite is that the rhythm should -exercise a magical influence; for example, in drawing water, or in -rowing: the song is for the enchanting of the spirits supposed to be -active thereby; it makes them obliging, involuntary, and the instruments -of man. And as often as a person acts he has occasion to sing, _every_ -action is dependent on the assistance of spirits: magic song and -incantation appear to be the original form of poetry. When verse also -came to be used in oracles—the Greeks said that the hexameter was -invented at Delphi,—the rhythm was here also intended to exercise a -compulsory influence. To make a prophecy—that means originally -(according to what seems to me the probable derivation of the Greek -word) to determine something; people thought they could determine the -future by winning Apollo over to their side: he who, according to the -most ancient idea, is far more than a foreseeing deity. According as the -formula is pronounced with literal and rhythmical correctness, it -determines the future: the formula, however, is the invention of Apollo, -who as the God of rhythm, can also determine the goddesses of -fate.—Looked at and investigated as a whole, was there ever anything -_more serviceable_ to the ancient superstitious species of human being -than rhythm? People could do everything with it: they could make labour -go on magically; they could compel a God to appear, to be near at hand, -and listen to them; they could arrange the future for themselves -according to their will; they could unburden their own souls of any kind -of excess (of anxiety, of mania, of sympathy, of revenge), and not only -their own soul, but the souls of the most evil spirits,—without verse a -person was nothing, by means of verse a person became almost a God. Such -a fundamental feeling no longer allows itself to be fully -eradicated,—and even now, after millenniums of long labour in combating -such superstition, the very wisest of us occasionally becomes the fool -of rhythm, be it only that one _perceives_ a thought to be _truer_ when -it has a metrical form and approaches with a divine hopping. Is it not a -very funny thing that the most serious philosophers, however anxious -they are in other respects for strict certainty, still appeal to -_poetical sayings_ in order to give their thoughts force and -credibility?—and yet it is more dangerous to a truth when the poet -assents to it than when he contradicts it! For, as Homer says, "The -singers speak much falsehood!"— - - - 85. - -_The Good and the Beautiful._—Artists _glorify_ continually—they do -nothing else,—and indeed they glorify all those conditions and things -that have a reputation, so that man may feel himself good or great, or -intoxicated, or merry, or pleased and wise by it. Those _select_ things -and conditions whose value for human _happiness_ is regarded as secure -and determined, are the objects of artists: they are ever lying in wait -to discover such things, to transfer them into the domain of art. I mean -to say that they are not themselves the valuers of happiness and of the -happy ones, but they always press close to these valuers with the -greatest curiosity and longing, in order immediately to use their -valuations advantageously. As besides their impatience, they have also -the big lungs of heralds and the feet of runners, they are likewise -always among the first to glorify the _new_ excellency, and often _seem_ -to be those who first of all called it good and valued it as good. This, -however, as we have said, is an error; they are only faster and louder -than the actual valuers:—And who then are these?—They are the rich and -the leisurely. - - - 86. - -_The Theatre._—This day has given me once more strong and elevated -sentiments, and if I could have music and art in the evening, I know -well what music and art I should _not_ like to have; namely, none of -that which would fain intoxicate its hearers and _excite_ them to a -crisis of strong and high feeling,—those men with commonplace souls, who -in the evening are not like victors on triumphal cars, but like tired -mules to whom life has rather too often applied the whip. What would -those men at all know of "higher moods," unless there were expedients -for causing ecstasy and idealistic strokes of the whip!—and thus they -have their inspirers as they have their wines. But what is their drink -and their drunkenness to _me_! Does the inspired one need wine? He -rather looks with a kind of disgust at the agency and the agent which -are here intended to produce an effect without sufficient reason,—an -imitation of the high tide of the soul! What? One gives the mole wings -and proud fancies—before going to sleep, before he creeps into his hole? -One sends him into the theatre and puts great magnifying-glasses to his -blind and tired eyes? Men, whose life is not "action" but business, sit -in front of the stage and look at strange beings to whom life is more -than business? "This is proper," you say, "this is entertaining, this is -what culture wants!"—Well then! culture is too often lacking in me, for -this sight is too often disgusting to me. He who has enough of tragedy -and comedy in himself surely prefers to remain away from the theatre; -or, as the exception, the whole procedure—theatre and public and poet -included—becomes for him a truly tragic and comic play, so that the -performed piece counts for little in comparison. He who is something -like Faust and Manfred, what does it matter to him about the Fausts and -Manfreds of the theatre!—while it certainly gives him something to think -about _that_ such figures are brought into the theatre at all. The -_strongest_ thoughts and passions before those who are not capable of -thought and passion—but of _intoxication_ only! And _those_ as a means -to this end! And theatre and music the hashish-smoking and betel-chewing -of Europeans! Oh, who will narrate to us the whole history of -narcotics!—It is almost the history of "culture," the so-called higher -culture! - - - 87. - -_The Conceit of Artists._—I think artists often do not know what they -can do best, because they are too conceited, and have set their minds on -something loftier than those little plants appear to be, which can grow -up to perfection on their soil, fresh, rare, and beautiful. The final -value of their own garden and vineyard is superciliously underestimated -by them, and their love and their insight are not of the same quality. -Here is a musician, who, more than any one else, has the genius for -discovering the tones peculiar to suffering, oppressed, tortured souls, -and who can endow even dumb animals with speech. No one equals him in -the colours of the late autumn, in the indescribably touching happiness -of a last, a final, and all too short enjoyment; he knows a chord for -those secret and weird midnights of the soul when cause and effect seem -out of joint, and when every instant something may originate "out of -nothing." He draws his resources best of all out of the lower depths of -human happiness, and so to speak, out of its drained goblet, where the -bitterest and most nauseous drops have ultimately, for good or for ill, -commingled with the sweetest. He knows the weary shuffling along of the -soul which can no longer leap or fly, yea, not even walk; he has the shy -glance of concealed pain, of understanding without comfort, of -leave-taking without avowal; yea, as the Orpheus of all secret misery, -he is greater than anyone; and in fact much has been added to art by him -which was hitherto inexpressible and not even thought worthy of art, and -which was only to be scared away, by words, and not grasped—many small -and quite microscopic features of the soul: yes, he is the master of -miniature. But he does not _wish_ to be so! His _character_ is more in -love with large walls and daring frescoes! He fails to see that his -_spirit_ has a different taste and inclination, and prefers to sit -quietly in the corners of ruined houses:—concealed in this way, -concealed even from himself, he there paints his proper masterpieces, -all of which are very short, often only one bar in length,—there only -does he become quite good, great, and perfect, perhaps there only.—But -he does not know it! He is too conceited to know it. - - - 88. - -_Earnestness for the Truth._—Earnest for the truth! What different -things men understand by these words! Just the same opinions, and modes -of demonstration and testing which a thinker regards as a frivolity in -himself, to which he has succumbed with shame at one time or other,—just -the same opinions may give to an artist, who comes in contact with them -and accepts them temporarily, the consciousness that the profoundest -earnestness for the truth has now taken hold of him, and that it is -worthy of admiration that, although an artist, he at the same time -exhibits the most ardent desire for the antithesis of the apparent. It -is thus possible that a person may, just by his pathos of earnestness, -betray how superficially and sparingly his intellect has hitherto -operated in the domain of knowledge.—And is not everything that we -consider _important_ our betrayer? It shows where our motives lie, and -where our motives are altogether lacking. - - - 89. - -_Now and Formerly._—Of what consequence is all our art in artistic -products, if that higher art, the art of the festival, be lost by us? -Formerly all artistic products were exhibited on the great festive path -of humanity, as tokens of remembrance, and monuments of high and happy -moments. One now seeks to allure the exhausted and sickly from the great -suffering path of humanity for a wanton moment by means of works of art; -one furnishes them with a little ecstasy and insanity. - - - 90. - -_Lights and Shades._—Books and writings are different with different -thinkers. One writer has collected together in his book all the rays of -light which he could quickly plunder and carry home from an illuminating -experience; while another gives only the shadows, and the grey and black -replicas of that which on the previous day had towered up in his soul. - - - 91. - -_Precaution._—Alfieri, as is well known, told a great many falsehoods -when he narrated the history of his life to his astonished -contemporaries. He told falsehoods owing to the despotism toward himself -which he exhibited, for example, in the way in which he created his own -language, and tyrannised himself into a poet:—he finally found a rigid -form of sublimity into which he _forced_ his life and his memory; he -must have suffered much in the process.—I would also give no credit to a -history of Plato's life written by himself, as little as to Rousseau's, -or to the _Vita nuova_ of Dante. - - - 92. - -_Prose and Poetry._—Let it be observed that the great masters of prose -have almost always been poets as well, whether openly, or only in secret -and for the "closet"; and in truth one only writes good prose _in view -of poetry_! For prose is an uninterrupted, polite warfare with poetry; -all its charm consists in the fact that poetry is constantly avoided, -and contradicted; every abstraction wants to have a gibe at poetry, and -wishes to be uttered with a mocking voice; all dryness and coolness is -meant to bring the amiable goddess into an amiable despair; there are -often approximations and reconciliations for the moment, and then a -sudden recoil and a burst of laughter; the curtain is often drawn up and -dazzling light let in just while the goddess is enjoying her twilights -and dull colours; the word is often taken out of her mouth and chanted -to a melody while she holds her fine hands before her delicate little -ears—and so there are a thousand enjoyments of the warfare, the defeats -included, of which the unpoetic, the so-called prose-men know nothing at -all:—they consequently write and speak only bad prose! _Warfare is the -father of all good things_, it is also the father of good prose!—There -have been four very singular and truly poetical men in this century who -have arrived at mastership in prose, for which otherwise this century is -not suited, owing to lack of poetry, as we have indicated. Not to take -Goethe into account, for he is reasonably claimed by the century that -produced him, I look only on Giacomo Leopardi, Prosper Mérimée, Ralph -Waldo Emerson, and Walter Savage Landor, the author of _Imaginary -Conversations_, as worthy to be called masters of prose. - - - 93. - -_But why, then, do you Write?_—A: I do not belong to those who _think_ -with the wet pen in hand; and still less to those who yield themselves -entirely to their passions before the open ink-bottle, sitting on their -chair and staring at the paper. I am always vexed and abashed by -writing; writing is a necessity for me,—even to speak of it in a simile -is disagreeable. B: But why, then, do you write? A: Well, my dear Sir, -to tell you in confidence, I have hitherto found no other means of -_getting rid of_ my thoughts. B: And why do you wish to get rid of them? -A: Why I wish? Do I really wish! I must.—B: Enough! Enough! - - - 94. - -_Growth after Death._—Those few daring words about moral matters which -Fontenelle threw into his immortal _Dialogues of the Dead_, were -regarded by his age as paradoxes and amusements of a not unscrupulous -wit; even the highest judges of taste and intellect saw nothing more in -them,—indeed, Fontenelle himself perhaps saw nothing more. Then -something incredible takes place: these thoughts become truths! Science -proves them! The game becomes serious! And we read those dialogues with -a feeling different from that with which Voltaire and Helvetius read -them, and we involuntarily raise their originator into another and _much -higher_ class of intellects than they did.—Rightly? Wrongly? - - - 95. - -_Chamfort._—That such a judge of men and of the multitude as Chamfort -should side with the multitude, instead of standing apart in -philosophical resignation and defence—I am at a loss to explain, except -as follows:—There was an instinct in him stronger than his wisdom, and -it had never been gratified: the hatred against all _noblesse_ of blood; -perhaps his mother's old and only too explicable hatred, which was -consecrated in him by love of her,—an instinct of revenge from his -boyhood, which waited for the hour to avenge his mother. But then the -course of his life, his genius, and alas! most of all, perhaps, the -paternal blood in his veins, had seduced him to rank and consider -himself equal to the _noblesse_—for many, many years! In the end, -however, he could not endure the sight of himself, the "old man" under -the old _régime_, any longer; he got into a violent, penitential -passion, and _in this state_ he put on the raiment of the populace as -_his_ special kind of hair-shirt! His bad conscience was the neglect of -revenge.—If Chamfort had then been a little more of the philosopher, the -Revolution would not have had its tragic wit and its sharpest sting; it -would have been regarded as a much more stupid affair, and would have -had no such seductive influence on men's minds. But Chamfort's hatred -and revenge educated an entire generation; and the most illustrious men -passed through his school. Let us but consider that Mirabeau looked up -to Chamfort as to his higher and older self, from whom he expected (and -endured) impulses, warnings, and condemnations,—Mirabeau, who as a man -belongs to an entirely different order of greatness, as the very -foremost among the statesman-geniuses of yesterday and to-day.—Strange, -that in spite of such a friend and advocate—we possess Mirabeau's -letters to Chamfort—this wittiest of all moralists has remained -unfamiliar to the French, quite the same as Stendhal, who has perhaps -had the most penetrating eyes and ears of any Frenchman of _this_ -century. Is it because the latter had really too much of the German and -the Englishman in his nature for the Parisians to endure him?—while -Chamfort, a man with ample knowledge of the profundities and secret -motives of the soul, gloomy, suffering, ardent—a thinker who found -laughter necessary as the remedy of life, and who almost gave himself up -as lost every day that he had not laughed,—seems much more like an -Italian, and related by blood to Dante and Leopardi, than like a -Frenchman. One knows Chamfort's last words: "_Ah! mon ami_," he said to -Sieyès, "_je m'en vais enfin de ce monde, où il faut que le cœur se -brise ou se bronze_—." These were certainly not the words of a dying -Frenchman. - - - 96. - -_Two Orators._—Of these two orators the one arrives at a full -understanding of his case only when he yields himself to emotion; it is -only this that pumps sufficient blood and heat into his brain to compel -his high intellectuality to reveal itself. The other attempts, indeed, -now and then to do the same: to state his case sonorously, vehemently, -and spiritedly with the aid of emotion,—but usually with bad success. He -then very soon speaks obscurely and confusedly; he exaggerates, makes -omissions, and excites suspicion of the justice of his case: indeed, he -himself feels this suspicion, and the sudden changes into the coldest -and most repulsive tones (which raise a doubt in the hearer as to his -passionateness being genuine) are thereby explicable. With him emotion -always drowns the spirit; perhaps because it is stronger than in the -former. But he is at the height of his power when he resists the -impetuous storm of his feeling, and as it were scorns it; it is then -only that his spirit emerges fully from its concealment, a spirit -logical, mocking, and playful, but nevertheless awe-inspiring. - - - 97. - -_The Loquacity of Authors._—There is a loquacity of anger—frequent in -Luther, also in Schopenhauer. A loquacity which comes from too great a -store of conceptual formulæ, as in Kant. A loquacity which comes from -delight in ever new modifications of the same idea: one finds it in -Montaigne. A loquacity of malicious natures: whoever reads writings of -our period will recollect two authors in this connection. A loquacity -which comes from delight in fine words and forms of speech: by no means -rare in Goethe's prose. A loquacity which comes from pure satisfaction -in noise and confusion of feelings: for example in Carlyle. - - - 98. - -_In Honour of Shakespeare._—The best thing I could say in honour of -Shakespeare, _the man_, is that he believed in Brutus and cast not a -shadow of suspicion on the kind of virtue which Brutus represents! It is -to him that Shakespeare consecrated his best tragedy—it is at present -still called by a wrong name,—to him and to the most terrible essence of -lofty morality. Independence of soul!—that is the question at issue! No -sacrifice can be too great there: one must be able to sacrifice to it -even one's dearest friend, though he be also the grandest of men, the -ornament of the world, the genius without peer,—if one really loves -freedom as the freedom of great souls, and if _this_ freedom be -threatened by him:—it is thus that Shakespeare must have felt! The -elevation in which he places Cæsar is the most exquisite honour he could -confer upon Brutus; it is thus only that he lifts into vastness the -inner problem of his hero, and similarly the strength of soul which -could cut _this knot_!—And was it actually political freedom that -impelled the poet to sympathy with Brutus,—and made him the accomplice -of Brutus? Or was political freedom merely a symbol for something -inexpressible? Do we perhaps stand before some sombre event or adventure -of the poet's own soul, which has remained unknown, and of which he only -cared to speak symbolically? What is all Hamlet-melancholy in comparison -with the melancholy of Brutus!—and perhaps Shakespeare also knew this, -as he knew the other, by experience! Perhaps he also had his dark hour -and his bad angel, just as Brutus had them!—But whatever similarities -and secret relationships of that kind there may have been, Shakespeare -cast himself on the ground and felt unworthy and alien in presence of -the aspect and virtue of Brutus:—he has inscribed the testimony thereof -in the tragedy itself. He has twice brought in a poet in it, and twice -heaped upon him such an impatient and extreme contempt, that it sounds -like a cry,—like the cry of self-contempt. Brutus, even Brutus loses -patience when the poet appears, self-important, pathetic, and obtrusive, -as poets usually are,—persons who seem to abound in the possibilities of -greatness, even moral greatness, and nevertheless rarely attain even to -ordinary uprightness in the philosophy of practice and of life. "He may -know the times, _but I know his temper_,—away with the jigging -fool!"—shouts Brutus. We may translate this back into the soul of the -poet that composed it. - - - 99. - -_The Followers of Schopenhauer._—What one sees at the contact of -civilized peoples with barbarians,—namely, that the lower civilization -regularly accepts in the first place the vices, weaknesses, and excesses -of the higher; then, from that point onward, feels the influence of a -charm; and finally, by means of the appropriated vices and weaknesses, -also allows something of the valuable influence of the higher culture to -leaven it:—one can also see this close at hand and without journeys to -barbarian peoples, to be sure, somewhat refined and spiritualised, and -not so readily palpable. What are the German followers of _Schopenhauer_ -still accustomed to receive first of all from their master:—those who, -when placed beside his superior culture, must deem themselves -sufficiently barbarous to be first of all barbarously fascinated and -seduced by him. Is it his hard matter-of-fact sense, his inclination to -clearness and rationality, which often makes him appear so English, and -so unlike Germans? Or the strength of his intellectual conscience, which -_endured_ a life-long contradiction of "being" and "willing," and -compelled him to contradict himself constantly even in his writings on -almost every point? Or his purity in matters relating to the Church and -the Christian God?—for here he was pure as no German philosopher had -been hitherto, so that he lived and died "as a Voltairian." Or his -immortal doctrines of the intellectuality of intuition, the apriority of -the law of causality, the instrumental nature of the intellect, and the -non-freedom of the will? No, nothing of this enchants, nor is felt as -enchanting; but Schopenhauer's mystical embarrassments and shufflings in -those passages where the matter-of-fact thinker allowed himself to be -seduced and corrupted by the vain impulse to be the unraveller of the -world's riddle: his undemonstrable doctrine of _one will_ ("all causes -are merely occasional causes of the phenomenon of the will at such a -time and at such a place," "the will to live, whole and undivided, is -present in every being, even in the smallest, as perfectly as in the sum -of all that was, is, and will be"); his _denial of the individual_ ("all -lions are really only one lion," "plurality of individuals is an -appearance," as also _development_ is only an appearance: he calls the -opinion of Lamarck "an ingenious, absurd error"); his fantasy about -_genius_ ("in æsthetic contemplation the individual is no longer an -individual, but a pure, will-less, painless, timeless subject of -knowledge," "the subject, in that it entirely merges in the contemplated -object, has become this object itself"); his nonsense about _sympathy_, -and about the outburst of the _principium individuationis_ thus rendered -possible, as the source of all morality; including also such assertions -as, "dying is really the design of existence," "the possibility should -not be absolutely denied that a magical effect could proceed from a -person already dead":—these, and similar _extravagances_ and vices of -the philosopher, are always first accepted and made articles of faith; -for vices and extravagances are always easiest to imitate, and do not -require a long preliminary practice. But let us speak of the most -celebrated of the living Schopenhauerians, Richard Wagner.—It has -happened to him as it has already happened to many an artist: he made a -mistake in the interpretation of the characters he created, and -misunderstood the unexpressed philosophy of the art peculiarly his own. -Richard Wagner allowed himself to be misled by Hegel's influence till -the middle of his life; and he did the same again when later on he read -Schopenhauer's doctrine between the lines of his characters, and began -to express himself with such terms as "will," "genius," and "sympathy." -Nevertheless it will remain true that nothing is more counter to -Schopenhauer's spirit than the essentially Wagnerian element in Wagner's -heroes: I mean the innocence of the supremest selfishness, the belief in -strong passion as the good in itself, in a word, the Siegfried trait in -the countenances of his heroes. "All that still smacks more of Spinoza -than of me,"—Schopenhauer would probably have said. Whatever good -reasons, therefore, Wagner might have had to be on the outlook for other -philosophers than Schopenhauer, the enchantment to which he succumbed in -respect to this thinker, not only made him blind towards all other -philosophers, but even towards science itself; his entire art is more -and more inclined to become the counterpart and complement of the -Schopenhauerian philosophy, and it always renounces more emphatically -the higher ambition to become the counterpart and complement of human -knowledge and science. And not only is he allured thereto by the whole -mystic pomp of this philosophy (which would also have allured a -Cagliostro), the peculiar airs and emotions of the philosopher have all -along been seducing him as well! For example, Wagner's indignation about -the corruption of the German language is Schopenhauerian; and if one -should commend his imitation in this respect, it is nevertheless not to -be denied that Wagner's style itself suffers in no small degree from all -the tumours and turgidities, the sight of which made Schopenhauer so -furious; and that, in respect to the German-writing Wagnerians, -Wagneromania is beginning to be as dangerous as only some kinds of -Hegelomania have been. Schopenhauerian is Wagner's hatred of the Jews, -to whom he is unable to do justice, even in their greatest exploit: are -not the Jews the inventors of Christianity! The attempt of Wagner to -construe Christianity as a seed blown away from Buddhism, and his -endeavour to initiate a Buddhistic era in Europe, under a temporary -approximation to Catholic-Christian formulas and sentiments, are both -Schopenhauerian. Wagner's preaching in favour of pity in dealing with -animals is Schopenhauerian; Schopenhauer's predecessor here, as is well -known, was Voltaire, who already perhaps, like his successors, knew how -to disguise his hatred of certain men and things as pity towards -animals. At least Wagner's hatred of science, which manifests itself in -his preaching, has certainly not been inspired by the spirit of -charitableness and kindness—nor by the _spirit_ at all, as is -sufficiently obvious.—Finally, it is of little importance what the -philosophy of an artist is, provided it is only a supplementary -philosophy, and does not do any injury to his art itself. We cannot be -sufficiently on our guard against taking a dislike to an artist on -account of an occasional, perhaps very unfortunate and presumptuous -masquerade; let us not forget that the dear artists are all of them -something of actors—and must be so; it would be difficult for them to -hold out in the long run without stage-playing. Let us be loyal to -Wagner in that which is _true_ and original in him,—and especially in -this point, that we, his disciples, remain loyal to ourselves in that -which is true and original in us. Let us allow him his intellectual -humours and spasms, let us in fairness rather consider what strange -nutriments and necessaries an art like his _is entitled to_, in order to -be able to live and grow! It is of no account that he is often wrong as -a thinker; justice and patience are not _his_ affair. It is sufficient -that his life is right in his own eyes, and maintains its right,—the -life which calls to each of us: "Be a man, and do not follow me—but -thyself! thyself!" _Our_ life, also ought to maintain its right in our -own eyes! We also are to grow and blossom out of ourselves, free and -fearless, in innocent selfishness! And so, on the contemplation of such -a man, these thoughts still ring in my ears to-day, as formerly: "That -passion is better than stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, -even in evil, is better than losing oneself in trying to observe -traditional morality; that the free man is just as able to be good as -evil, but that the unemancipated man is a disgrace to nature, and has no -share in heavenly or earthly bliss; finally, that _all who wish to be -free must become so through themselves_, and that freedom falls to -nobody's lot as a gift from Heaven." (_Richard Wagner in Bayreuth_, Vol. -I. of this Translation, pp. 199-200). - - - 100. - -_Learning to do Homage._—One must learn the art of homage, as well as -the art of contempt. Whoever goes in new paths and has led many persons -therein, discovers with astonishment how awkward and incompetent all of -them are in the expression of their gratitude, and indeed how rarely -gratitude _is able_ even to express itself. It is always as if something -comes into people's throats when their gratitude wants to speak, so that -it only hems and haws, and becomes silent again. The way in which a -thinker succeeds in tracing the effect of his thoughts, and their -transforming and convulsing power, is almost a comedy: it sometimes -seems as if those who have been operated upon felt profoundly injured -thereby, and could only assert their independence, which they suspect to -be threatened, by all kinds of improprieties. It needs whole generations -in order merely to devise a courteous convention of gratefulness; it is -only very late that the period arrives when something of spirit and -genius enters into gratitude. Then there is usually some one who is the -great receiver of thanks, not only for the good he himself has done, but -mostly for that which has been gradually accumulated by his -predecessors, as a treasure of what is highest and best. - - - 101. - -_Voltaire._—Wherever there has been a court, it has furnished the -standard of good-speaking, and with this also the standard of style for -writers. The court language, however, is the language of the courtier -who _has no profession_, and who even in conversations on scientific -subjects avoids all convenient, technical expressions, because they -smack of the profession; on that account the technical expression, and -everything that betrays the specialist, is a _blemish of style_ in -countries which have a court culture. At present, when all courts have -become caricatures of past and present times, one is astonished to find -even Voltaire unspeakably reserved and scrupulous on this point (for -example, in his judgments concerning such stylists as Fontenelle and -Montesquieu),—we are now, all of us, emancipated from court taste, while -Voltaire was its _perfecter_! - - - 102. - -_A Word for Philologists._—It is thought that there are books so -valuable and royal that whole generations of scholars are well employed -when through their efforts these books are kept genuine and -intelligible,—to confirm this belief again and again is the purpose of -philology. It presupposes that the rare men are not lacking (though they -may not be visible), who actually know how to use such valuable -books:—those men perhaps who write such books themselves, or could write -them. I mean to say that philology presupposes a noble belief,—that for -the benefit of some few who are always "to come," and are not there, a -very great amount of painful, and even dirty labour has to be done -beforehand: it is all labour _in usum Delphinorum_. - - - 103. - -_German Music._—German music, more than any other, has now become -European music; because the changes which Europe experienced through the -Revolution have therein alone found expression: it is only German music -that knows how to express the agitation of popular masses, the -tremendous artificial uproar, which does not even need to be very -noisy,—while Italian opera, for example, knows only the choruses of -domestics or soldiers, but not "the people." There is the additional -fact that in all German music a profound _bourgeois_ jealousy of the -_noblesse_ can be traced, especially a jealousy of _esprit_ and -_élégance_, as the expressions of a courtly, chivalrous, ancient, and -self-confident society. It is not music like that of Goethe's musician -at the gate, which was pleasing also "in the hall," and to the king as -well; it is not here said: "The knights looked on with martial air; with -bashful eyes the ladies." Even the Graces are not allowed in German -music without a touch of remorse; it is only with Pleasantness, the -country sister of the Graces that the German begins to feel morally at -ease—and from this point up to his enthusiastic, learned, and often -gruff "sublimity" (the Beethoven-like sublimity), he feels more and more -so. If we want to imagine the man of _this_ music,—well, let us just -imagine Beethoven as he appeared beside Goethe, say, at their meeting at -Teplitz: as semi-barbarism beside culture, as the masses beside the -nobility, as the good-natured man beside the good and more than "good" -man, as the visionary beside the artist, as the man needing comfort -beside the comforted, as the man given to exaggeration and distrust -beside the man of reason, as the crank and self-tormenter, as the -foolish, enraptured, blessedly unfortunate, sincerely immoderate man, as -the pretentious and awkward man,—and altogether as the "untamed man": it -was thus that Goethe conceived and characterised him, Goethe, the -exceptional German, for whom a music of equal rank has not yet been -found!—Finally, let us consider whether the present, continually -extending contempt of melody and the stunting of the sense for melody -among Germans should not be understood as a democratic impropriety and -an after-effect of the Revolution? For melody has such an obvious -delight in conformity to law, and such an aversion to everything -evolving, unformed and arbitrary, that it sounds like a note out of the -_ancient_ European regime, and as a seduction and re-duction back to it. - - - 104. - -_The Tone of the German Language._—We know whence the German originated -which for several centuries has been the universal, literary language of -Germany. The Germans, with their reverence for everything that came from -the _court_, intentionally took the chancery style as their pattern in -all that they had to _write_, especially in their letters, records, -wills, &c. To write in the chancery style, that was to write in court -and government style,—that was regarded as something select compared -with the language of the city in which a person lived. People gradually -drew this inference, and spoke also as they wrote,—they thus became -still more select in the forms of their words, in the choice of their -terms and modes of expression, and finally also in their tones: they -affected a court tone when they spoke, and the affectation at last -became natural. Perhaps nothing quite similar has ever happened -elsewhere:—the predominance of the literary style over the talk, and the -formality and affectation of an entire people, becoming the basis of a -common and no longer dialectical language. I believe that the sound of -the German language in the Middle Ages, and especially after the Middle -Ages, was extremely rustic and vulgar; it has ennobled itself somewhat -during the last centuries, principally because it was found necessary to -imitate so many French, Italian, and Spanish sounds, and particularly on -the part of the German (and Austrian) nobility, who could not at all -content themselves with their mother-tongue. But notwithstanding this -practice, German must have sounded intolerably vulgar to Montaigne, and -even to Racine: even at present, in the mouths of travellers among the -Italian populace, it still sounds very coarse, sylvan, and hoarse, as if -it had originated in smoky rooms and outlandish districts.—Now I notice -that at present a similar striving after selectness of tone is spreading -among the former admirers of the chancery style, and that the Germans -are beginning to accommodate themselves to a peculiar "witchery of -sound," which might in the long run become an actual danger to the -German language,—for one may seek in vain for more execrable sounds in -Europe. Something mocking, cold, indifferent, and careless in the voice: -that is what at present sounds "noble" to the Germans—and I hear the -approval of this nobleness in the voices of young officials, teachers, -women, and trades-people; indeed, even the little girls already imitate -this German of the officers. For the officer, and in fact the Prussian -officer is the inventor of these tones: this same officer, who, as -soldier and professional man possesses that admirable tact for modesty -which the Germans as a whole might well imitate (German professors and -musicians included!). But as soon as he speaks and moves he is the most -immodest and inelegant figure in old Europe—no doubt unconsciously to -himself! And unconsciously also to the good Germans, who gaze at him as -the man of the foremost and most select society, and willingly let him -"give them his tone." And indeed he gives it to them!—in the first place -it is the sergeant-majors and non-commissioned officers that imitate his -tone and coarsen it. One should note the roars of command, with which -the German cities are absolutely surrounded at present, when there is -drilling at all the gates: what presumption, furious imperiousness, and -mocking coldness speaks in this uproar! Could the Germans actually be a -musical people?—It is certain that the Germans martialise themselves at -present in the tone of their language: it is probable that, being -exercised to speak martially, they will finally write martially also. -For habituation to definite tones extends deeply into the -character:—people soon have the words and modes of expression, and -finally also the thoughts which just suit these tones! Perhaps they -already write in the officers' style; perhaps I only read too little of -what is at present written in Germany to know this. But one thing I know -all the surer: the German public declarations which also reach places -abroad, are not inspired by German music, but just by that new tone of -tasteless arrogance. Almost in every speech of the foremost German -statesman, and even when he makes himself heard through his imperial -mouth-piece, there is an accent which the ear of a foreigner repudiates -with aversion: but the Germans endure it,—they endure themselves. - - - 105. - -_The Germans as Artists._—When once a German actually experiences -passion (and not only, as is usual, the mere inclination to it), he then -behaves just as he must do in passion, and does not think further of his -behaviour. The truth is, however, that he then behaves very awkwardly -and uglily, and as if destitute of rhythm and melody; so that onlookers -are pained or moved thereby, but nothing more—_unless_ he elevate -himself to the sublimity and enrapturedness of which certain passions -are capable. Then even the German becomes _beautiful_. The perception of -the _height at which_ beauty begins to shed its charm even over Germans, -raises German artists to the height, to the supreme height, and to the -extravagances of passion: they have an actual, profound longing, -therefore, to get beyond, or at least to look beyond the ugliness and -awkwardness—into a better, easier, more southern, more sunny world. And -thus their convulsions are often merely indications that they would like -to _dance_: these poor bears in whom hidden nymphs and satyrs, and -sometimes still higher divinities, carry on their game! - - - 106. - -_Music as Advocate._—"I have a longing for a master of the musical art," -said an innovator to his disciple, "that he may learn from me my ideas -and speak them more widely in his language: I shall thus be better able -to reach men's ears and hearts. For by means of tones one can seduce men -to every error and every truth: who could _refute_ a tone?"—"You would, -therefore, like to be regarded as irrefutable?" said his disciple. The -innovator answered: "I should like the germ to become a tree. In order -that a doctrine may become a tree, it must be believed in for a -considerable period; in order that it may be believed in it must be -regarded as irrefutable. Storms and doubts and worms and wickedness are -necessary to the tree, that it may manifest its species and the strength -of its germ; let it perish if it is not strong enough! But a germ is -always merely annihilated,—not refuted!"—When he had said this, his -disciple called out impetuously: "But I believe in your cause, and -regard it as so strong that I will say everything against it, everything -that I still have in my heart."—The innovator laughed to himself and -threatened the disciple with his finger. "This kind of discipleship," -said he then, "is the best, but it is dangerous, and not every kind of -doctrine can stand it." - - - 107. - -_Our Ultimate Gratitude to Art._—If we had not approved of the Arts and -invented this sort of cult of the untrue, the insight into the general -untruth and falsity of things now given us by science—an insight into -delusion and error as conditions of intelligent and sentient -existence—would be quite unendurable. _Honesty_ would have disgust and -suicide in its train. Now, however, our honesty has a counterpoise which -helps us to escape such consequences;—namely, Art, as the _good-will_ to -illusion. We do not always restrain our eyes from rounding off and -perfecting in imagination: and then it is no longer the eternal -imperfection that we carry over the river of Becoming—for we think we -carry a _goddess_, and are proud and artless in rendering this service. -As an æsthetic phenomenon existence is still _endurable_ to us; and by -Art, eye and hand and above all the good conscience are given to us, _to -be able_ to make such a phenomenon out of ourselves. We must rest from -ourselves occasionally by contemplating and looking down upon ourselves, -and by laughing or weeping _over_ ourselves from an artistic remoteness: -we must discover the _hero_, and likewise the _fool_, that is hidden in -our passion for knowledge; we must now and then be joyful in our folly, -that we may continue to be joyful in our wisdom! And just because we are -heavy and serious men in our ultimate depth, and are rather weights than -men, there is nothing that does us so much good as the _fool's cap and -bells_: we need them in presence of ourselves—we need all arrogant, -soaring, dancing, mocking, childish and blessed Art, in order not to -lose the _free dominion over things_ which our ideal demands of us. It -would be _backsliding_ for us, with our susceptible integrity, to lapse -entirely into morality, and actually become virtuous monsters and -scarecrows, on account of the over-strict requirements which we here lay -down for ourselves. We ought also to _be able_ to stand _above_ -morality, and not only stand with the painful stiffness of one who every -moment fears to slip and fall, but we should also be able to soar and -play above it! How could we dispense with Art for that purpose, how -could we dispense with the fool?—And as long as you are still _ashamed_ -of yourselves in any way, you still do not belong to us! - ------ - -Footnote 8: - - Schiller's poem, "The Veiled Image of Sais," is again referred to - here.—TR. - - - - - BOOK THIRD - - - 108. - -_New Struggles._—After Buddha was dead people showed his shadow for -centuries afterwards in a cave,—an immense frightful shadow. God is -dead: but as the human race is constituted, there will perhaps be caves -for millenniums yet, in which people will show his shadow,—And we—we -have still to overcome his shadow! - - - 109. - -_Let us be on our Guard._—Let us be on our guard against thinking that -the world is a living being. Where could it extend itself? What could it -nourish itself with? How could it grow and increase? We know tolerably -well what the organic is; and we are to reinterpret the emphatically -derivative, tardy, rare and accidental, which we only perceive on the -crust of the earth, into the essential, universal and eternal, as those -do who call the universe an organism? That disgusts me. Let us now be on -our guard against believing that the universe is a machine; it is -assuredly not constructed with a view to _one_ end; we invest it with -far too high an honour with the word "machine." Let us be on our guard -against supposing that anything so methodical as the cyclic motions of -our neighbouring stars obtains generally and throughout the universe; -indeed a glance at the Milky Way induces doubt as to whether there are -not many cruder and more contradictory motions there, and even stars -with continuous, rectilinearly gravitating orbits, and the like. The -astral arrangement in which we live is an exception; this arrangement, -and the relatively long durability which is determined by it, has again -made possible the exception of exceptions, the formation of organic -life. The general character of the world, on the other hand, is to all -eternity chaos; not by the absence of necessity, but in the sense of the -absence of order, structure, form, beauty, wisdom, and whatever else our -æsthetic humanities are called. Judged by our reason, the unlucky casts -are far oftenest the rule, the exceptions are not the secret purpose; -and the whole musical box repeats eternally its air, which can never be -called a melody,—and finally the very expression, "unlucky cast" is -already an anthropomorphising which involves blame. But how could we -presume to blame or praise the universe! Let us be on our guard against -ascribing to it heartlessness and unreason, or their opposites; it is -neither perfect, nor beautiful, nor noble; nor does it seek to be -anything of the kind, it does not at all attempt to imitate man! It is -altogether unaffected by our æsthetic and moral judgments! Neither has -it any self-preservative instinct, nor instinct at all; it also knows no -law. Let us be on our guard against saying that there are laws in -nature. There are only necessities: there is no one who commands, no one -who obeys, no one who transgresses. When you know that there is no -design, you know also that there is no chance: for it is only where -there is a world of design that the word "chance" has a meaning. Let us -be on our guard against saying that death is contrary to life. The -living being is only a species of dead being, and a very rare -species.—Let us be on our guard against thinking that the world -eternally creates the new. There are no eternally enduring substances; -matter is just another such error as the God of the Eleatics. But when -shall we be at an end with our foresight and precaution! When will all -these shadows of God cease to obscure us? When shall we have nature -entirely undeified! When shall we be permitted to _naturalise_ ourselves -by means of the pure, newly discovered, newly redeemed nature? - - - 110. - -_Origin of Knowledge._—Throughout immense stretches of time the -intellect has produced nothing but errors; some of them proved to be -useful and preservative of the species: he who fell in with them, or -inherited them, waged the battle for himself and his offspring with -better success. Those erroneous articles of faith which were -successively transmitted by inheritance, and have finally become almost -the property and stock of the human species, are, for example, the -following:—that there are enduring things, that there are equal things, -that there are things, substances, and bodies, that a thing is what it -appears, that our will is free, that what is good for me is also good -absolutely. It was only very late that the deniers and doubters of such -propositions came forward,—it was only very late that truth made its -appearance as the most impotent form of knowledge. It seemed as if it -were impossible to get along with truth, our organism was adapted for -the very opposite; all its higher functions, the perceptions of the -senses, and in general every kind of sensation co-operated with those -primevally embodied, fundamental errors. Moreover, those propositions -became the very standards of knowledge according to which the "true" and -the "false" were determined—throughout the whole domain of pure logic. -The _strength_ of conceptions does not, therefore, depend on their -degree of truth, but on their antiquity, their embodiment, their -character as conditions of life. Where life and knowledge seemed to -conflict, there has never been serious contention; denial and doubt have -there been regarded as madness. The exceptional thinkers like the -Eleatics, who, in spite of this, advanced and maintained the antitheses -of the natural errors, believed that it was possible also _to live_ -these counterparts: it was they who devised the sage as the man of -immutability, impersonality and universality of intuition, as one and -all at the same time, with a special faculty for that reverse kind of -knowledge; they were of the belief that their knowledge was at the same -time the principle of _life_. To be able to affirm all this, however, -they had to _deceive_ themselves concerning their own condition: they -had to attribute to themselves impersonality and unchanging permanence, -they had to mistake the nature of the philosophic individual, deny the -force of the impulses in cognition, and conceive of reason generally as -an entirely free and self-originating activity; they kept their eyes -shut to the fact that they also had reached their doctrines in -contradiction to valid methods, or through their longing for repose or -for exclusive possession or for domination. The subtler development of -sincerity and of scepticism finally made these men impossible; their -life also and their judgments turned out to be dependent on the primeval -impulses and fundamental errors of all sentient being.—The subtler -sincerity and scepticism arose whenever two antithetical maxims appeared -to be _applicable_ to life, because both of them were compatible with -the fundamental errors; where, therefore, there could be contention -concerning a higher or lower degree of _utility_ for life; and likewise -where new maxims proved to be, not in fact useful, but at least not -injurious, as expressions of an intellectual impulse to play a game that -was, like all games, innocent and happy. The human brain was gradually -filled with such judgments and convictions; and in this tangled skein -there arose ferment, strife and lust for power. Not only utility and -delight, but every kind of impulse took part in the struggle for -"truths": the intellectual struggle became a business, an attraction, a -calling, a duty, an honour—: cognizing and striving for the true finally -arranged themselves as needs among other needs. From that moment, not -only belief and conviction, but also examination, denial, distrust and -contradiction became _forces_; all "evil" instincts were subordinated to -knowledge, were placed in its service, and acquired the prestige of the -permitted, the honoured, the useful, and finally the appearance and -innocence of the _good_. Knowledge, thus became a portion of life -itself, and as life it became a continually growing power: until finally -the cognitions and those primeval, fundamental, errors clashed with each -other, both as life, both as power, both in the same man. The thinker is -now the being in whom the impulse to truth and those life-preserving -errors wage their first conflict, now that the impulse to truth has also -_proved_ itself to be a life-preserving power. In comparison with the -importance of this conflict everything else is indifferent; the final -question concerning the conditions of life is here raised, and the first -attempt is here made to answer it by experiment. How far is truth -susceptible of embodiment?—that is the question, that is the experiment. - - - 111. - -_Origin of the Logical._—Where has logic originated in men's heads? -Undoubtedly out of the illogical, the domain of which must originally -have been immense. But numberless beings who reasoned otherwise than we -do at present, perished; albeit that they may have come nearer to truth -than we! Whoever, for example, could not discern the "like" often enough -with regard to food, and with regard to animals dangerous to him, -whoever, therefore, deduced too slowly, or was too circumspect in his -deductions, had smaller probability of survival than he who in all -similar things immediately divined the equality. The preponderating -inclination, however, to deal with the similar as the equal—an illogical -inclination, for there is nothing equal in itself—first created the -whole basis of logic. It was just so (in order that the conception of -substance might originate, this being indispensable to logic, although -in the strictest sense nothing actual corresponds to it) that for a long -period the changing process in things had to be overlooked, and remain -unperceived; the beings not seeing correctly had an advantage over those -who saw everything "in flux." In itself every high degree of -circumspection in conclusions, every sceptical inclination, is a great -danger to life. No living being would have been preserved unless the -contrary inclination—to affirm rather than suspend judgment, to mistake -and fabricate rather than wait, to assent rather than deny, to decide -rather than be in the right—had been cultivated with extraordinary -assiduity.—The course of logical thought and reasoning in our modern -brain corresponds to a process and struggle of impulses, which singly -and in themselves are all very illogical and unjust; we experience -usually only the result of the struggle, so rapidly and secretly does -this primitive mechanism now operate in us. - - - 112. - -_Cause and Effect._—We say it is "explanation"; but it is only in -"description" that we are in advance of the older stages of knowledge -and science. We describe better,—we explain just as little as our -predecessors. We have discovered a manifold succession where the naïve -man and investigator of older cultures saw only two things, "cause" and -"effect," as it was said; we have perfected the conception of becoming, -but have not got a knowledge of what is above and behind the conception. -The series of "causes" stands before us much more complete in every -case; we conclude that this and that must first precede in order that -that other may follow—but we have not _grasped_ anything thereby. The -peculiarity, for example, in every chemical process seems a "miracle," -the same as before, just like all locomotion; nobody has "explained" -impulse. How could we ever explain! We operate only with things which do -not exist, with lines, surfaces, bodies, atoms, divisible times, -divisible spaces—how can explanation ever be possible when we first make -everything a _conception_, our conception! It is sufficient to regard -science as the exactest humanising of things that is possible; we always -learn to describe ourselves more accurately by describing things and -their successions. Cause and effect: there is probably never any such -duality; in fact there is a _continuum_ before us, from which we isolate -a few portions;—just as we always observe a motion as isolated points, -and therefore do not properly see it, but infer it. The abruptness with -which many effects take place leads us into error; it is however only an -abruptness for us. There is an infinite multitude of processes in that -abrupt moment which escape us. An intellect which could see cause and -effect as a _continuum_, which could see the flux of events not -according to our mode of perception, as things arbitrarily separated and -broken—would throw aside the conception of cause and effect, and would -deny all conditionality. - - - 113. - -_The Theory of Poisons._—So many things have to be united in order that -scientific thinking may arise, and all the necessary powers must have -been devised, exercised, and fostered singly! In their isolation, -however, they have very often had quite a different effect than at -present, when they are confined within the limits of scientific thinking -and kept mutually in check:—they have operated as poisons; for example, -the doubting impulse, the denying impulse, the waiting impulse, the -collecting impulse, the disintegrating impulse. Many hecatombs of men -were sacrificed ere these impulses learned to understand their -juxtaposition and regard themselves as functions of one organising force -in one man! And how far are we still from the point at which the -artistic powers and the practical wisdom of life shall co-operate with -scientific thinking, so that a higher organic system may be formed, in -relation to which the scholar, the physician, the artist, and the -lawgiver, as we know them at present, will seem sorry antiquities! - - - 114. - -_The Extent of the Moral._—We construct a new picture, which we see -immediately with the aid of all the old experiences which we have had, -_always according to the degree_ of our honesty and justice. The only -events are moral events, even in the domain of sense-perception. - - - 115. - -_The Four Errors._—Man has been reared by his errors: firstly, he saw -himself always imperfect; secondly, he attributed to himself imaginary -qualities; thirdly, he felt himself in a false position in relation to -the animals and nature; fourthly, he always devised new tables of -values, and accepted them for a time as eternal and unconditioned, so -that at one time this, and at another time that human impulse or state -stood first, and was ennobled in consequence. When one has deducted the -effect of these four errors, one has also deducted humanity, humaneness, -and "human dignity." - - - 116. - -_Herd-Instinct._—Wherever we meet with a morality we find a valuation -and order of rank of the human impulses and activities. These valuations -and orders of rank are always the expression of the needs of a community -or herd: that which is in the first place to _its_ advantage—and in the -second place and third place—is also the authoritative standard for the -worth of every individual. By morality the individual is taught to -become a function of the herd, and to ascribe to himself value only as a -function. As the conditions for the maintenance of one community have -been very different from those of another community, there have been -very different moralities; and in respect to the future essential -transformations of herds and communities, states and societies, one can -prophesy that there will still be very divergent moralities. Morality is -the herd-instinct in the individual. - - - 117. - -_The Herd's Sting of Conscience._—In the longest and remotest ages of -the human race there was quite a different sting of conscience from that -of the present day. At present one only feels responsible for what one -intends and for what one does, and we have our pride in ourselves. All -our professors of jurisprudence start with this sentiment of individual -independence and pleasure, as if the source of right had taken its rise -here from the beginning. But throughout the longest period in the life -of mankind there was nothing more terrible to a person than to feel -himself independent. To be alone, to feel independent, neither to obey -nor to rule, to represent an individual—that was no pleasure to a person -then, but a punishment; he was condemned "to be an individual." Freedom -of thought was regarded as discomfort personified. While we feel law and -regulation as constraint and loss, people formerly regarded egoism as a -painful thing, and a veritable evil. For a person to be himself, to -value himself according to his own measure and weight—that was then -quite distasteful. The inclination to such a thing would have been -regarded as madness; for all miseries and terrors were associated with -being alone. At that time the "free will" had bad conscience in close -proximity to it; and the less independently a person acted, the more the -herd-instinct, and not his personal character, expressed itself in his -conduct, so much the more moral did he esteem himself. All that did -injury to the herd, whether the individual had intended it or not, then -caused him a sting of conscience—and his neighbour likewise, indeed the -whole herd!—It is in this respect that we have most changed our mode of -thinking. - - - 118. - -_Benevolence._—Is it virtuous when a cell transforms itself into the -function of a stronger cell? It must do so. And is it wicked when the -stronger one assimilates the other? It must do so likewise: it is -necessary, for it has to have abundant indemnity and seeks to regenerate -itself. One has therefore to distinguish the instinct of appropriation, -and the instinct of submission, in benevolence, according as the -stronger or the weaker feels benevolent. Gladness and covetousness are -united in the stronger person, who wants to transform something to his -function: gladness and desire-to-be-coveted in the weaker person, who -would like to become a function.—The former case is essentially pity, a -pleasant excitation of the instinct of appropriation at the sight of the -weaker: it is to be remembered, however, that "strong" and "weak" are -relative conceptions. - - - 119. - -_No Altruism!_—I see in many men an excessive impulse and delight in -wanting to be a function; they strive after it, and have the keenest -scent for all those positions in which precisely _they_ themselves can -be functions. Among such persons are those women who transform -themselves into just that function of a man that is but weakly developed -in him, and then become his purse, or his politics, or his social -intercourse. Such beings maintain themselves best when they insert -themselves in an alien organism; if they do not succeed they become -vexed, irritated, and eat themselves up. - - - 120. - -_Health of the Soul._—The favourite medico-moral formula (whose -originator was Ariston of Chios), "Virtue is the health of the soul," -would, at least in order to be used, have to be altered to this: "Thy -virtue is the health of thy soul." For there is no such thing as health -in itself, and all attempts to define a thing in that way have -lamentably failed. It is necessary to know thy aim, thy horizon, thy -powers, thy impulses, thy errors, and especially the ideals and -fantasies of thy soul, in order to determine _what_ health implies even -for thy _body_. There are consequently innumerable kinds of physical -health; and the more one again permits the unique and unparalleled to -raise its head, the more one unlearns the dogma of the "Equality of -men," so much the more also must the conception of a normal health, -together with a normal diet and a normal course of disease, be abrogated -by our physicians. And then only would it be time to turn our thoughts -to the health and disease of the _soul_ and make the special virtue of -everyone consist in its health; but, to be sure, what appeared as health -in one person might appear as the contrary of health in another. In the -end the great question might still remain open: whether we could _do -without_ sickness, even for the development of our virtue, and whether -our thirst for knowledge and self-knowledge would not especially need -the sickly soul as well as the sound one; in short, whether the mere -will to health is not a prejudice, a cowardice, and perhaps an instance -of the subtlest barbarism and unprogressiveness. - - - 121. - -_Life no Argument._—We have arranged for ourselves a world in which we -can live—by the postulating of bodies, lines, surfaces, causes and -effects, motion and rest, form and content: without these articles of -faith no one could manage to live at present! But for all that they are -still unproved. Life is no argument; error might be among the conditions -of life. - - - 122. - -_The Element of Moral Scepticism in Christianity._—Christianity also has -made a great contribution to enlightenment, and has taught moral -scepticism in a very impressive and effective manner—accusing and -embittering, but with untiring patience and subtlety; it annihilated in -every individual the belief in his virtues: it made the great virtuous -ones, of whom antiquity had no lack, vanish for ever from the earth, -those popular men, who, in the belief in their perfection, walked about -with the dignity of a hero of the bull-fight. When, trained in this -Christian school of scepticism, we now read the moral books of the -ancients, for example those of Seneca and Epictetus, we feel a -pleasurable superiority, and are full of secret insight and -penetration,—it seems to us as if a child talked before an old man, or a -pretty, gushing girl before La Rochefoucauld:—we know better what virtue -is! After all, however, we have applied the same scepticism to all -_religious_ states and processes, such as sin, repentance, grace, -sanctification, &c., and have allowed the worm to burrow so well, that -we have now the same feeling of subtle superiority and insight even in -reading all Christian books:—we know also the religious feelings better! -And it is time to know them well and describe them well, for the pious -ones of the old belief die out also; let us save their likeness and -type, at least for the sake of knowledge. - - - 123. - -_Knowledge more than a Means._—Also _without_ this passion—I refer to -the passion for knowledge—science would be furthered: science has -hitherto increased and grown up without it. The good faith in science, -the prejudice in its favour, by which States are at present dominated -(it was even the Church formerly), rests fundamentally on the fact that -the absolute inclination and impulse has so rarely revealed itself in -it, and that science is regarded _not_ as a passion, but as a condition -and an "ethos." Indeed, _amour-plaisir_ of knowledge (curiosity) often -enough suffices, _amour-vanité_ suffices, and habituation to it, with -the afterthought of obtaining honour and bread; it even suffices for -many that they do not know what to do with a surplus of leisure, except -to continue reading, collecting, arranging, observing and narrating; -their "scientific impulse" is their ennui. Pope Leo X. once (in the -brief to Beroaldus) sang the praise of science; he designated it as the -finest ornament and the greatest pride of our life, a noble employment -in happiness and in misfortune; "without it," he says finally, "all -human undertakings would be without a firm basis,—even with it they are -still sufficiently mutable and insecure!" But this rather sceptical -Pope, like all other ecclesiastical panegyrists of science, suppressed -his ultimate judgment concerning it. If one may deduce from his words -what is remarkable enough for such a lover of art, that he places -science above art, it is after all, however, only from politeness that -he omits to speak of that which he places high above all science: the -"revealed truth," and the "eternal salvation of the soul,"—what are -ornament, pride, entertainment and security of life to him, in -comparison thereto? "Science is something of secondary rank, nothing -ultimate or unconditioned, no object of passion"—this judgment was kept -back in Leo's soul: the truly Christian judgment concerning science! In -antiquity its dignity and appreciation were lessened by the fact that, -even among its most eager disciples, the striving after _virtue_ stood -foremost, and that people thought they had given the highest praise to -knowledge when they celebrated it as the best means to virtue. It is -something new in history that knowledge claims to be more than a means. - - - 124. - -_In the Horizon of the Infinite._—We have left the land and have gone -aboard ship! We have broken down the bridge behind us,—nay, more, the -land behind us! Well, little ship! look out! Beside thee is the ocean; -it is true it does not always roar, and sometimes it spreads out like -silk and gold and a gentle reverie. But times will come when thou wilt -feel that it is infinite, and that there is nothing more frightful than -infinity. Oh, the poor bird that felt itself free, and now strikes -against the walls of this cage! Alas, if homesickness for the land -should attack thee, as if there had been more _freedom_ there,—and there -is no "land" any longer! - - - 125. - -_The Madman._—Have you ever heard of the madman who on a bright morning -lighted a lantern and ran to the market-place calling out unceasingly: -"I seek God! I seek God!"—As there were many people standing about who -did not believe in God, he caused a great deal of amusement. Why! is he -lost? said one. Has he strayed away like a child? said another. Or does -he keep himself hidden? Is he afraid of us? Has he taken a sea-voyage? -Has he emigrated?—the people cried out laughingly, all in a hubbub. The -insane man jumped into their midst and transfixed them with his glances. -"Where is God gone?" he called out. "I mean to tell you! _We have killed -him_,—you and I! We are all his murderers! But how have we done it? How -were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away -the whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened this earth from its -sun? Whither does it now move? Whither do we move? Away from all suns? -Do we not dash on unceasingly? Backwards, sideways, forwards, in all -directions? Is there still an above and below? Do we not stray, as -through infinite nothingness? Does not empty space breathe upon us? Has -it not become colder? Does not night come on continually, darker and -darker? Shall we not have to light lanterns in the morning? Do we not -hear the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we not smell -the divine putrefaction?—for even Gods putrefy! God is dead! God remains -dead! And we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves, the most -murderous of all murderers? The holiest and the mightiest that the world -has hitherto possessed, has bled to death under our knife,—who will wipe -the blood from us? With what water could we cleanse ourselves? What -lustrums, what sacred games shall we have to devise? Is not the -magnitude of this deed too great for us? Shall we not ourselves have to -become Gods, merely to seem worthy of it? There never was a greater -event,—and on account of it, all who are born after us belong to a -higher history than any history hitherto!"—Here the madman was silent -and looked again at his hearers; they also were silent and looked at him -in surprise. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, so that it -broke in pieces and was extinguished. "I come too early," he then said, -"I am not yet at the right time. This prodigious event is still on its -way, and is travelling,—it has not yet reached men's ears. Lightning and -thunder need time, the light of the stars needs time, deeds need time, -even after they are done, to be seen and heard. This deed is as yet -further from them than the furthest star,—_and yet they have done -it!_"—It is further stated that the madman made his way into different -churches on the same day, and there intoned his _Requiem aeternam deo_. -When led out and called to account, he always gave the reply: "What are -these churches now, if they are not the tombs and monuments of God?"— - - - 126. - -_Mystical Explanations._—Mystical explanations are regarded as profound; -the truth is that they do not even go the length of being superficial. - - - 127. - -_After-Effect of the most Ancient Religiousness._—The thoughtless man -thinks that the Will is the only thing that operates, that willing is -something simple, manifestly given, underived, and comprehensible in -itself. He is convinced that when he does anything, for example, when he -delivers a blow, it is _he_ who strikes, and he has struck because he -_willed_ to strike. He does not notice anything of a problem therein, -but the feeling of _willing_ suffices to him, not only for the -acceptance of cause and effect, but also for the belief that he -_understands_ their relationship. Of the mechanism of the occurrence and -of the manifold subtle operations that must be performed in order that -the blow may result, and likewise of the incapacity of the Will in -itself to effect even the smallest part of those operations—he knows -nothing. The Will is to him a magically operating force; the belief in -the Will as the cause of effects is the belief in magically operating -forces. In fact, whenever he saw anything happen, man originally -believed in a Will as cause, and in personally _willing_ beings -operating in the background,—the conception of mechanism was very remote -from him. Because, however, man for immense periods of time believed -only in persons (and not in matter, forces, things, &c.), the belief in -cause and effect has become a fundamental belief with him, which he -applies everywhere when anything happens,—and even still uses -instinctively as a piece of atavism of remotest origin. The -propositions, "No effect without a cause," and "Every effect again -implies a cause," appear as generalisations of several less general -propositions:—"Where there is operation there has been _willing_," -"Operating is only possible on _willing_ beings." "There is never a -pure, resultless experience of activity, but every experience involves -stimulation of the Will" (to activity, defence, revenge or retaliation). -But in the primitive period of the human race, the latter and the former -propositions were identical, the first were not generalisations of the -second, but the second were explanations of the first.—Schopenhauer, -with his assumption that all that exists is something _volitional_, has -set a primitive mythology on the throne; he seems never to have -attempted an analysis of the Will, because he _believed_ like everybody -in the simplicity and immediateness of all volition:—while volition is -in fact such a cleverly practised mechanical process that it almost -escapes the observing eye. I set the following propositions against -those of Schopenhauer:—Firstly, in order that Will may arise, an idea of -pleasure and pain is necessary. Secondly, that a vigorous excitation may -be felt as pleasure or pain, is the affair of the _interpreting_ -intellect, which, to be sure, operates thereby for the most part -unconsciously to us, and one and the same excitation _may_ be -interpreted as pleasure or pain. Thirdly, it is only in an intellectual -being that there is pleasure, displeasure and Will; the immense majority -of organisms have nothing of the kind. - - - 128. - -_The Value of Prayer._—Prayer has been devised for such men as have -never any thoughts of their own, and to whom an elevation of the soul is -unknown, or passes unnoticed; what shall these people do in holy places -and in all important situations in life which require repose and some -kind of dignity? In order at least that they may not _disturb_, the -wisdom of all the founders of religions, the small as well as the great, -has commended to them the formula of prayer, as a long mechanical labour -of the lips, united with an effort of the memory, and with a uniform, -prescribed attitude of hands and feet—_and_ eyes! They may then, like -the Tibetans, chew the cud of their "_om mane padme hum_," innumerable -times, or, as in Benares, count the name of God Ram-Ram-Ram (and so on, -with or without grace) on their fingers; or honour Vishnu with his -thousand names of invocation, Allah with his ninety-nine; or they may -make use of the prayer-wheels and the rosary: the main thing is that -they are settled down for a time at this work, and present a tolerable -appearance; their mode of prayer is devised for the advantage of the -pious who have thought and elevation of their own. But even these have -their weary hours when a series of venerable words and sounds and a -mechanical, pious ritual does them good. But supposing that these rare -men—in every religion the religious man is an exception—know how to help -themselves, the poor in spirit do not know, and to forbid them the -prayer-babbling would mean to take their religion from them, a fact -which Protestantism brings more and more to light. All that religion -wants with such persons is that they should _keep still_ with their -eyes, hands, legs, and all their organs: they thereby become temporarily -beautified and—more human-looking! - - - 129. - -_The Conditions for God._—"God himself cannot subsist without wise men," -said Luther, and with good reason; but "God can still less subsist -without unwise men,"—good Luther did not say that! - - - 130. - -_A Dangerous Resolution._—The Christian resolution to find the world -ugly and bad has made the world ugly and bad. - - - 131. - -_Christianity and Suicide._—Christianity made use of the excessive -longing for suicide at the time of its origin as a lever for its power: -it left only two forms of suicide, invested them with the highest -dignity and the highest hopes, and forbade all others in a dreadful -manner. But martyrdom and the slow self-annihilation of the ascetic were -permitted. - - - 132. - -_Against Christianity._—It is now no longer our reason, but our taste -that decides against Christianity. - - - 133. - -_Axioms._—An unavoidable hypothesis on which mankind must always fall -back again, is, in the long run, _more powerful_ than the most firmly -believed belief in something untrue (like the Christian belief). In the -long run: that means a hundred thousand years from now. - - - 134. - -_Pessimists as Victims._—When a profound dislike of existence gets the -upper hand, the after-effect of a great error in diet of which a people -has been long guilty comes to light. The spread of Buddhism (_not_ its -origin) is thus to a considerable extent dependent on the excessive and -almost exclusive rice-fare of the Indians, and on the universal -enervation that results therefrom. Perhaps the modern, European -discontentedness is to be looked upon as caused by the fact that the -world of our forefathers, the whole Middle Ages, was given to drink, -owing to the influence of German tastes in Europe: the Middle Ages, that -means the alcoholic poisoning of Europe.—The German dislike of life -(including the influence of the cellar-air and stove-poison in German -dwellings), is essentially a cold-weather complaint. - - - 135. - -_Origin of Sin._—Sin, as it is at present felt wherever Christianity -prevails or has prevailed, is a Jewish feeling and a Jewish invention; -and in respect to this background of all Christian morality, -Christianity has in fact aimed at "Judaising" the whole world. To what -an extent this has succeeded in Europe is traced most accurately in the -extent of our alienness to Greek antiquity—a world without the feeling -of sin—in our sentiments even at present; in spite of all the good will -to approximation and assimilation, which whole generations and many -distinguished individuals have not failed to display. "Only when thou -_repentest_ is God gracious to thee"—that would arouse the laughter or -the wrath of a Greek: he would say, "Slaves may have such sentiments." -Here a mighty being, an almighty being, and yet a revengeful being, is -presupposed; his power is so great that no injury whatever can be done -to him, except in the point of honour. Every sin is an infringement of -respect, a _crimen læsæ majestatis divinæ_—and nothing more! Contrition, -degradation, rolling-in-the-dust,—these are the first and last -conditions on which his favour depends: the restoration, therefore, of -his divine honour! If injury be caused otherwise by sin, if a profound, -spreading evil be propagated by it, an evil which, like a disease, -attacks and strangles one man after another—that does not trouble this -honour-craving Oriental in heaven; sin is an offence against him, not -against mankind!—to him on whom he has bestowed his favour he bestows -also this indifference to the natural consequences of sin. God and -mankind are here thought of as separated, as so antithetical that sin -against the latter cannot be at all possible,—all deeds are to be looked -upon _solely with respect to their supernatural consequences_, and not -with respect to their natural results: it is thus that the Jewish -feeling, to which all that is natural seems unworthy in itself, would -have things. The _Greeks_, on the other hand, were more familiar with -the thought that transgression also may have dignity,—even theft, as in -the case of Prometheus, even the slaughtering of cattle as the -expression of frantic jealousy, as in the case of Ajax; in their need to -attribute dignity to transgression and embody it therein, they invented -_tragedy_,—an art and a delight, which in its profoundest essence has -remained alien to the Jew, in spite of all his poetic endowment and -taste for the sublime. - - - 136. - -_The Chosen People._—The Jews, who regard themselves as the chosen -people among the nations, and that too because they are the moral genius -among the nations (in virtue of their capacity for _despising_ the human -in themselves _more_ than any other people)—the Jews have a pleasure in -their divine monarch and saint similar to that which the French nobility -had in Louis XIV. This nobility had allowed its power and autocracy to -be taken from it, and had become contemptible: in order not to feel -this, in order to be able to forget it, an _unequalled_ royal -magnificence, royal authority and plenitude of power was needed, to -which there was access only for the nobility. As in accordance with this -privilege they raised themselves to the elevation of the court, and from -that elevation saw everything under them,—saw everything -contemptible,—they got beyond all uneasiness of conscience. They thus -elevated intentionally the tower of the royal power more and more into -the clouds, and set the final coping-stone of their own power thereon. - - - 137. - -_Spoken in Parable._—A Jesus Christ was only possible in a Jewish -landscape—I mean in one over which the gloomy and sublime thunder-cloud -of the angry Jehovah hung continually. Here only was the rare, sudden -flashing of a single sunbeam through the dreadful, universal and -continuous nocturnal-day regarded as a miracle of "love," as a beam of -the most unmerited "grace." Here only could Christ dream of his rainbow -and celestial ladder on which God descended to man; everywhere else the -clear weather and the sun were considered the rule and the commonplace. - - - 138. - -_The Error of Christ._—The founder of Christianity thought there was -nothing from which men suffered so much as from their sins:—it was his -error, the error of him who felt himself without sin, to whom experience -was lacking in this respect! It was thus that his soul filled with that -marvellous, fantastic pity which had reference to a trouble that even -among his own people, the inventors of sin, was rarely a great trouble! -But Christians understood subsequently how to do justice to their -master, and to sanctify his error into a "truth." - - - 139. - -_Colour of the Passions._—Natures such as the apostle Paul, have an evil -eye for the passions; they learn to know only the filthy, the -distorting, and the heart-breaking in them,—their ideal aim, therefore, -is the annihilation of the passions; in the divine they see complete -purification from passion. The Greeks, quite otherwise than Paul and the -Jews, directed their ideal aim precisely to the passions, and loved, -elevated, embellished and deified them: in passion they evidently not -only felt themselves happier, but also purer and diviner than -otherwise.—And now the Christians? Have they wished to become Jews in -this respect? Have they perhaps become Jews! - - - 140. - -_Too Jewish._—If God had wanted to become an object of love, he would -first of all have had to forgo judging and justice:—a judge, and even a -gracious judge, is no object of love. The founder of Christianity showed -too little of the finer feelings in this respect—being a Jew. - - - 141. - -_Too Oriental._—What? A God who loves men, provided that they believe in -him, and who hurls frightful glances and threatenings at him who does -not believe in this love! What? A conditioned love as the feeling of an -almighty God! A love which has not even become master of the sentiment -of honour and of the irritable desire for vengeance! How Oriental is all -that! "If I love thee, what does it concern thee?"[9] is already a -sufficient criticism of the whole of Christianity. - - - 142. - -_Frankincense._—Buddha says: "Do not flatter thy benefactor!" Let one -repeat this saying in a Christian church:—it immediately purifies the -air of all Christianity. - - - 143. - -_The Greatest Utility of Polytheism._—For the individual to set up his -_own_ ideal and derive from it his laws, his pleasures and his -rights—_that_ has perhaps been hitherto regarded as the most monstrous -of all human aberrations, and as idolatry in itself; in fact, the few -who have ventured to do this have always needed to apologise to -themselves, usually in this wise: "Not I! not I! but _a God_, through my -instrumentality!" It was in the marvellous art and capacity for creating -Gods—in polytheism—that this impulse was permitted to discharge itself, -it was here that it became purified, perfected, and ennobled; for it was -originally a commonplace and unimportant impulse, akin to stubbornness, -disobedience and envy. To be _hostile_ to this impulse towards the -individual ideal,—that was formerly the law of every morality. There was -then only one norm, "the man"—and every people believed that it _had_ -this one and ultimate norm. But above himself, and outside of himself, -in a distant over-world, a person could see a _multitude of norms_: the -one God was not the denial or blasphemy of the other Gods! It was here -that individuals were first permitted, it was here that the right of -individuals was first respected. The inventing of Gods, heroes and -supermen of all kinds, as well as co-ordinate men and undermen—dwarfs, -fairies, centaurs, satyrs, demons, devils—was the inestimable -preliminary to the justification of the selfishness and sovereignty of -the individual: the freedom which was granted to one God in respect to -other Gods, was at last given to the individual himself in respect to -laws, customs and neighbours. Monotheism, on the contrary, the rigid -consequence of the doctrine of one normal human being—consequently the -belief in a normal God, beside whom there are only false, spurious -Gods—has perhaps been the greatest danger of mankind in the past: man -was then threatened by that premature state of inertia, which, so far as -we can see, most of the other species of animals reached long ago, as -creatures who all believe in one normal animal and ideal in their -species, and definitely translated their morality of custom into flesh -and blood. In polytheism man's free-thinking and many-sided thinking had -a prototype set up: the power to create for himself new and individual -eyes, always newer and more individualised: so that it is for man alone, -of all the animals, that there are no _eternal_ horizons and -perspectives. - - - 144. - -_Religious Wars._—The greatest advance of the masses hitherto has been -religious war, for it proves that the masses have begun to deal -reverently with conceptions of things. Religious wars only result, when -human reason generally has been refined by the subtle disputes of sects; -so that even the populace becomes punctilious and regards trifles as -important, actually thinking it possible that the "eternal salvation of -the soul" may depend upon minute distinctions of concepts. - - - 145. - -_Danger of Vegetarians._—The immense prevalence of rice-eating impels to -the use of opium and narcotics, in like manner as the immense prevalence -of potato-eating impels to the use of brandy:—it also impels, however, -in its more subtle after-effects to modes of thought and feeling which -operate narcotically. This is in accord with the fact that those who -promote narcotic modes of thought and feeling, like those Indian -teachers, praise a purely vegetable diet, and would like to make it a -law for the masses: they want thereby to call forth and augment the need -which _they_ are in a position to satisfy. - - - 146. - -_German Hopes._—Do not let us forget that the names of peoples are -generally names of reproach. The Tartars, for example, according to -their name, are "the dogs"; they were so christened by the Chinese. -"_Deutschen_" (Germans) means originally "heathen": it is thus that the -Goths after their conversion named the great mass of their unbaptized -fellow-tribes, according to the indication in their translation of the -Septuagint, in which the heathen are designated by the word which in -Greek signifies "the nations." (See Ulfilas.)—It might still be possible -for the Germans to make an honourable name ultimately out of their old -name of reproach, by becoming the first _non-Christian_ nation of -Europe; for which purpose Schopenhauer, to their honour, regarded them -as highly qualified. The work of _Luther_ would thus be consummated,—he -who taught them to be anti-Roman and to say: "Here _I_ stand! _I_ cannot -do otherwise!"— - - - 147. - -_Question and Answer._—What do savage tribes at present accept first of -all from Europeans? Brandy and Christianity, the European narcotics.—And -by what means are they fastest ruined?—By the European narcotics. - - - 148. - -_Where Reformations Originate._—At the time of the great corruption of -the church it was least of all corrupt in Germany: it was on that -account that the Reformation originated _here_, as a sign that even the -beginnings of corruption were felt to be unendurable. For, comparatively -speaking, no people was ever more Christian than the Germans at the time -of Luther; their Christian culture was just about to burst into bloom -with a hundred-fold splendour,—one night only was still lacking; but -that night brought the storm which put an end to all. - - - 149. - -_The Failure of Reformations._—It testifies to the higher culture of the -Greeks, even in rather early ages, that attempts to establish new -Grecian religions frequently failed; it testifies that quite early there -must have been a multitude of dissimilar individuals in Greece, whose -dissimilar troubles were not cured by a single recipe of faith and hope. -Pythagoras and Plato, perhaps also Empedocles, and already much earlier -the Orphic enthusiasts, aimed at founding new religions; and the two -first-named were so endowed with the qualifications for founding -religions, that one cannot be sufficiently astonished at their failure: -they just reached the point of founding sects. Every time that the -Reformation of an entire people fails and only sects raise their heads, -one may conclude that the people already contains many types, and has -begun to free itself from the gross herding instincts and the morality -of custom,—a momentous state of suspense, which one is accustomed to -disparage as decay of morals and corruption, while it announces the -maturing of the egg and the early rupture of the shell. That Luther's -Reformation succeeded in the north, is a sign that the north had -remained backward in comparison with the south of Europe, and still had -requirements tolerably uniform in colour and kind; and there would have -been no Christianising of Europe at all, if the culture of the old world -of the south had not been gradually barbarized by an excessive admixture -of the blood of German barbarians, and thus lost its ascendency. The -more universally and unconditionally an individual, or the thought of an -individual, can operate, so much more homogeneous and so much lower must -be the mass that is there operated upon; while counter-strivings betray -internal counter-requirements, which also want to gratify and realise -themselves. Reversely, one may always conclude with regard to an actual -elevation of culture, when powerful and ambitious natures only produce a -limited and sectarian effect: this is true also for the separate arts, -and for the provinces of knowledge. Where there is ruling there are -masses: where there are masses there is need of slavery. Where there is -slavery the individuals are but few, and have the instincts and -conscience of the herd opposed to them. - - - 150. - -_Criticism of Saints._—Must one then, in order to have a virtue, be -desirous of having it precisely in its most brutal form?—as the -Christian saints desired and needed;—those who only _endured_ life with -the thought that at the sight of their virtue self-contempt might seize -every man. A virtue with such an effect I call brutal. - - - 151. - -_The Origin of Religion._—The metaphysical requirement is not the origin -of religions, as Schopenhauer claims, but only a _later sprout_ from -them. Under the dominance of religious thoughts we have accustomed -ourselves to the idea of "another (back, under, or upper) world," and -feel an uncomfortable void and privation through the annihilation of the -religious illusion;—and then "another world" grows out of this feeling -once more, but now it is only a metaphysical world, and no longer a -religious one. That however which in general led to the assumption of -"another world" in primitive times, was _not_ an impulse or requirement, -but an _error_ in the interpretation of certain natural phenomena, a -difficulty of the intellect. - - - 152. - -_The greatest Change._—The lustre and the hues of all things have -changed! We no longer quite understand how earlier men conceived of the -most familiar and frequent things,—for example, of the day, and the -awakening in the morning: owing to their belief in dreams the waking -state seemed to them differently illuminated. And similarly of the whole -of life, with its reflection of death and its significance: our "death" -is an entirely different death. All events were of a different lustre, -for a God shone forth in them; and similarly of all resolutions and -peeps into the distant future: for people had oracles, and secret hints, -and believed in prognostication. "Truth" was conceived in quite a -different manner, for the insane could formerly be regarded as its -mouthpiece—a thing which makes _us_ shudder, or laugh. Injustice made a -different impression on the feelings: for people were afraid of divine -retribution, and not only of legal punishment and disgrace. What joy was -there in an age when men believed in the devil and tempter! What passion -was there when people saw demons lurking close at hand! What philosophy -was there when doubt was regarded as sinfulness of the most dangerous -kind, and in fact as an outrage on eternal love, as distrust of -everything good, high, pure, and compassionate!—We have coloured things -anew, we paint them over continually,—but what have we been able to do -hitherto in comparison with the _splendid colouring_ of that old -master!—I mean ancient humanity. - - - 153. - -_Homo poeta._—"I myself who have made this tragedy of tragedies -altogether independently, in so far as it is completed; I who have first -entwined the perplexities of morality about existence, and have -tightened them so that only a God could unravel them—so Horace -demands!—I have already in the fourth act killed all the Gods—for the -sake of morality! What is now to be done about the fifth act? Where -shall I get the tragic _dénouement_! Must I now think about a comic -_dénouement_?" - - - 154. - -_Differences in the Dangerousness of Life._—You don't know at all what -you experience; you run through life as if intoxicated, and now and then -fall down a stair. Thanks however to your intoxication you still do not -break your limbs: your muscles are too languid and your head too -confused to find the stones of the staircase as hard as we others do! -For us life is a greater danger: we are made of glass—alas, if we should -_strike against_ anything! And all is lost if we should _fall_! - - - 155. - -_What we Lack._—We love the _grandeur_ of Nature and have discovered it; -that is because human grandeur is lacking in our minds. It was the -reverse with the Greeks: their feeling towards Nature was quite -different from ours. - - - 156. - -_The most Influential Person._—The fact that a person resists the whole -spirit of his age, stops it at the door, and calls it to account, _must_ -exert an influence! It is indifferent whether he wishes to exert an -influence; the point is that he _can_. - - - 157. - -_Mentiri._—Take care!—he reflects: he will have a lie ready immediately. -This is a stage in the civilisation of whole nations. Consider only what -the Romans expressed by _mentiri_! - - - 158. - -_An Inconvenient Peculiarity._—To find everything deep is an -inconvenient peculiarity: it makes one constantly strain one's eyes, so -that in the end one always finds more than one wishes. - - - 159. - -_Every Virtue has its Time._—The honesty of him who is at present -inflexible often causes him remorse; for inflexibility is the virtue of -a time different from that in which honesty prevails. - - - 160. - -_In Intercourse with Virtues._—One can also be undignified and -flattering towards a virtue. - - - 161. - -_To the Admirers of the Age._—The runaway priest and the liberated -criminal are continually making grimaces; what they want is a look -without a past.—But have you ever seen men who know that their looks -reflect the future, and who are so courteous to you, the admirers of the -"age," that they assume a look without a future. - - - 162. - -_Egoism._—Egoism is the _perspective_ law of our sentiment, according to -which the near appears large and momentous, while in the distance the -magnitude and importance of all things diminish. - - - 163. - -_After a Great Victory._—The best thing in a great victory is that it -deprives the conqueror of the fear of defeat. "Why should I not be -worsted for once?" he says to himself, "I am now rich enough to stand -it." - - - 164. - -_Those who Seek Repose._—I recognise the minds that seek repose by the -many _dark_ objects with which they surround themselves: those who want -to sleep darken their chambers, or creep into caverns. A hint to those -who do not know what they really seek most, and would like to know! - - - 165. - -_The Happiness of Renunciation._—He who has absolutely dispensed with -something for a long time will almost imagine, when he accidentally -meets with it again, that he has discovered it,—and what happiness every -discoverer has! Let us be wiser than the serpents that lie too long in -the same sunshine. - - - 166. - -_Always in our own Society._—All that is akin to me in nature and -history speaks to me, praises me, urges me forward and comforts me—: -other things are unheard by me, or immediately forgotten. We are only in -our own society always. - - - 167. - -_Misanthropy and Philanthropy._—We only speak about being sick of men -when we can no longer digest them, and yet have the stomach full of -them. Misanthropy is the result of a far too eager philanthropy and -"cannibalism,"—but who ever bade you swallow men like oysters, my Prince -Hamlet! - - - 168. - -_Concerning an Invalid._—"Things go badly with him!"—What is wrong?—"He -suffers from the longing to be praised, and finds no sustenance for -it."—Inconceivable! All the world does honour to him, and he is -reverenced not only in deed but in word!—"Certainly, but he is dull of -hearing for the praise. When a friend praises him it sounds to him as if -the friend praised himself; when an enemy praises him, it sounds to him -as if the enemy wanted to be praised for it; when, finally, some one -else praises him—there are by no means so many of these, he is so -famous!—he is offended because they neither want him for a friend nor -for an enemy; he is accustomed to say: 'What do I care for those who can -still pose as the all-righteous towards me!'" - - - 169. - -_Avowed Enemies._—Bravery in presence of an enemy is a thing by itself: -a person may possess it and still be a coward and an irresolute -numskull. That was Napoleon's opinion concerning the "bravest man" he -knew, Murat:—whence it follows that avowed enemies are indispensable to -some men, if they are to attain to _their_ virtue, to their manliness, -to their cheerfulness. - - - 170. - -_With the Multitude._—He has hitherto gone with the multitude and is its -panegyrist; but one day he will be its opponent! For he follows it in -the belief that his laziness will find its advantage thereby; he has not -yet learned that the multitude is not lazy enough for him! that it -always presses forward! that it does not allow any one to stand -still!—And he likes so well to stand still! - - - 171. - -_Fame._—When the gratitude of many to one casts aside all shame, then -fame originates. - - - 172. - -_The Perverter of Taste._—A: "You are a perverter of taste—they say so -everywhere!" B: "Certainly! I pervert every one's taste for his -party:—no party forgives me for that." - - - 173. - -_To be Profound and to Appear Profound._—He who knows that he is -profound strives for clearness; he who would like to appear profound to -the multitude strives for obscurity. The multitude thinks everything -profound of which it cannot see the bottom; it is so timid and goes so -unwillingly into the water. - - - 174. - -_Apart._—Parliamentarism, that is to say, the public permission to -choose between five main political opinions, insinuates itself into the -favour of the numerous class who would fain _appear_ independent and -individual, and like to fight for their opinions. After all, however, it -is a matter of indifference whether one opinion is imposed upon the -herd, or five opinions are permitted to it.—He who diverges from the -five public opinions and goes apart, has always the whole herd against -him. - - - 175. - -_Concerning Eloquence._—What has hitherto had the most convincing -eloquence? The rolling of the drum: and as long as kings have this at -their command, they will always be the best orators and popular leaders. - - - 176. - -_Compassion._—The poor, ruling princes! All their rights now change -unexpectedly into claims, and all these claims immediately sound like -pretensions! And if they but say "we," or "my people," wicked old Europe -begins laughing. Verily, a chief-master-of-ceremonies of the modern -world would make little ceremony with them; perhaps he would decree that -"_les souverains rangent aux parvenus_." - - - 177. - -_On "Educational Matters."_—In Germany an important educational means is -lacking for higher men; namely, the laughter of higher men; these men do -not laugh in Germany. - - - 178. - -_For Moral Enlightenment._—The Germans must be talked out of their -Mephistopheles—and out of their Faust also. These are two moral -prejudices against the value of knowledge. - - - 179. - -_Thoughts._—Thoughts are the shadows of our sentiments—always, however, -obscurer, emptier, and simpler. - - - 180. - -_The Good Time for Free Spirits._—Free Spirits take liberties even with -regard to Science—and meanwhile they are allowed to do so,—while the -Church still remains!—In so far they have now their good time. - - - 181. - -_Following and Leading._—A: "Of the two, the one will always follow, the -other will always lead, whatever be the course of their destiny. _And -yet_ the former is superior to the other in virtue and intellect." B: -"And yet? And yet? That is spoken for the others; not for me, not for -us!—_Fit secundum regulam._" - - - 182. - -_In Solitude._—When one lives alone one does not speak too loudly, and -one does not write too loudly either, for one fears the hollow -reverberation—the criticism of the nymph Echo.—And all voices sound -differently in solitude! - - - 183. - -_The Music of the Best Future._—The first musician for me would be he -who knew only the sorrow of the profoundest happiness, and no other -sorrow: there has not hitherto been such a musician. - - - 184. - -_Justice._—Better allow oneself to be robbed than have scarecrows around -one—that is my taste. And under all circumstances it is just a matter of -taste—and nothing more! - - - 185. - -_Poor._—He is now poor, but not because everything has been taken from -him, but because he has thrown everything away:—what does he care? He is -accustomed to find new things.—It is the poor who misunderstand his -voluntary poverty. - - - 186. - -_Bad Conscience._—All that he now does is excellent and proper—and yet -he has a bad conscience with it all. For the exceptional is his task. - - - 187. - -_Offensiveness in Expression._—This artist offends me by the way in -which he expresses his ideas, his very excellent ideas: so diffusely and -forcibly, and with such gross rhetorical artifices, as if he were -speaking to the mob. We feel always as if "in bad company" when devoting -some time to his art. - - - 188. - -_Work._—How close work and the workers now stand even to the most -leisurely of us! The royal courtesy in the words: "We are all workers," -would have been a cynicism and an indecency even under Louis XIV. - - - 189. - -_The Thinker._—He is a thinker: that is to say, he knows how to take -things more simply than they are. - - - 190. - -_Against Eulogisers._—A: "One is only praised by one's equals!" B: "Yes! -And he who praises you says: 'You are my equal!'" - - - 191. - -_Against many a Vindication._—The most perfidious manner of injuring a -cause is to vindicate it intentionally with fallacious arguments. - - - 192. - -_The Good-natured._—What is it that distinguishes the good-natured, -whose countenances beam kindness, from other people? They feel quite at -ease in presence of a new person, and are quickly enamoured of him; they -therefore wish him well; their first opinion is: "He pleases me." With -them there follow in succession the wish to appropriate (they make -little scruple about the person's worth), rapid appropriation, joy in -the possession, and actions in favour of the person possessed. - - - 193. - -_Kant's Joke._—Kant tried to prove, in a way that dismayed "everybody," -that "everybody" was in the right:—that was his secret joke. He wrote -against the learned, in favour of popular prejudice; he wrote, however, -for the learned and not for the people. - - - 194. - -_The "Open-hearted" Man._—That man acts probably always from concealed -motives; for he has always communicable motives on his tongue, and -almost in his open hand. - - - 195. - -_Laughable!_—See! See! He runs _away_ from men—: they follow him, -however, because he runs _before_ them,—they are such a gregarious lot! - - - 196. - -_The Limits of our Sense of Hearing._—We hear only the questions to -which we are capable of finding an answer. - - - 197. - -_Caution therefore!_—There is nothing we are fonder of communicating to -others than the seal of secrecy—together with what is under it. - - - 198. - -_Vexation of the Proud Man._—The proud man is vexed even with those who -help him forward: he looks angrily at his carriage-horses! - - - 199. - -_Liberality._—Liberality is often only a form of timidity in the rich. - - - 200. - -_Laughing._—To laugh means to love mischief, but with a good conscience. - - - 201. - -_In Applause._—In applause there is always some kind of noise: even in -self-applause. - - - 202. - -_A Spendthrift._—He has not yet the poverty of the rich man who has -counted all his treasure,—he squanders his spirit with the -irrationalness of the spendthrift Nature. - - - 203. - -_Hic niger est._—Usually he has no thoughts,—but in exceptional cases -bad thoughts come to him. - - - 204. - -_Beggars and Courtesy._—"One is not discourteous when one knocks at a -door with a stone when the bell-pull is awanting"—so think all beggars -and necessitous persons, but no one thinks they are in the right. - - - 205. - -_Need._—Need is supposed to be the cause of things; but in truth it is -often only the effect of the things themselves. - - - 206. - -_During the Rain._—It rains, and I think of the poor people who now -crowd together with their many cares, which they are unaccustomed to -conceal; all of them, therefore, ready and anxious to give pain to one -another, and thus provide themselves with a pitiable kind of comfort, -even in bad weather. This, this only, is the poverty of the poor! - - - 207. - -_The Envious Man._—That is an envious man—it is not desirable that he -should have children; he would be envious of them, because he can no -longer be a child. - - - 208. - -_A Great Man!_—Because a person is "a great man," we are not authorised -to infer that he is a man. Perhaps he is only a boy, or a chameleon of -all ages, or a bewitched girl. - - - 209. - -_A Mode of Asking for Reasons._—There is a mode of asking for our -reasons which not only makes us forget our best reasons, but also -arouses in us a spite and repugnance against reason generally:—a very -stupefying mode of questioning, and properly an artifice of tyrannical -men! - - - 210. - -_Moderation in Diligence._—One must not be anxious to surpass the -diligence of one's father—that would make one ill. - - - 211. - -_Secret Enemies._—To be able to keep a secret enemy—that is a luxury -which the morality even of the highest-minded persons can rarely afford. - - - 212. - -_Not Letting oneself be Deluded._—His spirit has bad manners, it is -hasty and always stutters with impatience; so that one would hardly -suspect the deep breathing and the large chest of the soul in which it -resides. - - - 213. - -_The Way to Happiness._—A sage asked of a fool the way to happiness. The -fool answered without delay, like one who had been asked the way to the -next town: "Admire yourself, and live on the street!" "Hold," cried the -sage, "you require too much; it suffices to admire oneself!" The fool -replied: "But how can one constantly admire without constantly -despising?" - - - 214. - -_Faith Saves._—Virtue gives happiness and a state of blessedness only to -those who have a strong faith in their virtue:—not, however, to the more -refined souls whose virtue consists of a profound distrust of themselves -and of all virtue. After all, therefore, it is "faith that saves" here -also!—and be it well observed, _not_ virtue! - - - 215. - -_The Ideal and the Material._—You have a noble ideal before your eyes: -but are you also such a noble stone that such a divine image could be -formed out of you? And without that—is not all your labour barbaric -sculpturing? A blasphemy of your ideal! - - - 216. - -_Danger in the Voice._—With a very loud voice a person is almost -incapable of reflecting on subtle matters. - - - 217. - -_Cause and Effect._—Before the effect one believes in other causes than -after the effect. - - - 218. - -_My Antipathy._—I do not like those people who, in order to produce an -effect, have to burst like bombs, and in whose neighbourhood one is -always in danger of suddenly losing one's hearing—or even something -more. - - - 219. - -_The Object of Punishment._—The object of punishment is to improve him -_who punishes_,—that is the ultimate appeal of those who justify -punishment. - - - 220. - -_Sacrifice._—The victims think otherwise than the spectators about -sacrifice and sacrificing: but they have never been allowed to express -their opinion. - - - 221. - -_Consideration._—Fathers and sons are much more considerate of one -another than mothers and daughters. - - - 222. - -_Poet and Liar._—The poet sees in the liar his foster-brother whose milk -he has drunk up; the latter has thus remained wretched, and has not even -attained to a good conscience. - - - 223. - -_Vicariousness of the Senses._—"We have also eyes in order to hear with -them,"—said an old confessor who had grown deaf; "and among the blind he -that has the longest ears is king." - - - 224. - -_Animal Criticism._—I fear the animals regard man as a being like -themselves, very seriously endangered by a loss of sound animal -understanding;—they regard him perhaps as the absurd animal, the -laughing animal, the crying animal, the unfortunate animal. - - - 225. - -_The Natural._—"Evil has always had the great effect! And Nature is -evil! Let us therefore be natural!"—so reason secretly the great -aspirants after effect, who are too often counted among great men. - - - 226. - -_The Distrustful and their Style._—We say the strongest things simply, -provided people are about us who believe in our strength:—such an -environment educates to "simplicity of style." The distrustful, on the -other hand, speak emphatically; they make things emphatic. - - - 227. - -_Fallacy, Fallacy._—He cannot rule himself; therefore that woman -concludes that it will be easy to rule him, and throws out her lines to -catch him;—the poor creature, who in a short time will be his slave. - - - 228. - -_Against Mediators._—He who attempts to mediate between two decided -thinkers is rightly called mediocre: he has not an eye for seeing the -unique; similarising and equalising are signs of weak eyes. - - - 229. - -_Obstinacy and Loyalty._—Out of obstinacy he holds fast to a cause of -which the questionableness has become obvious,—he calls that, however, -his "loyalty." - - - 230. - -_Lack of Reserve._—His whole nature fails to _convince_—that results -from the fact that he has never been reticent about a good action he has -performed. - - - 231. - -_The "Plodders."_—Persons slow of apprehension think that slowness forms -part of knowledge. - - - 232. - -_Dreaming._—Either one does not dream at all, or one dreams in an -interesting manner. One must learn to be awake in the same -fashion:—either not at all, or in an interesting manner. - - - 233. - -_The most Dangerous Point of View._—What I now do, or neglect to do, is -as important _for all that is to come_, as the greatest event of the -past: in this immense perspective of effects all actions are equally -great and small. - - - 234. - -_Consolatory Words of a Musician._—"Your life does not sound into -people's ears: for them you live a dumb life, and all refinements of -melody, all fond resolutions in following or leading the way, are -concealed from them. To be sure you do not parade the thoroughfares with -regimental music,—but these good people have no right to say on that -account that your life is lacking in music. He that hath ears let him -hear." - - - 235. - -_Spirit and Character._—Many a one attains his full height of character, -but his spirit is not adapted to the elevation,—and many a one -reversely. - - - 236. - -_To Move the Multitude._—Is it not necessary for him who wants to move -the multitude to give a stage representation of himself? Has he not -first to translate himself into the grotesquely obvious, and then _set -forth_ his whole personality and cause in that vulgarised and simplified -fashion! - - - 237. - -_The Polite Man._—"He is so polite!"—Yes, he has always a sop for -Cerberus with him, and is so timid that he takes everybody for Cerberus, -even you and me,—that is his "politeness." - - - 238. - -_Without Envy._—He is wholly without envy, but there is no merit -therein: for he wants to conquer a land which no one has yet possessed -and hardly any one has even seen. - - - 239. - -_The Joyless Person._—A single joyless person is enough to make constant -displeasure and a clouded heaven in a household; and it is only by a -miracle that such a person is lacking!—Happiness is not nearly such a -contagious disease;—how is that! - - - 240. - -_On the Sea-Shore._—I would not build myself a house (it is an element -of my happiness not to be a house-owner!). If I had to do so, however, I -should build it, like many of the Romans, right into the sea,—I should -like to have some secrets in common with that beautiful monster. - - - 241. - -_Work and Artist._—This artist is ambitious and nothing more; -ultimately, however, his work is only a magnifying glass, which he -offers to every one who looks in his direction. - - - 242. - -_Suum cuique._—However great be my greed of knowledge, I cannot -appropriate aught of things but what already belongs to me,—the property -of others still remains in the things. How is it possible for a man to -be a thief or a robber! - - - 243. - -_Origin of "Good" and "Bad."_—He only will devise an improvement who can -feel that "this is not good." - - - 244. - -_Thoughts and Words._—Even our thoughts we are unable to render -completely in words. - - - 245. - -_Praise in Choice._—The artist chooses his subjects; that is his mode of -praising. - - - 246. - -_Mathematics._—We want to carry the refinement and rigour of mathematics -into all the sciences, as far as it is in any way possible, not in the -belief that we shall apprehend things in this way, but in order thereby -to _assert_ our human relation to things. Mathematics is only a means to -general and ultimate human knowledge. - - - 247. - -_Habits._—All habits make our hand wittier and our wit unhandier. - - - 248. - -_Books._—Of what account is a book that never carries us away beyond all -books! - - - 249. - -_The Sigh of the Seeker of Knowledge._—"Oh, my covetousness! In this -soul there is no disinterestedness—but an all-desiring self, which, by -means of many individuals, would fain see as with _its own_ eyes, and -grasp as with _its own_ hands—a self bringing back even the entire past, -and wanting to lose nothing that could in any way belong to it! Oh, this -flame of my covetousness! Oh, that I were reincarnated in a hundred -individuals!"—He who does not know this sigh by experience, does not -know the passion of the seeker of knowledge either. - - - 250. - -_Guilt._—Although the most intelligent judges of the witches, and even -the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchcraft, the -guilt, nevertheless, was not there. So it is with all guilt. - - - 251. - -_Misunderstood Sufferers._—Great natures suffer otherwise than their -worshippers imagine; they suffer most severely from the ignoble, petty -emotions of certain evil moments; in short, from doubt of their own -greatness;—not however from the sacrifices and martyrdoms which their -tasks require of them. As long as Prometheus sympathises with men and -sacrifices himself for them, he is happy and proud in himself; but on -becoming envious of Zeus and of the homage which mortals pay him—then -Prometheus suffers! - - - 252. - -_Better to be in Debt._—"Better to remain in debt than to pay with money -which does not bear our stamp!"—that is what our sovereignty prefers. - - - 253. - -_Always at Home._—One day we attain our _goal_—and then refer with pride -to the long journeys we have made to reach it. In truth, we did not -notice that we travelled. We got into the habit of thinking that we were -_at home_ in every place. - - - 254. - -_Against Embarrassment._—He who is always thoroughly occupied is rid of -all embarrassment. - - - 255. - -_Imitators._—A: "What? You don't want to have imitators?" B: "I don't -want people to do anything _after_ me; I want every one to do something -_before_ himself (as a pattern to himself)—just as _I_ do." A: -"Consequently—?" - - - 256. - -_Skinniness._—All profound men have their happiness in imitating the -flying-fish for once, and playing on the crests of the waves; they think -that what is best of all in things is their surface: their -skinniness—_sit venia verbo_. - - - 257. - -_From Experience._—A person often does not know how rich he is, until he -learns from experience what rich men even play the thief on him. - - - 258. - -_The Deniers of Chance._—No conqueror believes in chance. - - - 259. - -_From Paradise._—"Good and Evil are God's prejudices"—said the serpent. - - - 260. - -_One times One._—One only is always in the wrong, but with two truth -begins.—One only cannot prove himself right; but two are already beyond -refutation. - - - 261. - -_Originality._—What is originality? To _see_ something that does not yet -bear a name, that cannot yet be named, although it is before everybody's -eyes. As people are usually constituted, it is the name that first makes -a thing generally visible to them.—Original persons have also for the -most part been the namers of things. - - - 262. - -_Sub specie aeterni._—A: "You withdraw faster and faster from the -living; they will soon strike you out of their lists!"—B: "It is the -only way to participate in the privilege of the dead." A: "In what -privilege?"—B: "No longer having to die." - - - 263. - -_Without Vanity._—When we love we want our defects to remain -concealed,—not out of vanity, but lest the person loved should suffer -therefrom. Indeed, the lover would like to appear as a God,—and not out -of vanity either. - - - 264. - -_What we Do._—What we do is never understood, but only praised and -blamed. - - - 265. - -_Ultimate Scepticism._—But what after all are man's truths?—They are his -_irrefutable_ errors. - - - 266. - -_Where Cruelty is Necessary._—He who is great is cruel to his -second-rate virtues and judgments. - - - 267. - -_With a high Aim._—With a high aim a person is superior even to justice, -and not only to his deeds and his judges. - - - 268. - -_What makes Heroic?_—To face simultaneously one's greatest suffering and -one's highest hope. - - - 269. - -_What dost thou Believe in?_—In this: That the weights of all things -must be determined anew. - - - 270. - -_What Saith thy Conscience?_—"Thou shalt become what thou art." - - - 271. - -_Where are thy Greatest Dangers?_—In pity. - - - 272. - -_What dost thou Love in others?_—My hopes. - - - 273. - -_Whom dost thou call Bad?_—Him who always wants to put others to shame. - - - 274. - -_What dost thou think most humane?_—To spare a person shame. - - - 275. - -_What is the Seal of Liberty Attained?_—To be no longer ashamed of -oneself. - ------ - -Footnote 9: - - This means that true love does not look for reciprocity.—TR. - - - - - BOOK FOURTH - - SANCTUS JANUARIUS - - - Thou who with cleaving fiery lances - The stream of my soul from its ice dost free, - Till with a rush and a roar it advances - To enter with glorious hoping the sea: - Brighter to see and purer ever, - Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,— - So it praises thy wondrous endeavour, - January, thou beauteous saint! - -_Genoa_, January 1882. - - - 276. - -_For the New Year._—I still live, I still think; I must still live, for -I must still think. _Sum, ergo cogito: cogito, ergo sum._ To-day -everyone takes the liberty of expressing his wish and his favourite -thought: well, I also mean to tell what I have wished for myself to-day, -and what thought first crossed my mind this year,—a thought which ought -to be the basis, the pledge and the sweetening of all my future life! I -want more and more to perceive the necessary characters in things as the -beautiful:—I shall thus be one of those who beautify things. _Amor -fati_: let that henceforth be my love! I do not want to wage war with -the ugly. I do not want to accuse, I do not want even to accuse the -accusers. _Looking aside_, let that be my sole negation! And all in all, -to sum up: I wish to be at any time hereafter only a yea-sayer! - - - 277. - -_Personal Providence._—There is a certain climax in life, at which, -notwithstanding all our freedom, and however much we may have denied all -directing reason and goodness in the beautiful chaos of existence, we -are once more in great danger of intellectual bondage, and have to face -our hardest test. For now the thought of a personal Providence first -presents itself before us with its most persuasive force, and has the -best of advocates, apparentness, in its favour, now when it is obvious -that all and everything that happens to us always _turns out for the -best_. The life of every day and of every hour seems to be anxious for -nothing else but always to prove this proposition anew; let it be what -it will, bad or good weather, the loss of a friend, a sickness, a -calumny, the non-receipt of a letter, the spraining of one's foot, a -glance into a shop-window, a counter-argument, the opening of a book, a -dream, a deception:—it shows itself immediately, or very soon afterwards -as something "not permitted to be absent,"—it is full of profound -significance and utility precisely _for us_! Is there a more dangerous -temptation to rid ourselves of the belief in the Gods of Epicurus, those -careless, unknown Gods, and believe in some anxious and mean Divinity, -who knows personally every little hair on our heads, and feels no -disgust in rendering the most wretched services? Well—I mean in spite of -all this! we want to leave the Gods alone (and the serviceable genii -likewise), and wish to content ourselves with the assumption that our -own practical and theoretical skilfulness in explaining and suitably -arranging events has now reached its highest point. We do not want -either to think too highly of this dexterity of our wisdom, when the -wonderful harmony which results from playing on our instrument sometimes -surprises us too much: a harmony which sounds too well for us to dare to -ascribe it to ourselves. In fact, now and then there is one who plays -_with_ us—beloved Chance: he leads our hand occasionally, and even the -all-wisest Providence could not devise any finer music than that of -which our foolish hand is then capable. - - - 278. - -_The Thought of Death._—It gives me a melancholy happiness to live in -the midst of this confusion of streets, of necessities, of voices: how -much enjoyment, impatience and desire, how much thirsty life and -drunkenness of life comes to light here every moment! And yet it will -soon be so still for all these shouting, lively, life-loving people! How -everyone's shadow, his gloomy travelling-companion stands behind him! It -is always as in the last moment before the departure of an -emigrant-ship: people have more than ever to say to one another, the -hour presses, the ocean with its lonely silence waits impatiently behind -all the noise—so greedy, so certain of its prey! And all, all, suppose -that the past has been nothing, or a small matter, that the near future -is everything: hence this haste, this crying, this self-deafening and -self-overreaching! Everyone wants to be foremost in this future,—and yet -death and the stillness of death are the only things certain and common -to all in this future! How strange that this sole thing that is certain -and common to all, exercises almost no influence on men, and that they -are the _furthest_ from regarding themselves as the brotherhood of -death! It makes me happy to see that men do not want to think at all of -the idea of death! I would fain do something to make the idea of life -even a hundred times _more worthy of their attention_. - - - 279. - -_Stellar Friendship._—We were friends, and have become strangers to each -other. But this is as it ought to be, and we do not want either to -conceal or obscure the fact, as if we had to be ashamed of it. We are -two ships, each of which has its goal and its course; we may, to be -sure, cross one another in our paths, and celebrate a feast together as -we did before,—and then the gallant ships lay quietly in one harbour, -and in one sunshine, so that it might have been thought they were -already at their goal, and that they had had one goal. But then the -almighty strength of our tasks forced us apart once more into different -seas and into different zones, and perhaps we shall never see one -another again,—or perhaps we may see one another, but not know one -another again; the different seas and suns have altered us! That we had -to become strangers to one another is the law to which we are _subject_: -just by that shall we become more sacred to one another! Just by that -shall the thought of our former friendship become holier! There is -probably some immense, invisible curve and stellar orbit in which our -courses and goals, so widely different, may be _comprehended_ as small -stages of the way,—let us raise ourselves to this thought! But our life -is too short, and our power of vision too limited for us to be more than -friends in the sense of that sublime possibility.—And so we will -_believe_ in our stellar friendship, though we should have to be -terrestrial enemies to one another. - - - 280. - -_Architecture for Thinkers._—An insight is needed (and that probably -very soon) as to what is specially lacking in our great cities—namely, -quiet, spacious, and widely extended places for reflection, places with -long, lofty colonnades for bad weather, or for too sunny days, where no -noise of wagons or of shouters would penetrate, and where a more refined -propriety would prohibit loud praying even to the priest: buildings and -situations which as a whole would express the sublimity of -self-communion and seclusion from the world. The time is past when the -Church possessed the monopoly of reflection, when the _vita -contemplativa_ had always in the first place to be the _vita religiosa_: -and everything that the Church has built expresses this thought. I know -not how we could content ourselves with their structures, even if they -should be divested of their ecclesiastical purposes: these structures -speak a far too pathetic and too biassed speech, as houses of God and -places of splendour for supernatural intercourse, for us godless ones to -be able to think _our thoughts_ in them. We want to have _ourselves_ -translated into stone and plant, we want to go for a walk in _ourselves_ -when we wander in these halls and gardens. - - - 281. - -_Knowing how to Find the End._—Masters of the first rank are recognised -by knowing in a perfect manner how to find the end, in the whole as well -as in the part; be it the end of a melody or of a thought, be it the -fifth act of a tragedy or of a state affair. The masters of the second -degree always become restless towards the end, and seldom dip down into -the sea with such proud, quiet equilibrium as, for example, the -mountain-ridge at _Porto fino_—where the Bay of Genoa sings its melody -to an end. - - - 282. - -_The Gait._—There are mannerisms of the intellect by which even great -minds betray that they originate from the populace, or from the -semi-populace:—it is principally the gait and step of their thoughts -which betray them; they cannot _walk_. It was thus that even Napoleon, -to his profound chagrin, could not walk "legitimately" and in princely -fashion on occasions when it was necessary to do so properly, as in -great coronation processions and on similar occasions: even there he was -always just the leader of a column—proud and brusque at the same time, -and very self-conscious of it all.—It is something laughable to see -those writers who make the folding robes of their periods rustle around -them: they want to cover their _feet_. - - - 283. - -_Pioneers._—I greet all the signs indicating that a more manly and -warlike age is commencing, which will, above all, bring heroism again -into honour! For it has to prepare the way for a yet higher age, and -gather the force which the latter will one day require,—the age which -will carry heroism into knowledge, and _wage war_ for the sake of ideas -and their consequences. For that end many brave pioneers are now needed, -who, however, cannot originate out of nothing,—and just as little out of -the sand and slime of present-day civilisation and the culture of great -cities: men silent, solitary and resolute, who know how to be content -and persistent in invisible activity: men who with innate disposition -seek in all things that which is _to be overcome_ in them: men to whom -cheerfulness, patience, simplicity, and contempt of the great vanities -belong just as much as do magnanimity in victory and indulgence to the -trivial vanities of all the vanquished: men with an acute and -independent judgment regarding all victors, and concerning the part -which chance has played in the winning of victory and fame: men with -their own holidays, their own work-days, and their own periods of -mourning; accustomed to command with perfect assurance, and equally -ready, if need be, to obey, proud in the one case as in the other, -equally serving their own interests: men more imperilled, more -productive, more happy! For believe me!—the secret of realising the -largest productivity and the greatest enjoyment of existence is _to live -in danger_! Build your cities on the slope of Vesuvius! Send your ships -into unexplored seas! Live in war with your equals and with yourselves! -Be robbers and spoilers, ye knowing ones, as long as ye cannot be rulers -and possessor! The time will soon pass when you can be satisfied to live -like timorous deer concealed in the forests. Knowledge will finally -stretch out her hand for that which belongs to her:—she means to _rule_ -and _possess_, and you with her! - - - 284. - -_Belief in Oneself._—In general, few men have belief in themselves:—and -of those few some are endowed with it as a useful blindness or partial -obscuration of intellect (what would they perceive if they could see _to -the bottom of themselves_!). The others must first acquire the belief -for themselves: everything good, clever, or great that they do, is first -of all an argument against the sceptic that dwells in them: the question -is how to convince or persuade _this sceptic_, and for that purpose -genius almost is needed. They are signally dissatisfied with themselves. - - - 285. - -_Excelsior!_—"Thou wilt never more pray, never more worship, never more -repose in infinite trust—thou refusest to stand still and dismiss thy -thoughts before an ultimate wisdom, an ultimate virtue, an ultimate -power,—thou hast no constant guardian and friend in thy seven -solitudes—thou livest without the outlook on a mountain that has snow on -its head and fire in its heart—there is no longer any requiter for thee, -nor any amender with his finishing touch—there is no longer any reason -in that which happens, or any love in that which will happen to -thee—there is no longer any resting-place for thy weary heart, where it -has only to find and no longer to seek, thou art opposed to any kind of -ultimate peace, thou desirest the eternal recurrence of war and -peace:—man of renunciation, wilt thou renounce in all these things? Who -will give thee the strength to do so? No one has yet had this -strength!"—There is a lake which one day refused to flow away, and threw -up a dam at the place where it had hitherto flowed away: since then this -lake has always risen higher and higher. Perhaps the very renunciation -will also furnish us with the strength with which the renunciation -itself can be borne; perhaps man will ever rise higher and higher from -that point onward, when he no longer _flows out_ into a God. - - - 286. - -_A Digression._—Here are hopes; but what will you see and hear of them, -if you have not experienced glance and glow and dawn of day in your own -souls? I can only suggest—I cannot do more! To move the stones, to make -animals men—would you have me do that? Alas, if you are yet stones and -animals, seek first your Orpheus! - - - 287. - -_Love of Blindness._—"My thoughts," said the wanderer to his shadow, -"ought to show me where I stand, but they should not betray to me -_whither I go_. I love ignorance of the future, and do not want to come -to grief by impatience and anticipatory tasting of promised things." - - - 288. - -_Lofty Moods._—It seems to me that most men do not believe in lofty -moods, unless it be for the moment, or at the most for a quarter of an -hour,—except the few who know by experience a longer duration of high -feeling. But to be absolutely a man with a single lofty feeling, the -incarnation of a single lofty mood—that has hitherto been only a dream -and an enchanting possibility: history does not yet give us any -trustworthy example of it. Nevertheless it could some day produce such -men also—when a multitude of favourable conditions have been created and -established, which at present even the happiest chance is unable to -throw together. Perhaps that very state which has hitherto entered into -our soul as an exception, felt with horror now and then, may be the -usual condition of those future souls: a continuous movement between -high and low, and the feeling of high and low, a constant state of -mounting as on steps, and at the same time reposing as on clouds. - - - 289. - -_Aboard Ship!_—When one considers how a full philosophical -justification of his mode of living and thinking operates upon every -individual—namely, as a warming, blessing, and fructifying sun, -specially shining on him; how it makes him independent of praise and -blame, self-sufficient, rich and generous in the bestowal of happiness -and kindness; how it unceasingly transforms the evil to the good, -brings all the energies to bloom and maturity, and altogether hinders -the growth of the greater and lesser weeds of chagrin and -discontent:—one at last cries out importunately: Oh, that many such -new suns were created! The evil man, also, the unfortunate man, and -the exceptional man, shall each have his philosophy, his rights, and -his sunshine! It is not sympathy with them that is necessary!—we must -unlearn this arrogant fancy, notwithstanding that humanity has so long -learned it and used it exclusively—we have not to set up any -confessor, exorcist, or pardoner for them! It is a new _justice_, -however, that is necessary! And a new solution! And new philosophers! -The moral earth also is round! The moral earth also has its antipodes! -The antipodes also have their right to exist! there is still another -world to discover—and more than one! Aboard ship! ye philosophers! - - - 290. - -_One Thing is Needful._—To "give style" to one's character—that is a -grand and a rare art! He who surveys all that his nature presents in its -strength and in its weakness, and then fashions it into an ingenious -plan, until everything appears artistic and rational, and even the -weaknesses enchant the eye—exercises that admirable art. Here there has -been a great amount of second nature added, there a portion of first -nature has been taken away:—in both cases with long exercise and daily -labour at the task. Here the ugly, which does not permit of being taken -away, has been concealed, there it has been re-interpreted into the -sublime. Much of the vague, which refuses to take form, has been -reserved and utilised for the perspectives:—it is meant to give a hint -of the remote and immeasurable. In the end, when the work has been -completed, it is revealed how it was the constraint of the same taste -that organised and fashioned it in whole or in part: whether the taste -was good or bad is of less importance than one thinks,—it is sufficient -that it was _a taste_!—It will be the strong imperious natures which -experience their most refined joy in such constraint, in such -confinement and perfection under their own law; the passion of their -violent volition lessens at the sight of all disciplined nature, all -conquered and ministering nature: even when they have palaces to build -and gardens to lay out, it is not to their taste to allow nature to be -free.—It is the reverse with weak characters who have not power over -themselves, and _hate_ the restriction of style: they feel that if this -repugnant constraint were laid upon them, they would necessarily become -_vulgarised_ under it: they become slaves as soon as they serve, they -hate service. Such intellects—they may be intellects of the first -rank—are always concerned with fashioning or interpreting themselves and -their surroundings as _free_ nature—wild, arbitrary, fantastic, confused -and surprising: and it is well for them to do so, because only in this -manner can they please themselves! For one thing is needful: namely, -that man should _attain to_ satisfaction with himself—be it but through -this or that fable and artifice: it is only then that man's aspect is at -all endurable! He who is dissatisfied with himself is ever ready to -avenge himself on that account: we others will be his victims, if only -in having always to endure his ugly aspect. For the aspect of the ugly -makes one mean and sad. - - - 291. - -_Genoa._—I have looked upon this city, its villas and pleasure-grounds -and the wide circuit of its inhabited heights and slopes, for a -considerable time: in the end I must say that I see _countenances_ out -of past generations,—this district is strewn with the images of bold and -autocratic men. They have _lived_ and have wanted to live on—they say so -with their houses, built and decorated for centuries, and not for the -passing hour: they were well disposed to life, however ill-disposed they -may often have been towards themselves. I always see the builder, how he -casts his eye on all that is built around him far and near, and likewise -on the city, the sea, and the chain of mountains; how he expresses power -and conquest in his gaze: all this he wishes to fit into _his_ plan, and -in the end make it his _property_, by its becoming a portion of the -same. The whole district is overgrown with this superb, insatiable -egoism of the desire to possess and exploit; and as these men when -abroad recognised no frontiers, and in their thirst for the new placed a -new world beside the old, so also at home everyone rose up against -everyone else, and devised some mode of expressing his superiority, and -of placing between himself and his neighbour his personal -illimitableness. Everyone won for himself his home once more by -over-powering it with his architectural thoughts, and by transforming it -into a delightful sight for his race. When we consider the mode of -building cities in the north, the law and the general delight in -legality and obedience, impose upon us: we thereby divine the propensity -to equality and submission which must have ruled in those builders. -Here, however, on turning every corner you find a man by himself, who -knows the sea, knows adventure, and knows the Orient, a man who is -averse to law and to neighbour, as if it bored him to have to do with -them, a man who scans all that is already old and established, with -envious glances: with a wonderful craftiness of fantasy, he would like, -at least in thought, to establish all this anew, to lay his hand upon -it, and introduce his meaning into it—if only for the passing hour of a -sunny afternoon, when for once his insatiable and melancholy soul feels -satiety, and when only what is his own, and nothing strange, may show -itself to his eye. - - - 292. - -_To the Preachers of Morality._—I do not mean to moralise, but to those -who do, I would give this advice: if you mean ultimately to deprive the -best things and the best conditions of all honour and worth, continue to -speak of them in the same way as heretofore! Put them at the head of -your morality, and speak from morning till night of the happiness of -virtue, of repose of soul, of righteousness, and of reward and -punishment in the nature of things: according as you go on in this -manner, all these good things will finally acquire a popularity and a -street-cry for themselves: but then all the gold on them will also be -worn off, and more besides: all the gold _in them_ will have changed -into lead. Truly, you understand the reverse art of alchemy, the -depreciating of the most valuable things! Try, just for once, another -recipe, in order not to realise as hitherto the opposite of what you -mean to attain: _deny_ those good things, withdraw from them the -applause of the populace and discourage the spread of them, make them -once more the concealed chastities of solitary souls, say that _morality -is something forbidden_! Perhaps you will thus win over for those things -the sort of men who are only of any account, I mean the _heroic_. But -then there must be something formidable in them, and not as hitherto -something disgusting! Might one not be inclined to say at present with -reference to morality what Master Eckardt says: "I pray God to deliver -me from God!" - - - 293. - -_Our Atmosphere._—We know it well: to him who only casts a glance now -and then at science, as in taking a walk (in the manner of women, and -alas! also like many artists), the strictness in its service, its -inexorability in small matters as well as in great, its rapidity in -weighing, judging and condemning, produce something of a feeling of -giddiness and fright. It is especially terrifying to him that the -hardest is here demanded, that the best is done without the reward of -praise or distinction; it is rather as among soldiers—almost nothing but -blame and sharp reprimand _is heard_; for doing well prevails here as -the rule, doing ill as the exception; the rule, however, has, here as -everywhere, a silent tongue. It is the same with this "severity of -science" as with the manners and politeness of the best society: it -frightens the uninitiated. He, however, who is accustomed to it, does -not like to live anywhere but in this clear, transparent, powerful, and -highly electrified atmosphere, this _manly_ atmosphere. Anywhere else it -is not pure and airy enough for him: he suspects that _there_ his best -art would neither be properly advantageous to anyone else, nor a delight -to himself, that through misunderstandings half of his life would slip -through his fingers, that much foresight, much concealment, and -reticence would constantly be necessary,—nothing but great and useless -losses of power! In _this_ keen and clear element, however, he has his -entire power: here he can fly! Why should he again go down into those -muddy waters where he has to swim and wade and soil his wings!—No! There -it is too hard for us to live! we cannot help it that we are born for -the atmosphere, the pure atmosphere, we rivals of the ray of light; and -that we should like best to ride like it on the atoms of ether, not away -from the sun, but _towards the sun_! That, however, we cannot do:—so we -want to do the only thing that is in our power: namely, to bring light -to the earth, we want to be "the light of the earth!" And for that -purpose we have our wings and our swiftness and our severity, on that -account we are manly, and even terrible like the fire. Let those fear -us, who do not know how to warm and brighten themselves by our -influence! - - - 294. - -_Against the Disparagers of Nature._—They are disagreeable to me, those -men in whom every natural inclination forthwith becomes a disease, -something disfiguring, or even disgraceful. _They_ have seduced us to -the opinion that the inclinations and impulses of men are evil; _they_ -are the cause of our great injustice to our own nature, and to all -nature! There are enough of men who _may_ yield to their impulses -gracefully and carelessly: but they do not do so, for fear of that -imaginary "evil thing" in nature! _That is the cause_ why there is so -little nobility to be found among men: the indication of which will -always be to have no fear of oneself, to expect nothing disgraceful from -oneself, to fly without hesitation whithersoever we are impelled—we -free-born birds! Wherever we come, there will always be freedom and -sunshine around us. - - - 295. - -_Short-lived Habits._—I love short-lived habits, and regard them as an -invaluable means for getting a knowledge of _many_ things and various -conditions, to the very bottom of their sweetness and bitterness; my -nature is altogether arranged for short-lived habits, even in the needs -of its bodily health, and in general, _as far as_ I can see, from the -lowest up to the highest matters. I always think that _this_ will at -last satisfy me permanently (the short-lived habit has also that -characteristic belief of passion, the belief in everlasting duration; I -am to be envied for having found it and recognised it), and then it -nourishes me at noon and at eve, and spreads a profound satisfaction -around me and in me, so that I have no longing for anything else, not -needing to compare, or despise, or hate. But one day the habit has had -its time: the good thing separates from me, not as something which then -inspires disgust in me—but peaceably and as though satisfied with me, as -I am with it; as if we had to be mutually thankful, and _thus_ shook -hands for farewell. And already the new habit waits at the door, and -similarly also my belief—indestructible fool and sage that I am!—that -this new habit will be the right one, the ultimate right one. So it is -with me as regards foods, thoughts, men, cities, poems, music, -doctrines, arrangements of the day, and modes of life.—On the other -hand, I hate _permanent_ habits, and feel as if a tyrant came into my -neighbourhood, and as if my life's breath _condensed_, when events take -such a form that permanent habits seem necessarily to grow out of them: -for example, through an official position, through constant -companionship with the same persons, through a settled abode, or through -a uniform state of health. Indeed, from the bottom of my soul I am -gratefully disposed to all my misery and sickness, and to whatever is -imperfect in me, because such things leave me a hundred back-doors -through which I can escape from permanent habits. The most unendurable -thing, to be sure, the really terrible thing, would be a life without -habits, a life which continually required improvisation:—that would be -my banishment and my Siberia. - - - 296. - -_A Fixed Reputation._—A fixed reputation was formerly a matter of the -very greatest utility; and wherever society continues to be ruled by the -herd-instinct, it is still most suitable for every individual _to give_ -to his character and business _the appearance_ of unalterableness,—even -when they are not so in reality. "One can rely on him, he remains the -same"—that is the praise which has most significance in all dangerous -conditions of society. Society feels with satisfaction that it has a -reliable _tool_ ready at all times in the virtue of this one, in the -ambition of that one, and in the reflection and passion of a third -one,—it honours this _tool-like nature_, this self-constancy, this -unchangeableness in opinions, efforts, and even in faults, with the -highest honours. Such a valuation, which prevails and has prevailed -everywhere simultaneously with the morality of custom, educates -"characters," and brings all changing, re-learning, and -self-transforming into _disrepute_. Be the advantage of this mode of -thinking ever so great otherwise, it is in any case the mode of judging -which is most injurious _to knowledge_: for precisely the good-will of -the knowing one ever to declare himself unhesitatingly as _opposed_ to -his former opinions, and in general to be distrustful of all that wants -to be fixed in him—is here condemned and brought into disrepute. The -disposition of the thinker, as incompatible with a "fixed reputation," -is regarded as _dishonourable_, while the petrifaction of opinions has -all the honour to itself:—we have at present still to live under the -interdict of such rules! How difficult it is to live when one feels that -the judgment of many millenniums is around one and against one. It is -probable that for many millenniums knowledge was afflicted with a bad -conscience, and that there must have been much self-contempt and secret -misery in the history of the greatest intellects. - - - 297. - -_Ability to Contradict._—Everyone knows at present that the ability to -endure contradiction is a high indication of culture. Some people even -know that the higher man courts opposition, and provokes it, so as to -get a cue to his hitherto unknown partiality. But the _ability_ to -contradict, the attainment of _good_ conscience in hostility to the -accustomed, the traditional and the hallowed,—that is more than both the -above-named abilities, and is the really great, new and astonishing -thing in our culture, the step of all steps of the emancipated -intellect: who knows that?— - - - 298. - -_A Sigh._—I caught this notion on the way, and rapidly took the -readiest, poor words to hold it fast, so that it might not again fly -away. And now it has died in these dry words, and hangs and flaps about -in them—and I hardly know now, when I look upon it, how I could have had -such happiness when I caught this bird. - - - 299. - -_What one should Learn from Artists._—What means have we for making -things beautiful, attractive, and desirable, when they are not so?—and I -suppose they are never so in themselves! We have here something to learn -from physicians, when, for example, they dilute what is bitter, or put -wine and sugar into their mixing-bowl; but we have still more to learn -from artists, who in fact, are continually concerned in devising such -inventions and artifices. To withdraw from things until one no longer -sees much of them, until one has even to see things into them, _in order -to see them at all_—or to view them from the side, and as in a frame—or -to place them so that they partly disguise themselves and only permit of -perspective views—or to look at them through coloured glasses, or in the -light of the sunset—or to furnish them with a surface or skin which is -not fully transparent: we should learn all that from artists, and -moreover be wiser than they. For this fine power of theirs usually -ceases with them where art ceases and life begins; _we_, however, want -to be the poets of our life, and first of all in the smallest and most -commonplace matters. - - - 300. - -_Prelude to Science._—Do you believe then that the sciences would have -arisen and grown up if the sorcerers, alchemists, astrologers and -witches had not been their forerunners; those who, with their promisings -and foreshadowings, had first to create a thirst, a hunger, and a taste -for _hidden and forbidden_ powers? Yea, that infinitely more had to be -_promised_ than could ever be fulfilled, in order that something might -be fulfilled in the domain of knowledge? Perhaps the whole of -_religion_, also, may appear to some distant age as an exercise and a -prelude, in like manner as the prelude and preparation of science here -exhibit themselves, though _not_ at all practised and regarded as such. -Perhaps religion may have been the peculiar means for enabling -individual men to enjoy but once the entire self-satisfaction of a God -and all his self-redeeming power. Indeed!—one may ask—would man have -learned at all to get on the tracks of hunger and thirst for _himself_, -and to extract satiety and fullness out of _himself_, without that -religious schooling and preliminary history? Had Prometheus first to -_fancy_ that he had _stolen_ the light, and that he did penance for the -theft—in order finally to discover that he had created the light, _in -that he had longed for the light_, and that not only man, but also _God_ -had been the work of _his_ hands and the clay in his hands? All mere -creations of the creator?—just as the illusion, the theft, the Caucasus, -the vulture, and the whole tragic Prometheia of all thinkers! - - - 301. - -_Illusion of the Contemplative._—Higher men are distinguished from -lower, by seeing and hearing immensely more, and in a thoughtful -manner—and it is precisely this that distinguishes man from the animal, -and the higher animal from the lower. The world always becomes fuller -for him who grows up into the full stature of humanity; there are always -more interesting fishing-hooks, thrown out to him; the number of his -stimuli is continually on the increase, and similarly the varieties of -his pleasure and pain,—the higher man becomes always at the same time -happier and unhappier. An _illusion_, however, is his constant -accompaniment all along: he thinks he is placed as a _spectator_ and -_auditor_ before the great pantomime and concert of life; he calls his -nature a _contemplative nature_, and thereby overlooks the fact that he -himself is also a real creator, and continuous poet of life,—that he no -doubt differs greatly from the _actor_ in this drama, the so-called -practical man, but differs still more from a mere onlooker or spectator -_before_ the stage. There is certainly _vis contemplativa_, and -re-examination of his work peculiar to him as poet, but at the same -time, and first and foremost, he has the _vis creativa_, which the -practical man or doer _lacks_, whatever appearance and current belief -may say to the contrary. It is we, we who think and feel, that actually -and unceasingly _make_ something which does not yet exist: the whole -eternally increasing world of valuations, colours, weights, -perspectives, gradations, affirmations and negations. This composition -of ours is continually learnt, practised, and translated into flesh and -actuality, and even into the commonplace, by the so-called practical men -(our actors, as we have said). Whatever has _value_ in the present -world, has it not in itself, by its nature,—nature is always -worthless:—but a value was once given to it, bestowed upon it, and it -was _we_ who gave and bestowed! We only have created the world _which is -of any account to man_!—But it is precisely this knowledge that we lack, -and when we get hold of it for a moment we have forgotten it the next: -we misunderstand our highest power, we contemplative men, and estimate -ourselves at too low a rate,—we are neither as _proud nor as happy_ as -we might be. - - - 302. - -_The Danger of the Happiest Ones._—To have fine senses and a fine taste; -to be accustomed to the select and the intellectually best as our proper -and readiest fare; to be blessed with a strong, bold, and daring soul; -to go through life with a quiet eye and a firm step, ever ready for the -worst as for a festival, and full of longing for undiscovered worlds and -seas, men and Gods; to listen to all joyous music, as if there, perhaps, -brave men, soldiers and seafarers, took a brief repose and enjoyment, -and in the profoundest pleasure of the moment were overcome with tears -and the whole purple melancholy of happiness: who would not like all -this to be _his_ possession, his condition! It was the _happiness of -Homer_! The condition of him who invented the Gods for the Greeks,—nay, -who invented _his_ Gods for himself! But let us not conceal the fact -that with this happiness of Homer in one's soul, one is more liable to -suffering than any other creature under the sun! And only at this price -do we purchase the most precious pearl that the waves of existence have -hitherto washed ashore! As its possessor one always becomes more -sensitive to pain, and at last too sensitive: a little displeasure and -loathing sufficed in the end to make Homer disgusted with life. He was -unable to solve a foolish little riddle which some young fishers -proposed to him! Yes, the little riddles are the dangers of the happiest -ones!— - - - 303. - -_Two Happy Ones._—Certainly this man, notwithstanding his youth, -understands the _improvisation of life_, and astonishes even the acutest -observers. For it seems that he never makes a mistake, although he -constantly plays the most hazardous games. One is reminded of the -improvising masters of the musical art, to whom even the listeners would -fain ascribe a divine _infallibility_ of the hand, notwithstanding that -they now and then make a mistake, as every mortal is liable to do. But -they are skilled and inventive, and always ready in a moment to arrange -into the structure of the score the most accidental tone (where the jerk -of a finger or a humour brings it about), and to animate the accident -with a fine meaning and a soul.—Here is quite a different man: -everything that he intends and plans fails with him in the long run. -That on which he has now and again set his heart has already brought him -several times to the abyss, and to the very verge of ruin; and if he has -as yet got out of the scrape, it certainly has not been merely with a -"black eye." Do you think he is unhappy over it? He resolved long ago -not to regard his own wishes and plans as of so much importance. "If -this does not succeed with me,"—he says to himself, "perhaps that will -succeed; and on the whole I do not know but that I am under more -obligation to thank my failures than any of my successes. Am I made to -be headstrong, and to wear the bull's horns? That which constitutes the -worth and the sum of life _for me_, lies somewhere else; I know more of -life, because I have been so often on the point of losing it; and just -on that account I _have_ more of life than any of you!" - - - 304. - -_In Doing we Leave Undone._—In the main all those moral systems are -distasteful to me which say: "Do not do this! Renounce! Overcome -thyself!" On the other hand I am favourable to those moral systems which -stimulate me to do something, and to do it again from morning till -evening, and dream of it at night, and think of nothing else but to do -it _well_, as well as it is possible for _me_ alone! From him who so -lives there fall off one after the other the things that do not pertain -to such a life: without hatred or antipathy, he sees _this_ take leave -of him to-day, and _that_ to-morrow, like the yellow leaves which every -livelier breeze strips from the tree: or he does not see at all that -they take leave of him, so firmly is his eye fixed upon his goal, and -generally forward, not sideways, backward, nor downward. "Our doing must -determine what we leave undone; in that we do, we leave undone"—so it -pleases me, so runs _my placitum_. But I do not mean to strive with open -eyes for my impoverishment; I do not like any of the negative virtues -whose very essence is negation and self-renunciation. - - - 305. - -_Self-control._—Those moral teachers who first and foremost order man to -get himself into his own power, induce thereby a curious infirmity in -him,—namely, a constant sensitiveness with reference to all natural -strivings and inclinations, and as it were, a sort of itching. Whatever -may henceforth drive him, draw him, allure or impel him, whether -internally or externally—it always seems to this sensitive being, as if -his self-control were in danger: he is no longer at liberty to trust -himself to any instinct, to any free flight, but stands constantly with -defensive mien, armed against himself, with sharp distrustful eye, the -eternal watcher of his stronghold, to which office he has appointed -himself. Yes, he can be _great_ in that position! But how unendurable he -has now become to others, how difficult even for himself to bear, how -impoverished and cut off from the finest accidents of his soul! Yea, -even from all further _instruction_! For we must be able to lose -ourselves at times, if we want to learn something of what we have not in -ourselves. - - - 306. - -_Stoic and Epicurean._—The Epicurean selects the situations, the -persons, and even the events which suit his extremely sensitive, -intellectual constitution; he renounces the rest—that is to say, by far -the greater part of experience—because it would be too strong and too -heavy fare for him. The Stoic, on the contrary, accustoms himself to -swallow stones and vermin, glass-splinters and scorpions, without -feeling any disgust: his stomach is meant to become indifferent in the -end to all that the accidents of existence cast into it:—he reminds one -of the Arabic sect of the Assaua, with which the French became -acquainted in Algiers; and like those insensible persons, he also likes -well to have an invited public at the exhibition of his insensibility, -the very thing the Epicurean willingly dispenses with:—he has of course -his "garden"! Stoicism may be quite advisable for men with whom fate -improvises, for those who live in violent times and are dependent on -abrupt and changeable individuals. He, however, who _anticipates_ that -fate will permit him to spin "a long thread," does well to make his -arrangements in Epicurean fashion; all men devoted to intellectual -labour have done it hitherto! For it would be a supreme loss to them to -forfeit their fine sensibility, and acquire the hard, stoical hide with -hedgehog prickles in exchange. - - - 307. - -_In Favour of Criticism._—Something now appears to thee as an error -which thou formerly lovedst as a truth, or as a probability: thou -pushest it from thee and imaginest that thy reason has there gained a -victory. But perhaps that error was then, when thou wast still another -person—thou art always another person,—just as necessary to thee as all -thy present "truths," like a skin, as it were, which concealed and -veiled from thee much which thou still mayst not see. Thy new life, and -not thy reason, has slain that opinion for thee: _thou dost not require -it any longer_, and now it breaks down of its own accord, and the -irrationality crawls out of it as a worm into the light. When we make -use of criticism it is not something arbitrary and impersonal,—it is, at -least very often, a proof that there are lively, active forces in us, -which cast a skin. We deny, and must deny, because something in us -_wants_ to live and affirm itself, something which we perhaps do not as -yet know, do not as yet see!—So much in favour of criticism. - - - 308. - -_The History of each Day._—What is it that constitutes the history of -each day for thee? Look at thy habits of which it consists: are they the -product of numberless little acts of cowardice and laziness, or of thy -bravery and inventive reason? Although the two cases are so different, -it is possible that men might bestow the same praise upon thee, and that -thou mightst also be equally useful to them in the one case as in the -other. But praise and utility and respectability may suffice for him -whose only desire is to have a good conscience,—not however for thee, -the "trier of the reins," who hast a _consciousness of the conscience_! - - - 309. - -_Out of the Seventh Solitude._—One day the wanderer shut a door behind -him, stood still, and wept. Then he said: "Oh, this inclination and -impulse towards the true, the real, the non-apparent, the certain! How I -detest it! Why does this gloomy and passionate taskmaster follow just -_me_? I should like to rest, but it does not permit me to do so. Are -there not a host of things seducing me to tarry! Everywhere there are -gardens of Armida for me, and therefore there will always be fresh -separations and fresh bitterness of heart! I must set my foot forward, -my weary wounded foot: and because I feel I must do this, I often cast -grim glances back at the most beautiful things which could not detain -me—_because_ they could not detain me!" - - - 310. - -_Will and Wave._—How eagerly this wave comes hither, as if it were a -question of its reaching something! How it creeps with frightful haste -into the innermost corners of the rocky cliff! It seems that it wants to -forestall some one; it seems that something is concealed there that has -value, high value.—And now it retreats somewhat more slowly, still quite -white with excitement,—is it disappointed? Has it found what it sought? -Does it merely pretend to be disappointed?—But already another wave -approaches, still more eager and wild than the first, and its soul also -seems to be full of secrets and of longing for treasure-seeking. Thus -live the waves,—thus live we who exercise will!—I do not say more.—But -what! Ye distrust me? Ye are angry at me, ye beautiful monsters? Do ye -fear that I will quite betray your secret? Well! Just be angry with me, -raise your green, dangerous bodies as high as ye can, make a wall -between me and the sun—as at present! Verily, there is now nothing more -left of the world save green twilight and green lightning-flashes. Do as -ye will, ye wanton creatures, roar with delight and wickedness—or dive -under again, pour your emeralds down into the depths, and cast your -endless white tresses of foam and spray over them—it is all the same to -me, for all is so well with you, and I am so pleased with you for it -all: how could I betray _you_! For—take this to heart!—I know you and -your secret, I know your race! You and I are indeed of one race! You and -I have indeed one secret! - - - 311. - -_Broken Lights._—We are not always brave, and when we are weary, people -of our stamp are liable to lament occasionally in this wise:—"It is so -hard to cause pain to men—oh, that it should be necessary! What good is -it to live concealed, when we do not want to keep to ourselves that -which causes vexation? Would it not be more advisable to live in the -madding crowd, and compensate individuals for sins that are committed -and must be committed against mankind in general? Foolish with fools, -vain with the vain, enthusiastic with enthusiasts? Would that not be -reasonable when there is such an inordinate amount of divergence in the -main? When I hear of the malignity of others against me—is not my first -feeling that of satisfaction? It is well that it should be so!—I seem to -myself to say to them—I am so little in harmony with you, and have so -much truth on my side: see henceforth that ye be merry at my expense as -often as ye can! Here are my defects and mistakes, here are my -illusions, my bad taste, my confusion, my tears, my vanity, my owlish -concealment, my contradictions! Here you have something to laugh at! -Laugh then, and enjoy yourselves! I am not averse to the law and nature -of things, which is that defects and errors should give pleasure!—To be -sure there were once 'more glorious' times, when as soon as any one got -an idea, however moderately new it might be, he would think himself so -_indispensable_ as to go out into the street with it, and call to -everybody: 'Behold! the kingdom of heaven is at hand!'—I should not miss -myself, if I were a-wanting. We are none of us indispensable!"—As we -have said, however, we do not think thus when we are brave; we do not -think _about it_ at all. - - - 312. - -_My Dog._—I have given a name to my suffering, and call it "dog,"—it is -just as faithful, just as importunate and shameless, just as -entertaining, just as wise, as any other dog—and I can domineer over it, -and vent my bad humour on it, as others do with their dogs, servants, -and wives. - - - 313. - -_No Picture of a Martyr._—I will take my cue from Raphael, and not paint -any more martyr pictures. There are enough of sublime things without its -being necessary to seek sublimity where it is linked with cruelty; -moreover my ambition would not be gratified in the least if I aspired to -be a sublime executioner. - - - 314. - -_New Domestic Animals._—I want to have my lion and my eagle about me, -that I may always have hints and premonitions concerning the amount of -my strength or weakness. Must I look down on them to-day, and be afraid -of them? And will the hour come once more when they will look up to me, -and tremble?— - - - 315. - -_The Last Hour._—Storms are my danger. Shall I have my storm in which I -shall perish, just as Oliver Cromwell perished in his storm? Or shall I -go out as a light does, not first blown out by the wind, but grown tired -and weary of itself—a burnt-out light? Or finally, shall I blow myself -out, so as _not to burn out_! - - - 316. - -_Prophetic Men._—Ye cannot divine how sorely prophetic men suffer: ye -think only that a fine "gift" has been given to them, and would fain -have it yourselves,—but I will express my meaning by a simile. How much -may not the animals suffer from the electricity of the atmosphere and -the clouds! Some of them, as we see, have a prophetic faculty with -regard to the weather, for example, apes (as one can observe very well -even in Europe,—and not only in menageries, but at Gibraltar). But it -never occurs to us that it is their _sufferings_—that are their -prophets! When strong positive electricity, under the influence of an -approaching cloud not at all visible, is suddenly converted into -negative electricity, and an alteration of the weather is imminent, -these animals then behave as if an enemy were approaching them, and -prepare for defence, or flight: they generally hide themselves,—they do -not think of the bad weather as weather, but as an enemy whose hand they -already _feel_! - - - 317. - -_Retrospect._—We seldom become conscious of the real pathos of any -period of life as such, as long as we continue in it, but always think -it is the only possible and reasonable thing for us henceforth, and that -it is altogether _ethos_ and not _pathos_[10]—to speak and distinguish -like the Greeks. A few notes of music to-day recalled a winter and a -house, and a life of utter solitude to my mind, and at the same time the -sentiments in which I then lived: I thought I should be able to live in -such a state always. But now I understand that it was entirely pathos -and passion, something comparable to this painfully bold and truly -comforting music,—it is not one's lot to have these sensations for -years, still less for eternities: otherwise one would become too -"ethereal" for this planet. - - - 318. - -_Wisdom in Pain._—In pain there is as much wisdom as in pleasure: like -the latter it is one of the best self-preservatives of a species. Were -it not so, pain would long ago have been done away with; that it is -hurtful is no argument against it, for to be hurtful is its very -essence. In pain I hear the commanding call of the ship's captain: "Take -in sail!" "Man," the bold seafarer, must have learned to set his sails -in a thousand different ways, otherwise he could not have sailed long, -for the ocean would soon have swallowed him up. We must also know how to -live with reduced energy: as soon as pain gives its precautionary -signal, it is time to reduce the speed—some great danger, some storm, is -approaching, and we do well to "catch" as little wind as possible.—It is -true that there are men who, on the approach of severe pain, hear the -very opposite call of command, and never appear more proud, more -martial, or more happy, than when the storm is brewing; indeed, pain -itself provides them with their supreme moments! These are the heroic -men, the great _pain-bringers_ of mankind: those few and rare ones who -need just the same apology as pain generally,—and verily, it should not -be denied them! They are forces of the greatest importance for -preserving and advancing the species, were it only because they are -opposed to smug ease, and do not conceal their disgust at this kind of -happiness. - - - 319. - -_As Interpreters of our Experiences._—One form of honesty has always -been lacking among founders of religions and their kin:—they have never -made their experiences a matter of the intellectual conscience. "What -did I really experience? What then took place in me and around me? Was -my understanding clear enough? Was my will directly opposed to all -deception of the senses, and courageous in its defence against fantastic -notions?"—None of them ever asked these questions, nor to this day do -any of the good religious people ask them. They have rather a thirst for -things which are _contrary to reason_, and they don't want to have too -much difficulty in satisfying this thirst,—so they experience "miracles" -and "regenerations," and hear the voices of angels! But we who are -different, who are thirsty for reason, want to look as carefully into -our experiences, as in the case of a scientific experiment, hour by -hour, day by day! We ourselves want to be our own experiments, and our -own subjects of experiment. - - - 320. - -_On Meeting Again._—A: Do I quite understand you? You are in search of -something? _Where_, in the midst of the present, actual world, is _your_ -niche and star? Where can _you_ lay yourself in the sun, so that you -also may have a surplus of well-being, that your existence may justify -itself? Let everyone do that for himself—you seem to say, —and let him -put talk about generalities, concern about others and society, out of -his mind!—B: I want more; I am no seeker. I want to create my own sun -for myself. - - - 321. - -_A New Precaution._—Let us no longer think so much about punishing, -blaming, and improving! We shall seldom be able to alter an individual, -and if we should succeed in doing so, something else may also succeed, -perhaps unawares: _we_ may have been altered by him! Let us rather see -to it that our own influence on _all that is to come_ outweighs and -overweighs his influence! Let us not struggle in direct conflict!—all -blaming, punishing, and desire to improve comes under this category. But -let us elevate ourselves all the higher! Let us ever give to our pattern -more shining colours! Let us obscure the other by our light! No! We do -not mean to become _darker_ ourselves on his account, like all that -punish and are discontented! Let us rather go aside! Let us look away! - - - 322. - -_A Simile._—Those thinkers in whom all the stars move in cyclic orbits, -are not the most profound. He who looks into himself, as into an immense -universe, and carries Milky Ways in himself, knows also how irregular -all Milky Ways are; they lead into the very chaos and labyrinth of -existence. - - - 323. - -_Happiness in Destiny._—Destiny confers its greatest distinction upon us -when it has made us fight for a time on the side of our adversaries. We -are thereby _predestined_ to a great victory. - - - 324. - -_In Media Vita._—No! Life has not deceived me! On the contrary, from -year to year I find it richer, more desirable and more mysterious—from -the day on which the great liberator broke my fetters, the thought that -life may be an experiment of the thinker—and not a duty, not a fatality, -not a deceit!—And knowledge itself may be for others something -different; for example, a bed of ease, or the path to a bed of ease, or -an entertainment, or a course of idling,—for me it is a world of dangers -and victories, in which even the heroic sentiments have their arena and -dancing-floor. "_Life as a means to knowledge_"—with this principle in -one's heart, one can not only be brave, but can even _live joyfully and -laugh joyfully_! And who could know how to laugh well and live well, who -did not first understand the full meaning of war and victory! - - - 325. - -_What Belongs to Greatness._—Who can attain to anything great if he does -not feel the force and will in himself _to inflict_ great pain? The -ability to suffer is a small matter: in that line, weak women and even -slaves often attain masterliness. But not to perish from internal -distress and doubt when one inflicts great anguish and hears the cry of -this anguish—that is great, that belongs to greatness. - - - 326. - -_Physicians of the Soul and Pain._—All preachers of morality, as also -all theologians, have a bad habit in common: all of them try to persuade -man that he is very ill, and that a severe, final, radical cure is -necessary. And because mankind as a whole has for centuries listened too -eagerly to those teachers, something of the superstition that the human -race is in a very bad way has actually come over men: so that they are -now far too ready to sigh; they find nothing more in life and make -melancholy faces at each other, as if life were indeed very hard _to -endure_. In truth, they are inordinately assured of their life and in -love with it, and full of untold intrigues and subtleties for -suppressing everything disagreeable and for extracting the thorn from -pain and misfortune. It seems to me that people always speak _with -exaggeration_ about pain and misfortune, as if it were a matter of good -behaviour to exaggerate here: on the other hand people are intentionally -silent in regard to the number of expedients for alleviating pain; as -for instance, the deadening of it, or feverish flurry of thought, or a -peaceful position, or good and bad reminiscences, intentions, -hopes,—also many kinds of pride and fellow-feeling which have almost the -effect of anæsthetics: while in the greatest degree of pain fainting -takes place of itself. We understand very well how to pour sweetness on -our bitterness, especially on the bitterness of our soul; we find a -remedy in our bravery and sublimity, as well as in the nobler delirium -of submission and resignation. A loss scarcely remains a loss for an -hour: in some way or other a gift from heaven has always fallen into our -lap at the same moment—a new form of strength, for example: be it but a -new opportunity for the exercise of strength! What have the preachers of -morality not dreamt concerning the inner "misery" of evil men! What -_lies_ have they not told us about the misfortunes of impassioned men! -Yes, lying is here the right word: they were only too well aware of the -overflowing happiness of this kind of man, but they kept silent as death -about it; because it was a refutation of their theory, according to -which happiness only originates through the annihilation of the passions -and the silencing of the will! And finally, as regards the recipe of all -those physicians of the soul and their recommendation of a severe -radical cure, we may be allowed to ask: Is our life really painful and -burdensome enough for us to exchange it with advantage for a Stoical -mode of life, and Stoical petrification? We do _not_ feel _sufficiently -miserable_ to have to feel ill in the Stoical fashion! - - - 327. - -_Taking Things Seriously._—The intellect is with most people an awkward, -obscure and creaking machine, which is difficult to set in motion: they -call it "_taking a thing seriously_" when they work with this machine, -and want to think well—oh, how burdensome must good thinking be to them! -That delightful animal, man, seems to lose his good-humour whenever he -thinks well; he becomes "serious"! And "where there is laughing and -gaiety, thinking cannot be worth anything:"—so speaks the prejudice of -this serious animal against all "Joyful Wisdom."—Well, then! Let us show -that it is prejudice! - - - 328. - -_Doing Harm to Stupidity._—It is certain that the belief in the -reprehensibility of egoism, preached with such stubbornness and -conviction, has on the whole done harm to egoism (_in favour of the -herd-instinct_, as I shall repeat a hundred times!), especially by -depriving it of a good conscience, and bidding us seek in it the true -source of all misfortune. "Thy selfishness is the bane of thy life"—so -rang the preaching for millenniums: it did harm, as we have said, to -selfishness, and deprived it of much spirit, much cheerfulness, much -ingenuity, and much beauty; it stultified and deformed and poisoned -selfishness!—Philosophical antiquity, on the other hand, taught that -there was another principal source of evil: from Socrates downwards, the -thinkers were never weary of preaching that "your thoughtlessness and -stupidity, your unthinking way of living according to rule, and your -subjection to the opinion of your neighbour, are the reasons why you so -seldom attain to happiness,—we thinkers are, as thinkers, the happiest -of mortals." Let us not decide here whether this preaching against -stupidity was more sound than the preaching against selfishness; it is -certain, however, that stupidity was thereby deprived of its good -conscience:—these philosophers _did harm to stupidity_. - - - 329. - -_Leisure and Idleness._—There is an Indian savagery, a savagery peculiar -to the Indian blood, in the manner in which the Americans strive after -gold: and the breathless hurry of their work—the characteristic vice of -the new world—already begins to infect old Europe, and makes it savage -also, spreading over it a strange lack of intellectuality. One is now -ashamed of repose: even long reflection almost causes remorse of -conscience. Thinking is done with a stop-watch, as dining is done with -the eyes fixed on the financial newspaper; we live like men who are -continually "afraid of letting opportunities slip." "Better do anything -whatever, than nothing"—this principle also is a noose with which all -culture and all higher taste may be strangled. And just as all form -obviously disappears in this hurry of workers, so the sense for form -itself, the ear and the eye for the melody of movement, also disappear. -The proof of this is the _clumsy perspicuity_ which is now everywhere -demanded in all positions where a person would like to be sincere with -his fellows, in intercourse with friends, women, relatives, children, -teachers, pupils, leaders and princes,—one has no longer either time or -energy for ceremonies, for roundabout courtesies, for any _esprit_ in -conversation, or for any _otium_ whatever. For life in the hunt for gain -continually compels a person to consume his intellect, even to -exhaustion, in constant dissimulation, overreaching, or forestalling: -the real virtue nowadays is to do something in a shorter time than -another person. And so there are only rare hours of sincere intercourse -_permitted_: in them, however, people are tired, and would not only like -"to let themselves go," but _to stretch their legs_ out wide in awkward -style. The way people write their _letters_ nowadays is quite in keeping -with the age; their style and spirit will always be the true "sign of -the times." If there be still enjoyment in society and in art, it is -enjoyment such as over-worked slaves provide for themselves. Oh, this -moderation in "joy" of our cultured and uncultured classes! Oh, this -increasing suspiciousness of all enjoyment! _Work_ is winning over more -and more the good conscience to its side: the desire for enjoyment -already calls itself "need of recreation," and even begins to be ashamed -of itself. "One owes it to one's health," people say, when they are -caught at a picnic. Indeed, it might soon go so far that one could not -yield to the desire for the _vita contemplativa_ (that is to say, -excursions with thoughts and friends), without self-contempt and a bad -conscience.—Well! Formerly it was the very reverse: it was "action" that -suffered from a bad conscience. A man of good family _concealed_ his -work when need compelled him to labour. The slave laboured under the -weight of the feeling that he did something contemptible:—the "doing" -itself was something contemptible. "Only in _otium_ and _bellum_ is -there nobility and honour:" so rang the voice of ancient prejudice! - - - 330. - -_Applause._—The thinker does not need applause nor the clapping of -hands, provided he be sure of the clapping of his own hands: the latter, -however, he cannot do without. Are there men who could also do without -this, and in general without any kind of applause? I doubt it: and even -as regards the wisest, Tacitus, who is no calumniator of the wise, says: -_quando etiam sapientibus gloriæ cupido novissima exuitur_—that means -with him: never. - - - 331. - -_Better Deaf than Deafened._—Formerly a person wanted to have a -_calling_, but that no longer suffices to-day, for the market has become -too large,—there has now to be _bawling_. The consequence is that even -good throats outcry each other, and the best wares are offered for sale -with hoarse voices; without market-place bawling and hoarseness there is -now no longer any genius.—It is, sure enough, an evil age for the -thinker: he has to learn to find his stillness betwixt two noises, and -has to pretend to be deaf until he finally becomes so. As long as he has -not learned this, he is in danger of perishing from impatience and -headaches. - - - 332. - -_The Evil Hour._—There has perhaps been an evil hour for every -philosopher, in which he thought: What do I matter, if people should not -believe my poor arguments!—And then some malicious bird has flown past -him and twittered: "What do you matter? What do you matter?" - - - 333. - -_What does Knowing Mean?_—_Non ridere, non lugere, neque detestari, sed -intelligere!_ says Spinoza, so simply and sublimely, as is his wont. -Nevertheless, what else is this _intelligere_ ultimately, but just the -form in which the three other things become perceptible to us all at -once? A result of the diverging and opposite impulses of desiring to -deride, lament and execrate? Before knowledge is possible each of these -impulses must first have brought forward its one-sided view of the -object or event. The struggle of these one-sided views occurs -afterwards, and out of it there occasionally arises a compromise, a -pacification, a recognition of rights on all three sides, a sort of -justice and agreement: for in virtue of the justice and agreement all -those impulses can maintain themselves in existence and retain their -mutual rights. We, to whose consciousness only the closing -reconciliation scenes and final settling of accounts of these long -processes manifest themselves, think on that account that _intelligere_ -is something conciliating, just and good, something essentially -antithetical to the impulses; whereas it is only _a certain relation of -the impulses to one another_. For a very long time conscious thinking -was regarded as thinking proper: it is now only that the truth dawns -upon us that the greater part of our intellectual activity goes on -unconsciously and unfelt by us; I believe, however, that the impulses -which are here in mutual conflict understand right well how to make -themselves felt by _one another_, and how to cause pain:—the violent, -sudden exhaustion which overtakes all thinkers, may have its origin here -(it is the exhaustion of the battle-field). Aye, perhaps in our -struggling interior there is much concealed _heroism_, but certainly -nothing divine, or eternally-reposing-in-itself, as Spinoza supposed. -_Conscious_ thinking, and especially that of the philosopher, is the -weakest, and on that account also the relatively mildest and quietest -mode of thinking: and thus it is precisely the philosopher who is most -easily misled concerning the nature of knowledge. - - - 334. - -_One must Learn to Love._—This is our experience in music: we must first -_learn_ in general _to hear_, to hear fully, and to distinguish a theme -or a melody, we have to isolate and limit it as a life by itself; then -we need to exercise effort and good-will in order _to endure_ it in -spite of its strangeness, we need patience towards its aspect and -expression, and indulgence towards what is odd in it:—in the end there -comes a moment when we are _accustomed_ to it, when we expect it, when -it dawns upon us that we should miss it if it were lacking; and then it -goes on to exercise its spell and charm more and more, and does not -cease until we have become its humble and enraptured lovers, who want -it, and want it again, and ask for nothing better from the world.—It is -thus with us, however, not only in music: it is precisely thus that we -have _learned to love_ all things that we now love. We are always -finally recompensed for our good-will, our patience, reasonableness and -gentleness towards what is unfamiliar, by the unfamiliar slowly throwing -off its veil and presenting itself to us as a new, ineffable -beauty:—that is its _thanks_ for our hospitality. He also who loves -himself must have learned it in this way: there is no other way. Love -also has to be learned. - - - 335. - -_Cheers for Physics!_—How many men are there who know how to observe? -And among the few who do know,—how many observe themselves? "Everyone is -furthest from himself"—all the "triers of the reins" know that to their -discomfort; and the saying, "Know thyself," in the mouth of a God and -spoken to man, is almost a mockery. But that the case of -self-observation is so desperate, is attested best of all by the manner -in which _almost everybody_ talks of the nature of a moral action, that -prompt, willing, convinced, loquacious manner, with its look, its smile, -and its pleasing eagerness! Everyone seems inclined to say to you: "Why, -my dear Sir, that is precisely _my_ affair! You address yourself with -your question to him who _is authorised_ to answer, for I happen to be -wiser with regard to this matter than in anything else. Therefore, when -a man decides that '_this is right_,' when he accordingly concludes that -'_it must therefore be done_,' and thereupon _does_ what he has thus -recognised as right and designated as necessary—then the nature of his -action is _moral_!" But, my friend, you are talking to me about three -actions instead of one: your deciding, for instance, that "this is -right," is also an action,—could one not judge either morally or -immorally? _Why_ do you regard this, and just this, as right?—"Because -my conscience tells me so; conscience never speaks immorally, indeed it -determines in the first place what shall be moral!"—But why do you -_listen_ to the voice of your conscience? And in how far are you -justified in regarding such a judgment as true and infallible? This -_belief_—is there no further conscience for it? Do you know nothing of -an intellectual conscience? A conscience behind your "conscience"? Your -decision, "this is right," has a previous history in your impulses, your -likes and dislikes, your experiences and non-experiences; "_how_ has it -originated?" you must ask, and afterwards the further question: "_what_ -really impels me to give ear to it?" You can listen to its command like -a brave soldier who hears the command of his officer. Or like a woman -who loves him who commands. Or like a flatterer and coward, afraid of -the commander. Or like a blockhead who follows because he has nothing to -say to the contrary. In short, you can give ear to your conscience in a -hundred different ways. But _that_ you hear this or that judgment as the -voice of conscience, consequently, _that_ you feel a thing to be -right—may have its cause in the fact that you have never reflected about -yourself, and have blindly accepted from your childhood what has been -designated to you as _right_: or in the fact that hitherto bread and -honours have fallen to your share with that which you call your duty,—it -is "right" to you, because it seems to be _your_ "condition of -existence" (that you, however, have a _right_ to existence appears to -you as irrefutable!). The _persistency_ of your moral judgment might -still be just a proof of personal wretchedness or impersonality; your -"moral force" might have its source in your obstinacy—or in your -incapacity to perceive new ideals! And to be brief: if you had thought -more acutely, observed more accurately, and had learned more, you would -no longer under all circumstances call this and that your "duty" and -your "conscience": the knowledge _how moral judgments have in general -always originated_, would make you tired of these pathetic words,—as you -have already grown tired of other pathetic words, for instance "sin," -"salvation," and "redemption."—And now, my friend, do not talk to me -about the categorical imperative! That word tickles my ear, and I must -laugh in spite of your presence and your seriousness. In this connection -I recollect old Kant, who, as a punishment for having _gained possession -surreptitiously_ of the "thing in itself"—also a very ludicrous -affair!—was imposed upon by the categorical imperative, and with that in -his heart _strayed back again_ to "God," the "soul," "freedom," and -"immortality," like a fox which strays back into its cage: and it had -been _his_ strength and shrewdness which had _broken open_ this -cage!—What? You admire the categorical imperative in you? This -"persistency" of your so-called moral judgment? This absoluteness of the -feeling that "as I think on this matter, so must everyone think"? Admire -rather your _selfishness_ therein! And the blindness, paltriness, and -modesty of your selfishness! For it is selfishness in a person to regard -_his_ judgment as universal law, and a blind, paltry and modest -selfishness besides, because it betrays that you have not yet discovered -yourself, that you have not yet created for yourself any individual, -quite individual ideal:—for this could never be the ideal of another, to -say nothing of all, of every one!——He who still thinks that "each would -have to act in this manner in this case," has not yet advanced half a -dozen paces in self-knowledge: otherwise he would know that there -neither are nor can be similar actions,—that every action that has been -done, has been done in an entirely unique and inimitable manner, and -that it will be the same with regard to all future actions; that all -precepts of conduct (and even the most esoteric and subtle precepts of -all moralities up to the present), apply only to the coarse -exterior,—that by means of them, indeed, a semblance of equality can be -attained, _but only a semblance_,—that in outlook or retrospect, _every_ -action is and remains an impenetrable affair,—that our opinions of -"good," "noble" and "great" can never be demonstrated by our actions, -because no action is cognisable,—that our opinions, estimates, and -tables of values are certainly among the most powerful levers in the -mechanism of our actions, that in every single case, nevertheless, the -law of their mechanism is untraceable. Let us _confine_ ourselves, -therefore, to the purification of our opinions and appreciations, and to -the _construction of new tables of value of our own_:—we will, however, -brood no longer over the "moral worth of our actions"! Yes, my friends! -As regards the whole moral twaddle of people about one another, it is -time to be disgusted with it! To sit in judgment morally ought to be -opposed to our taste! Let us leave this nonsense and this bad taste to -those who have nothing else to do, save to drag the past a little -distance further through time, and who are never themselves the -present,—consequently to the many, to the majority! We, however, _would -seek to become what we are_,—the new, the unique, the incomparable, -making laws for ourselves and creating ourselves! And for this purpose -we must become the best students and discoverers of all the laws and -necessities in the world. We must be _physicists_ in order to be -_creators_ in that sense,—whereas hitherto all appreciations and ideals -have been based on _ignorance_ of physics, or in _contradiction_ to it. -And therefore, three cheers for physics! And still louder cheers for -that which _impels_ us to it—our honesty. - - - 336. - -_Avarice of Nature._—Why has nature been so niggardly towards humanity -that she has not let human beings shine, this man more and that man -less, according to their inner abundance of light? Why have not great -men such a fine visibility in their rising and setting as the sun? How -much less equivocal would life among men then be! - - - 337. - -_Future "Humanity."_—When I look at this age with the eye of a distant -future, I find nothing so remarkable in the man of the present day as -his peculiar virtue and sickness called "the historical sense." It is a -tendency to something quite new and foreign in history: if this embryo -were given several centuries and more, there might finally evolve out of -it a marvellous plant, with a smell equally marvellous, on account of -which our old earth might be more pleasant to live in than it has been -hitherto. We moderns are just beginning to form the chain of a very -powerful, future sentiment, link by link,—we hardly know what we are -doing. It almost seems to us as if it were not the question of a new -sentiment, but of the decline of all old sentiments:—the historical -sense is still something so poor and cold, and many are attacked by it -as by a frost, and are made poorer and colder by it. To others it -appears as the indication of stealthily approaching age, and our planet -is regarded by them as a melancholy invalid, who, in order to forget his -present condition, writes the history of his youth. In fact, this is one -aspect of the new sentiment. He who knows how to regard the history of -man in its entirety as _his own history_, feels in the immense -generalisation all the grief of the invalid who thinks of health, of the -old man who thinks of the dream of his youth, of the lover who is robbed -of his beloved, of the martyr whose ideal is destroyed, of the hero on -the evening of the indecisive battle which has brought him wounds and -the loss of a friend. But to bear this immense sum of grief of all -kinds, to be able to bear it, and yet still be the hero who at the -commencement of a second day of battle greets the dawn and his -happiness, as one who has an horizon of centuries before and behind him, -as the heir of all nobility, of all past intellect, and the obligatory -heir (as the noblest) of all the old nobles; while at the same time the -first of a new nobility, the equal of which has never been seen nor even -dreamt of: to take all this upon his soul, the oldest, the newest, the -losses, hopes, conquests, and victories of mankind: to have all this at -last in one soul, and to comprise it in one feeling:—this would -necessarily furnish a happiness which man has not hitherto known,—a -God's happiness, full of power and love, full of tears and laughter, a -happiness which, like the sun in the evening, continually gives of its -inexhaustible riches and empties into the sea,—and like the sun, too, -feels itself richest when even the poorest fisherman rows with golden -oars! This divine feeling might then be called—humanity! - - - 338. - -_The Will to Suffering and the Compassionate._—Is it to your advantage -to be above all compassionate? And is it to the advantage of the -sufferers when you are so? But let us leave the first question for a -moment without an answer.—That from which we suffer most profoundly and -personally is almost incomprehensible and inaccessible to every one -else: in this matter we are hidden from our neighbour even when he eats -at the same table with us. Everywhere, however, where we are _noticed_ -as sufferers, our suffering is interpreted in a shallow way; it belongs -to the nature of the emotion of pity to _divest_ unfamiliar suffering of -its properly personal character:—our "benefactors" lower our value and -volition more than our enemies. In most benefits which are conferred on -the unfortunate there is something shocking in the intellectual levity -with which the compassionate person plays the rôle of fate: he knows -nothing of all the inner consequences and complications which are called -misfortune for _me_ or for _you_! The entire economy of my soul and its -adjustment by "misfortune," the uprising of new sources and needs, the -closing up of old wounds, the repudiation of whole periods of the -past—none of these things which may be connected with misfortune -preoccupy the dear sympathiser. He wishes _to succour_, and does not -reflect that there is a personal necessity for misfortune; that terror, -want, impoverishment, midnight watches, adventures, hazards and mistakes -are as necessary to me and to you as their opposites, yea, that, to -speak mystically, the path to one's own heaven always leads through the -voluptuousness of one's own hell. No, he knows nothing thereof. The -"religion of compassion" (or "the heart") bids him help, and he thinks -he has helped best when he has helped most speedily! If you adherents of -this religion actually have the same sentiments towards yourselves which -you have towards your fellows, if you are unwilling to endure your own -suffering even for an hour, and continually forestall all possible -misfortune, if you regard suffering and pain generally as evil, as -detestable, as deserving of annihilation, and as blots on existence, -well, you have then, besides your religion of compassion, yet another -religion in your heart (and this is perhaps the mother of the -former)—_the religion of smug ease_. Ah, how little you know of the -_happiness_ of man, you comfortable and good-natured ones!—for happiness -and misfortune are brother and sister, and twins, who grow tall -together, or, as with you, _remain small_ together! But now let us -return to the first question.—How is it at all possible for a person to -keep to _his_ path! Some cry or other is continually calling one aside: -our eye then rarely lights on anything without it becoming necessary for -us to leave for a moment our own affairs and rush to give assistance. I -know there are hundreds of respectable and laudable methods of making me -stray _from my course_, and in truth the most "moral" of methods! -Indeed, the opinion of the present-day preachers of the morality of -compassion goes so far as to imply that just this, and this alone is -moral:—to stray from _our_ course to that extent and to run to the -assistance of our neighbour. I am equally certain that I need only give -myself over to the sight of one case of actual distress, and I, too, -_am_ lost! And if a suffering friend said to me, "See, I shall soon die, -only promise to die with me"—I might promise it, just as—to select for -once bad examples for good reasons—the sight of a small, mountain people -struggling for freedom, would bring me to the point of offering them my -hand and my life. Indeed, there is even a secret seduction in all this -awakening of compassion, and calling for help: our "own way" is a thing -too hard and insistent, and too far removed from the love and gratitude -of others,—we escape from it and from our most personal conscience, not -at all unwillingly, and, seeking security in the conscience of others, -we take refuge in the lovely temple of the "religion of pity." As soon -now as any war breaks out, there always breaks out at the same time a -certain secret delight precisely in the noblest class of the people: -they rush with rapture to meet the new danger of _death_, because they -believe that in the sacrifice for their country they have finally that -long-sought-for permission—the permission _to shirk their aim_:—war is -for them a detour to suicide, a detour, however, with a good conscience. -And although silent here about some things, I will not, however, be -silent about my morality, which says to me: Live in concealment in order -that thou _mayest_ live to thyself. Live _ignorant_ of that which seems -to thy age to be most important! Put at least the skin of three -centuries betwixt thyself and the present day! And the clamour of the -present day, the noise of wars and revolutions, ought to be a murmur to -thee! Thou wilt also want to help, but only those whose distress thou -entirely _understandest_, because they have _one_ sorrow and _one_ hope -in common with thee—thy _friends_: and only in _the_ way that thou -helpest thyself:—I want to make them more courageous, more enduring, -more simple, more joyful! I want to teach them that which at present so -few understand, and the preachers of fellowship in sorrow least of -all:—namely, _fellowship in joy_! - - - 339. - -_Vita femina._—To see the ultimate beauties in a work—all knowledge and -good-will is not enough; it requires the rarest, good chance for the -veil of clouds to move for once from the summits, and for the sun to -shine on them. We must not only stand at precisely the right place to -see this, our very soul itself must have pulled away the veil from its -heights, and must be in need of an external expression and simile, so as -to have a support and remain master of itself. All these, however, are -so rarely united at the same time that I am inclined to believe that the -highest summit of all that is good, be it work, deed, man, or nature, -has hitherto remained for most people, and even for the best, as -something concealed and shrouded:—that, however, which unveils itself to -us, _unveils itself to us but once_. The Greeks indeed prayed: "Twice -and thrice, everything beautiful!" Ah, they had their good reason to -call on the Gods, for ungodly actuality does not furnish us with the -beautiful at all, or only does so once! I mean to say that the world is -overfull of beautiful things, but it is nevertheless poor, very poor, in -beautiful moments, and in the unveiling of those beautiful things. But -perhaps this is the greatest charm of life: it puts a gold-embroidered -veil of lovely potentialities over itself, promising, resisting, modest, -mocking, sympathetic, seductive. Yes, life is a woman! - - - 340. - -_The Dying Socrates._—I admire the courage and wisdom of Socrates in all -that he did, said—and did not say. This mocking and amorous demon and -rat-catcher of Athens, who made the most insolent youths tremble and sob -was not only the wisest babbler that has ever lived, but was just as -great in his silence. I would that he had also been silent in the last -moment of his life,—perhaps he might then have belonged to a still -higher order of intellects. Whether it was death, or the poison, or -piety, or wickedness—something or other loosened his tongue at that -moment, and he said: "O Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepios." For him who -has ears, this ludicrous and terrible "last word" implies: "O Crito, -_life is a long sickness_!" Is it possible! A man like him, who had -lived cheerfully and to all appearance as a soldier,—was a pessimist! He -had merely put on a good demeanour towards life, and had all along -concealed his ultimate judgment, his profoundest sentiment! Socrates, -Socrates _had suffered from life_! And he also took his revenge for -it—with that veiled, fearful, pious, and blasphemous phrase! Had even a -Socrates to revenge himself? Was there a grain too little of magnanimity -in his superabundant virtue? Ah, my friends! We must surpass even the -Greeks! - - - 341. - -_The Heaviest Burden._—What if a demon crept after thee into thy -loneliest loneliness some day or night, and said to thee: "This life, as -thou livest it at present, and hast lived it, thou must live it once -more, and also innumerable times; and there will be nothing new in it, -but every pain and every joy and every thought and every sigh, and all -the unspeakably small and great in thy life must come to thee again, and -all in the same series and sequence—and similarly this spider and this -moonlight among the trees, and similarly this moment, and I myself. The -eternal sand-glass of existence will ever be turned once more, and thou -with it, thou speck of dust!"—Wouldst thou not throw thyself down and -gnash thy teeth, and curse the demon that so spake? Or hast thou once -experienced a tremendous moment in which thou wouldst answer him: "Thou -art a God, and never did I hear aught more divine!" If that thought -acquired power over thee, as thou art, it would transform thee, and -perhaps crush thee; the question with regard to all and everything: -"Dost thou want this once more, and also for innumerable times?" would -lie as the heaviest burden upon thy activity! Or, how wouldst thou have -to become favourably inclined to thyself and to life, so as _to long for -nothing more ardently_ than for this last eternal sanctioning and -sealing?— - - - 342. - -_Incipit Tragœdia._—When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his -home and the Lake of Urmi, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed -his spirit and his solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But -at last his heart changed,—and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he -went before the sun and spake thus unto it: "Thou great star! What would -be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom thou shinest! For ten -years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst have wearied -of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine eagle, and -my serpent. But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine -overflow, and blessed thee for it. Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the -bee that hath gathered too much honey; I need hands outstretched to take -it. I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more -become joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches. -Therefore must I descend into the deep, as thou doest in the evening, -when thou goest behind the sea and givest light also to the -nether-world, thou most rich star! Like thee must I _go down_, as men -say, to whom I shall descend. Bless me then, thou tranquil eye, that -canst behold even the greatest happiness without envy! Bless the cup -that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden out of it, and -carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss! Lo! This cup is again -going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again going to be a man."—Thus -began Zarathustra's down-going. - ------ - -Footnote 10: - - The distinction between ethos and pathos in Aristotle is, broadly, - that between internal character and external circumstance.—P. V. C. - - - - - BOOK FIFTH - - WE FEARLESS ONES - - - "Carcasse, tu trembles? Tu - tremblerais bien davantage, si - tu savais, où je te mène."— - _Turenne._ - - - 343. - -_What our Cheerfulness Signifies._—The most important of more recent -events—that "God is dead," that the belief in the Christian God has -become unworthy of belief—already begins to cast its first shadows over -Europe. To the few at least whose eye, whose _suspecting_ glance, is -strong enough and subtle enough for this drama, some sun seems to have -set, some old, profound confidence seems to have changed into doubt: our -old world must seem to them daily more darksome, distrustful, strange -and "old." In the main, however, one may say that the event itself is -far too great, too remote, too much beyond most people's power of -apprehension, for one to suppose that so much as the report of it could -have _reached_ them; not to speak of many who already knew _what_ had -really taken place, and what must all collapse now that this belief had -been undermined,—because so much was built upon it, so much rested on -it, and had become one with it: for example, our entire European -morality. This lengthy, vast and uninterrupted process of crumbling, -destruction, ruin and overthrow which is now imminent: who has realised -it sufficiently to-day to have to stand up as the teacher and herald of -such a tremendous logic of terror, as the prophet of a period of gloom -and eclipse, the like of which has probably never taken place on earth -before?... Even we, the born riddle-readers, who wait as it were on the -mountains posted 'twixt to-day and to-morrow, and engirt by their -contradiction, we, the firstlings and premature children of the coming -century, into whose sight especially the shadows which must forthwith -envelop Europe _should_ already have come—how is it that even we, -without genuine sympathy for this period of gloom, contemplate its -advent without any _personal_ solicitude or fear? Are we still, perhaps, -too much under the _immediate effects_ of the event—and are these -effects, especially as regards _ourselves_, perhaps the reverse of what -was to be expected—not at all sad and depressing, but rather like a new -and indescribable variety of light, happiness, relief, enlivenment, -encouragement, and dawning day?... In fact, we philosophers and "free -spirits" feel ourselves irradiated as by a new dawn by the report that -the "old God is dead"; our hearts overflow with gratitude, astonishment, -presentiment and expectation. At last the horizon seems open once more, -granting even that it is not bright; our ships can at last put out to -sea in face of every danger; every hazard is again permitted to the -discerner; the sea, _our_ sea, again lies open before us; perhaps never -before did such an "open sea" exist.— - - - 344. - -_To what Extent even We are still Pious._—It is said with good reason -that convictions have no civic rights in the domain of science: it is -only when a conviction voluntarily condescends to the modesty of an -hypothesis, a preliminary standpoint for experiment, or a regulative -fiction, that its access to the realm of knowledge, and a certain value -therein, can be conceded,—always, however, with the restriction that it -must remain under police supervision, under the police of our -distrust.—Regarded more accurately, however, does not this imply that -only when a conviction _ceases_ to be a conviction can it obtain -admission into science? Does not the discipline of the scientific spirit -just commence when one no longer harbours any conviction?... It is -probably so: only, it remains to be asked whether, _in order that this -discipline may commence_, it is not necessary that there should already -be a conviction, and in fact one so imperative and absolute, that it -makes a sacrifice of all other convictions. One sees that science also -rests on a belief: there is no science at all "without premises." The -question whether _truth_ is necessary, must not merely be affirmed -beforehand, but must be affirmed to such an extent that the principle, -belief, or conviction finds expression, that "there is _nothing more -necessary_ than truth, and in comparison with it everything else has -only a secondary value."—This absolute will to truth: what is it? Is it -the will _not to allow ourselves to be deceived_? Is it the will _not to -deceive_? For the will to truth could also be interpreted in this -fashion, provided one includes under the generalisation, "I will not -deceive," the special case, "I will not deceive myself." But why not -deceive? Why not allow oneself to be deceived?—Let it be noted that the -reasons for the former eventuality belong to a category quite different -from those for the latter: one does not want to be deceived oneself, -under the supposition that it is injurious, dangerous, or fatal to be -deceived,—in this sense science would be a prolonged process of caution, -foresight and utility; against which, however, one might reasonably make -objections. What? is not-wishing-to-be-deceived really less injurious, -less dangerous, less fatal? What do you know of the character of -existence in all its phases to be able to decide whether the greater -advantage is on the side of absolute distrust, or of absolute -trustfulness? In case, however, of both being necessary, much trusting -_and_ much distrusting, whence then should science derive the absolute -belief, the conviction on which it rests, that truth is more important -than anything else, even than every other conviction? This conviction -could not have arisen if truth _and_ untruth had both continually proved -themselves to be useful: as is the case. Thus—the belief in science, -which now undeniably exists, cannot have had its origin in such a -utilitarian calculation, but rather _in spite of_ the fact of the -inutility and dangerousness of the "Will to truth," of "truth at all -costs," being continually demonstrated. "At all costs": alas, we -understand that sufficiently well, after having sacrificed and -slaughtered one belief after another at this altar!—Consequently, "Will -to truth" does _not_ imply, "I will not allow myself to be deceived," -but—there is no other alternative—"I will not deceive, not even myself": -_and thus we have reached the realm of morality_. For, let one just ask -oneself fairly: "Why wilt thou not deceive?" especially if it should -seem—and it does seem—as if life were laid out with a view to -appearance, I mean, with a view to error, deceit, dissimulation, -delusion, self-delusion; and when on the other hand it is a matter of -fact that the great type of life has always manifested itself on the -side of the most unscrupulous πολύτροποι. Such an intention might -perhaps, to express it mildly, be a piece of Quixotism, a little -enthusiastic craziness; it might also, however, be something worse, -namely, a destructive principle, hostile to life.... "Will to -Truth,"—that might be a concealed Will to Death.—Thus the question, Why -is there science? leads back to the moral problem: _What in general is -the purpose of morality_, if life, nature, and history are "non-moral"? -There is no doubt that the conscientious man in the daring and extreme -sense in which he is presupposed by the belief in science, _affirms -thereby a world other than_ that of life, nature, and history; and in so -far as he affirms this "other world," what? must he not just -thereby—deny its counterpart, this world, _our_ world?... But what I -have in view will now be understood, namely, that it is always a -_metaphysical belief_ on which our belief in science rests,—and that -even we knowing ones of to-day, the godless and anti-metaphysical, still -take _our_ fire from the conflagration kindled by a belief a millennium -old, the Christian belief, which was also the belief of Plato, that God -is truth, that the truth is divine.... But what if this itself always -becomes more untrustworthy, what if nothing any longer proves itself -divine, except it be error, blindness, and falsehood;—what if God -himself turns out to be our most persistent lie?— - - - 345. - -_Morality as a Problem._—A defect in personality revenges itself -everywhere: an enfeebled, lank, obliterated, self-disavowing and -disowning personality is no longer fit for anything good—it is least of -all fit for philosophy. "Selflessness" has no value either in heaven or -on earth; the great problems all demand _great love_, and it is only the -strong, well-rounded, secure spirits, those who have a solid basis, that -are qualified for them. It makes the most material difference whether a -thinker stands personally related to his problems, having his fate, his -need, and even his highest happiness therein; or merely impersonally, -that is to say, if he can only feel and grasp them with the tentacles of -cold, prying thought. In the latter case I warrant that nothing comes of -it: for the great problems, granting that they let themselves be grasped -at all, do not let themselves be _held_ by toads and weaklings: that has -ever been their taste—a taste also which they share with all -high-spirited women.—How is it that I have not yet met with any one, not -even in books, who seems to have stood to morality in this position, as -one who knew morality as a problem, and this problem as _his own_ -personal need, affliction, pleasure and passion? It is obvious that up -to the present morality has not been a problem at all; it has rather -been the very ground on which people have met, after all distrust, -dissension, and contradiction, the hallowed place of peace, where -thinkers could obtain rest even from themselves, could recover breath -and revive. I see no one who has ventured to _criticise_ the estimates -of moral worth. I miss in this connection even the attempts of -scientific curiosity, and the fastidious, groping imagination of -psychologists and historians, which easily anticipates a problem and -catches it on the wing, without rightly knowing what it catches. With -difficulty I have discovered some scanty data for the purpose of -furnishing a _history of the origin_ of these feelings and estimates of -value (which is something different from a criticism of them, and also -something different from a history of ethical systems). In an individual -case, I have done everything to encourage the inclination and talent for -this kind of history—in vain, as it would seem to me at present. There -is little to be learned from those historians of morality (especially -Englishmen): they themselves are usually, quite unsuspiciously, under -the influence of a definite morality, and act unwittingly as its -armour-bearers and followers—perhaps still repeating sincerely the -popular superstition of Christian Europe, that the characteristic of -moral action consists in abnegation, self-denial, self-sacrifice, or in -fellow-feeling and fellow-suffering. The usual error in their premises -is their insistence on a certain _consensus_ among human beings, at -least among civilised human beings, with regard to certain propositions -of morality, and from thence they conclude that these propositions are -absolutely binding even upon you and me; or reversely, they come to the -conclusion that _no_ morality at all is binding, after the truth has -dawned upon them that to different peoples moral valuations are -_necessarily_ different: both of which conclusions are equally childish -follies. The error of the more subtle amongst them is that they discover -and criticise the probably foolish opinions of a people about its own -morality, or the opinions of mankind about human morality generally; -they treat accordingly of its origin, its religious sanctions, the -superstition of free will, and such matters; and they think that just by -so doing they have criticised the morality itself. But the worth of a -precept, "Thou shalt," is still fundamentally different from and -independent of such opinions about it, and must be distinguished from -the weeds of error with which it has perhaps been overgrown: just as the -worth of a medicine to a sick person is altogether independent of the -question whether he has a scientific opinion about medicine, or merely -thinks about it as an old wife would do. A morality could even have -grown _out of_ an error: but with this knowledge the problem of its -worth would not even be touched.—Thus, no one has hitherto tested the -_value_ of that most celebrated of all medicines, called morality: for -which purpose it is first of all necessary for one—_to call it in -question_. Well, that is just our work.— - - - 346. - -_Our Note of Interrogation._—But you don't understand it? As a matter of -fact, an effort will be necessary in order to understand us. We seek for -words; we seek perhaps also for ears. Who are we after all? If we wanted -simply to call ourselves in older phraseology, atheists, unbelievers, or -even immoralists, we should still be far from thinking ourselves -designated thereby: we are all three in too late a phase for people -generally to conceive, for _you_, my inquisitive friends, to be able to -conceive, what is our state of mind under the circumstances. No! we have -no longer the bitterness and passion of him who has broken loose, who -has to make for himself a belief, a goal, and even a martyrdom out of -his unbelief! We have become saturated with the conviction (and have -grown cold and hard in it) that things are not at all divinely ordered -in this world, nor even according to human standards do they go on -rationally, mercifully, or justly: we know the fact that the world in -which we live is ungodly, immoral, and "inhuman,"—we have far too long -interpreted it to ourselves falsely and mendaciously, according to the -wish and will of our veneration, that is to say, according to our -_need_. For man is a venerating animal! But he is also a distrustful -animal: and that the world is _not_ worth what we have believed it to be -worth is about the surest thing our distrust has at last managed to -grasp. So much distrust, so much philosophy! We take good care not to -say that the world is of _less_ value: it seems to us at present -absolutely ridiculous when man claims to devise values _to surpass_ the -values of the actual world,—it is precisely from that point that we have -retraced our steps; as from an extravagant error of human conceit and -irrationality, which for a long period has not been recognised as such. -This error had its last expression in modern Pessimism; an older and -stronger manifestation in the teaching of Buddha; but Christianity also -contains it, more dubiously, to be sure, and more ambiguously, but none -the less seductive on that account. The whole attitude of "man _versus_ -the world," man as world-denying principle, man as the standard of the -value of things, as judge of the world, who in the end puts existence -itself on his scales and finds it too light—the monstrous impertinence -of this attitude has dawned upon us as such, and has disgusted us,—we -now laugh when we find, "Man _and_ World" placed beside one another, -separated by the sublime presumption of the little word "and"! But how -is it? Have we not in our very laughing just made a further step in -despising mankind? And consequently also in Pessimism, in despising the -existence cognisable _by us_? Have we not just thereby become liable to -a suspicion of an opposition between the world in which we have hitherto -been at home with our venerations—for the sake of which we perhaps -_endure_ life—and another world _which we ourselves are_: an inexorable, -radical, most profound suspicion concerning ourselves, which is -continually getting us Europeans more annoyingly into its power, and -could easily face the coming generation with the terrible alternative: -"Either do away with your venerations, or—_with yourselves_!" The latter -would be Nihilism—but would not the former also be Nihilism? This is -_our_ note of interrogation. - - - 347. - -_Believers and their Need of Belief._—How much _faith_ a person requires -in order to flourish, how much "fixed opinion" he requires which he does -not wish to have shaken, because he _holds_ himself thereby—is a measure -of his power (or more plainly speaking, of his weakness). Most people in -old Europe, as it seems to me, still need Christianity at present, and -on that account it still finds belief. For such is man: a theological -dogma might be refuted to him a thousand times,—provided, however, that -he had need of it, he would again and again accept it as -"true,"—according to the famous "proof of power" of which the Bible -speaks. Some have still need of metaphysics; but also the impatient -_longing for certainty_ which at present discharges itself in -scientific, positivist fashion among large numbers of the people, the -longing by all means to get at something stable (while on account of the -warmth of the longing the establishing of the certainty is more -leisurely and negligently undertaken): even this is still the longing -for a hold, a support; in short, the _instinct of weakness_, which, -while not actually creating religions, metaphysics, and convictions of -all kinds, nevertheless—preserves them. In fact, around all these -positivist systems there fume the vapours of a certain pessimistic -gloom, something of weariness, fatalism, disillusionment, and fear of -new disillusionment—or else manifest animosity, ill-humour, anarchic -exasperation, and whatever there is of symptom or masquerade of the -feeling of weakness. Even the readiness with which our cleverest -contemporaries get lost in wretched corners and alleys, for example, in -Vaterländerei (so I designate Jingoism, called _chauvinisme_ in France, -and "_deutsch_" in Germany), or in petty æsthetic creeds in the manner -of Parisian _naturalisme_ (which only brings into prominence and -uncovers _that_ aspect of nature which excites simultaneously disgust -and astonishment—they like at present to call this aspect _la vérité -vraie_), or in Nihilism in the St Petersburg style (that is to say, in -the _belief in unbelief_, even to martyrdom for it):—this shows always -and above all the need of belief, support, backbone, and buttress.... -Belief is always most desired, most pressingly needed where there is a -lack of will: for the will, as emotion of command, is the distinguishing -characteristic of sovereignty and power. That is to say, the less a -person knows how to command, the more urgent is his desire for one who -commands, who commands sternly,—a God, a prince, a caste, a physician, a -confessor, a dogma, a party conscience. From whence perhaps it could be -inferred that the two world-religions, Buddhism and Christianity, might -well have had the cause of their rise, and especially of their rapid -extension, in an extraordinary _malady of the will_. And in truth it has -been so: both religions lighted upon a longing, monstrously exaggerated -by malady of the will, for an imperative, a "Thou-shalt," a longing -going the length of despair; both religions were teachers of fanaticism -in times of slackness of will-power, and thereby offered to innumerable -persons a support, a new possibility of exercising will, an enjoyment in -willing. For in fact fanaticism is the sole "volitional strength" to -which the weak and irresolute can be excited, as a sort of hypnotising -of the entire sensory-intellectual system, in favour of the -over-abundant nutrition (hypertrophy) of a particular point of view and -a particular sentiment, which then dominates—the Christian calls it his -_faith_. When a man arrives at the fundamental conviction that he -_requires_ to be commanded, he becomes "a believer." Reversely, one -could imagine a delight and a power of self-determining, and a _freedom_ -of will whereby a spirit could bid farewell to every belief, to every -wish for certainty, accustomed as it would be to support itself on -slender cords and possibilities, and to dance even on the verge of -abysses. Such a spirit would be the _free spirit par excellence_. - - - 348. - -_The Origin of the Learned._—The learned man in Europe grows out of all -the different ranks and social conditions, like a plant requiring no -specific soil: on that account he belongs essentially and involuntarily -to the partisans of democratic thought. But this origin betrays itself. -If one has trained one's glance to some extent to recognise in a learned -book or scientific treatise the intellectual _idiosyncrasy_ of the -learned man—all of them have such idiosyncrasy,—and if we take it by -surprise, we shall almost always get a glimpse behind it of the -"antecedent history" of the learned man and his family, especially of -the nature of their callings and occupations. Where the feeling finds -expression, "That is at last proved, I am now done with it," it is -commonly the ancestor in the blood and instincts of the learned man that -approves of the "accomplished work" in the nook from which he sees -things;—the belief in the proof is only an indication of what has been -looked upon for ages by a laborious family as "good work." Take an -example: the sons of registrars and office-clerks of every kind, whose -main task has always been to arrange a variety of material, distribute -it in drawers, and systematise it generally, evince, when they become -learned men, an inclination to regard a problem as almost solved when -they have systematised it. There are philosophers who are at bottom -nothing but systematising brains—the formal part of the paternal -occupation has become its essence to them. The talent for -classifications, for tables of categories, betrays something; it is not -for nothing that a person is the child of his parents. The son of an -advocate will also have to be an advocate as investigator: he seeks as a -first consideration, to carry the point in his case, as a second -consideration, he perhaps seeks to be in the right. One recognises the -sons of Protestant clergymen and schoolmasters by the naïve assurance -with which as learned men they already assume their case to be proved, -when it has but been presented by them staunchly and warmly: they are -thoroughly accustomed to people _believing_ in them,—it belonged to -their fathers' "trade"! A Jew, contrariwise, in accordance with his -business surroundings and the past of his race, is least of all -accustomed—to people believing him. Observe Jewish scholars with regard -to this matter,—they all lay great stress on logic, that is to say, on -_compelling_ assent by means of reasons; they know that they must -conquer thereby, even when race and class antipathy is against them, -even where people are unwilling to believe them. For in fact, nothing is -more democratic than logic: it knows no respect of persons, and takes -even the crooked nose as straight. (In passing we may remark that in -respect to logical thinking, in respect to _cleaner_ intellectual -habits, Europe is not a little indebted to the Jews; above all the -Germans, as being a lamentably _déraisonnable_ race, who, even at the -present day, must always have their "heads washed"[11] in the first -place. Wherever the Jews have attained to influence, they have taught to -analyse more subtly, to argue more acutely, to write more clearly and -purely: it has always been their problem to bring a people "to -_raison_.") - - - 349. - -_The Origin of the Learned once more._—To seek self-preservation merely, -is the expression of a state of distress, or of limitation of the true, -fundamental instinct of life, which aims at the _extension of power_, -and with this in view often enough calls in question self-preservation -and sacrifices it. It should be taken as symptomatic when individual -philosophers, as for example, the consumptive Spinoza, have seen and -have been obliged to see the principal feature of life precisely in the -so-called self-preservative instinct:—they have just been men in states -of distress. That our modern natural sciences have entangled themselves -so much with Spinoza's dogma (finally and most grossly in Darwinism, -with its inconceivably one-sided doctrine of the "struggle for -existence"—), is probably owing to the origin of most of the inquirers -into nature: they belong in this respect to the people, their -forefathers have been poor and humble persons, who knew too well by -immediate experience the difficulty of making a living. Over the whole -of English Darwinism there hovers something of the suffocating air of -over-crowded England, something of the odour of humble people in need -and in straits. But as an investigator of nature, a person ought to -emerge from his paltry human nook: and in nature the state of distress -does not _prevail_, but superfluity, even prodigality to the extent of -folly. The struggle for existence is only an _exception_, a temporary -restriction of the will to live; the struggle, be it great or small, -turns everywhere on predominance, on increase and expansion, on power, -in conformity to the will to power, which is just the will to live. - - - 350. - -_In Honour of Homines Religiosi._—The struggle against the church is -most certainly (among other things—for it has a manifold significance) -the struggle of the more ordinary, cheerful, confiding, superficial -natures against the rule of the graver, profounder, more contemplative -natures, that is to say, the more malign and suspicious men, who with -long continued distrust in the worth of life, brood also over their own -worth:—the ordinary instinct of the people, its sensual gaiety, its -"good heart," revolts against them. The entire Roman Church rests on a -Southern suspicion of the nature of man (always misunderstood in the -North), a suspicion whereby the European South has succeeded to the -inheritance of the profound Orient—the mysterious, venerable Asia—and -its contemplative spirit. Protestantism was a popular insurrection in -favour of the simple, the respectable, the superficial (the North has -always been more good-natured and more shallow than the South), but it -was the French Revolution that first gave the sceptre wholly and -solemnly into the hands of the "good man" (the sheep, the ass, the -goose, and everything incurably shallow, bawling, and fit for the Bedlam -of "modern ideas"). - - - 351. - -_In Honour of Priestly Natures._—I think that philosophers have always -felt themselves furthest removed from that which the people (in all -classes of society nowadays) take for wisdom: the prudent, bovine -placidity, piety, and country-parson meekness, which lies in the meadow -and _gazes at_ life seriously and ruminatingly:—this is probably because -philosophers have not had sufficiently the taste of the "people," or of -the country-parson for that kind of wisdom. Philosophers will also -perhaps be the latest to acknowledge that the people _should_ understand -something of that which lies furthest from them, something of the great -_passion_ of the thinker, who lives and must live continually in the -storm-cloud of the highest problems and the heaviest responsibilities -(consequently, not gazing at all, to say nothing of doing so -indifferently, securely, objectively). The people venerate an entirely -different type of man when on their part they form the ideal of a -"sage," and they are a thousand times justified in rendering homage with -the highest eulogies and honours to precisely that type of men—namely, -the gentle, serious, simple, chaste, priestly natures and those related -to them,—it is to them that the praise falls due in the popular -veneration of wisdom. And to whom should the people ever have more -reason to be grateful than to these men who pertain to its class and -rise from its ranks, but are persons consecrated, chosen, and -_sacrificed_ for its good—they themselves believe themselves sacrificed -to God,—before whom the people can pour forth its heart with impunity, -by whom it can _get rid_ of its secrets, cares, and worse things (for -the man who "communicates himself" gets rid of himself, and he who has -"confessed" forgets). Here there exists a great need: for sewers and -pure cleansing waters are required also for spiritual filth, and rapid -currents of love are needed, and strong, lowly, pure hearts, who qualify -and sacrifice themselves for such service of the non-public health -department—for it _is_ a sacrificing, the priest is, and continues to -be, a human sacrifice.... The people regard such sacrificed, silent, -serious men of "faith" as "_wise_," that is to say, as men who have -become sages, as "reliable" in relation to their own unreliability. Who -would desire to deprive the people of that expression and that -veneration?—But as is fair on the other side, among philosophers the -priest also is still held to belong to the "people," and is _not_ -regarded as a sage, because, above all, they themselves do not believe -in "sages," and they already scent "the people" in this very belief and -superstition. It was _modesty_ which invented in Greece the word -"philosopher," and left to the play-actors of the spirit the superb -arrogance of assuming the name "wise"—the modesty of such monsters of -pride and self-glorification as Pythagoras and Plato.— - - - 352. - -_Why we can hardly Dispense with Morality._—The naked man is generally -an ignominious spectacle—I speak of us European males (and by no means -of European females!). If the most joyous company at table suddenly -found themselves stripped and divested of their garments through the -trick of an enchanter, I believe that not only would the joyousness be -gone and the strongest appetite lost;—it seems that we Europeans cannot -at all dispense with the masquerade that is called clothing. But should -not the disguise of "moral men," the screening under moral formulæ and -notions of decency, the whole kindly concealment of our conduct under -conceptions of duty, virtue, public sentiment, honourableness, and -disinterestedness, have just as good reasons in support of it? Not that -I mean hereby that human wickedness and baseness, in short, the evil -wild beast in us, should be disguised; on the contrary, my idea is that -it is precisely as _tame animals_ that we are an ignominious spectacle -and require moral disguising,—that the "inner man" in Europe is far from -having enough of intrinsic evil "to let himself be seen" with it (to be -_beautiful_ with it). The European disguises himself _in morality_ -because he has become a sick, sickly, crippled animal, who has good -reasons for being "tame," because he is almost an abortion, an -imperfect, weak and clumsy thing.... It is not the fierceness of the -beast of prey that finds moral disguise necessary, but the gregarious -animal, with its profound mediocrity, anxiety and ennui. _Morality -dresses up the European_—let us acknowledge it!—in more distinguished, -more important, more conspicuous guise—in "divine" guise— - - - 353. - -_The Origin of Religions._—The real inventions of founders of religions -are, on the one hand, to establish a definite mode of life and everyday -custom, which operates as _disciplina voluntatis_, and at the same time -does away with ennui; and on the other hand, to give to that very mode -of life an _interpretation_, by virtue of which it appears illumined -with the highest value; so that it henceforth becomes a good for which -people struggle, and under certain circumstances lay down their lives. -In truth, the second of these inventions is the more essential: the -first, the mode of life, has usually been there already, side by side, -however, with other modes of life, and still unconscious of the value -which it embodies. The import, the originality of the founder of a -religion, discloses itself usually in the fact that he _sees_ the mode -of life, _selects_ it, and _divines_ for the first time the purpose for -which it can be used, how it can be interpreted. Jesus (or Paul), for -example, found around him the life of the common people in the Roman -province, a modest, virtuous, oppressed life: he interpreted it, he put -the highest significance and value into it—and thereby the courage to -despise every other mode of life, the calm fanaticism of the Moravians, -the secret, subterranean self-confidence which goes on increasing, and -is at last ready "to overcome the world" (that is to say, Rome, and the -upper classes throughout the empire). Buddha, in like manner, found the -same type of man,—he found it in fact dispersed among all the classes -and social ranks of a people who were good and kind (and above all -inoffensive), owing to indolence, and who likewise owing to indolence, -lived abstemiously, almost without requirements. He understood that such -a type of man, with all its _vis inertiae_, had inevitably to glide into -a belief which promises _to avoid_ the return of earthly ill (that is to -say, labour and activity generally),—this "understanding" was his -genius. The founder of a religion possesses psychological infallibility -in the knowledge of a definite, average type of souls, who have not yet -_recognised_ themselves as akin. It is he who brings them together: the -founding of a religion, therefore, always becomes a long ceremony of -recognition.— - - - 354. - -_The "Genius of the Species."_—The problem of consciousness (or more -correctly: of becoming conscious of oneself) meets us only when we begin -to perceive in what measure we could dispense with it: and it is at the -beginning of this perception that we are now placed by physiology and -zoology (which have thus required two centuries to overtake the hint -thrown out in advance by Leibnitz). For we could in fact think, feel, -will, and recollect, we could likewise "act" in every sense of the term, -and nevertheless nothing of it all would require to "come into -consciousness" (as one says metaphorically). The whole of life would be -possible without its seeing itself as it were in a mirror: as in fact -even at present the far greater part of our life still goes on without -this mirroring,—and even our thinking, feeling, volitional life as well, -however painful this statement may sound to an older philosopher. _What_ -then is _the purpose_ of consciousness generally, when it is in the main -_superfluous_?—Now it seems to me, if you will hear my answer and its -perhaps extravagant supposition, that the subtlety and strength of -consciousness are always in proportion to the _capacity for -communication_ of a man (or an animal), the capacity for communication -in its turn being in proportion to the _necessity for communication_: -the latter not to be understood as if precisely the individual himself -who is master in the art of communicating and making known his -necessities would at the same time have to be most dependent upon others -for his necessities. It seems to me, however, to be so in relation to -whole races and successions of generations: where necessity and need -have long compelled men to communicate with their fellows and understand -one another rapidly and subtly, a surplus of the power and art of -communication is at last acquired, as if it were a fortune which had -gradually accumulated, and now waited for an heir to squander it -prodigally (the so-called artists are these heirs, in like manner the -orators, preachers, and authors: all of them men who come at the end of -a long succession, "late-born" always, in the best sense of the word, -and as has been said, _squanderers_ by their very nature). Granted that -this observation is correct, I may proceed further to the conjecture -that _consciousness generally has only been developed under the pressure -of the necessity for communication_,—that from the first it has been -necessary and useful only between man and man (especially between those -commanding and those obeying), and has only developed in proportion to -its utility. Consciousness is properly only a connecting network between -man and man,—it is only as such that it has had to develop; the recluse -and wild-beast species of men would not have needed it. The very fact -that our actions, thoughts, feelings and motions come within the range -of our consciousness—at least a part of them—is the result of a -terrible, prolonged "must" ruling man's destiny: as the most endangered -animal he _needed_ help and protection; he needed his fellows, he was -obliged to express his distress, he had to know how to make himself -understood—and for all this he needed "consciousness" first of all, -consequently, to "know" himself what he lacked, to "know" how he felt -and to "know" what he thought. For, to repeat it once more, man, like -every living creature, thinks unceasingly, but does not know it; the -thinking which is becoming _conscious of itself_ is only the smallest -part thereof, we may say, the most superficial part, the worst part:—for -this conscious thinking alone _is done in words, that is to say, in the -symbols for communication_, by means of which the origin of -consciousness is revealed. In short, the development of speech and the -development of consciousness (not of reason, but of reason becoming -self-conscious) go hand in hand. Let it be further accepted that it is -not only speech that serves as a bridge between man and man, but also -the looks, the pressure and the gestures; our becoming conscious of our -sense impressions, our power of being able to fix them, and as it were -to locate them outside of ourselves, has increased in proportion as the -necessity has increased for communicating them to _others_ by means of -signs. The sign-inventing man is at the same time the man who is always -more acutely self-conscious; it is only as a social animal that man has -learned to become conscious of himself,—he is doing so still, and doing -so more and more.—As is obvious, my idea is that consciousness does not -properly belong to the individual existence of man, but rather to the -social and gregarious nature in him; that, as follows therefrom, it is -only in relation to communal and gregarious utility that it is finely -developed; and that consequently each of us, in spite of the best -intention of _understanding_ himself as individually as possible, and of -"knowing himself," will always just call into consciousness the -non-individual in him, namely, his "averageness";—that our thought -itself is continuously as it were _outvoted_ by the character of -consciousness—by the imperious "genius of the species" therein—and is -translated back into the perspective of the herd. Fundamentally our -actions are in an incomparable manner altogether personal, unique and -absolutely individual—there is no doubt about it; but as soon as we -translate them into consciousness, they _do not appear so any -longer_.... This is the proper phenomenalism and perspectivism as I -understand it: the nature of _animal consciousness_ involves the notion -that the world of which we can become conscious is only a superficial -and symbolic world, a generalised and vulgarised world;—that everything -which becomes conscious _becomes_ just thereby shallow, meagre, -relatively stupid,—a generalisation, a symbol, a characteristic of the -herd; that with the evolving of consciousness there is always combined a -great, radical perversion, falsification, superficialisation, and -generalisation. Finally, the growing consciousness is a danger, and -whoever lives among the most conscious Europeans knows even that it is a -disease. As may be conjectured, it is not the antithesis of subject and -object with which I am here concerned: I leave that distinction to the -epistemologists who have remained entangled in the toils of grammar -(popular metaphysics). It is still less the antithesis of "thing in -itself" and phenomenon, for we do not "know" enough to be entitled even -_to make such a distinction_. Indeed, we have not any organ at all for -_knowing_ or for "truth"; we "know" (or believe, or fancy) just as much -as may be _of use_ in the interest of the human herd, the species; and -even what is here called "usefulness" is ultimately only a belief, a -fancy, and perhaps precisely the most fatal stupidity by which we shall -one day be ruined. - - - 355. - -_The Origin of our Conception of "Knowledge."_—I take this explanation -from the street. I heard one of the people saying that "he knew me," -so I asked myself: What do the people really understand by knowledge? -What do they want when they seek "knowledge"? Nothing more than that -what is strange is to be traced back to something _known_. And we -philosophers—have we really understood _anything more_ by knowledge? -The known, that is to say, what we are accustomed to, so that we no -longer marvel at it, the commonplace, any kind of rule to which we are -habituated, all and everything in which we know ourselves to be at -home:—what? is our need of knowing not just this need of the known? -the will to discover in everything strange, unusual, or questionable, -something which no longer disquiets us? Is it not possible that it -should be the _instinct of fear_ which enjoins upon us to know? Is it -not possible that the rejoicing of the discerner should be just his -rejoicing in the regained feeling of security?... One philosopher -imagined the world "known" when he had traced it back to the "idea": -alas, was it not because the idea was so known, so familiar to him? -because he had so much less fear of the "idea"—Oh, this moderation of -the discerners! let us but look at their principles, and at their -solutions of the riddle of the world in this connection! When they -again find aught in things, among things, or behind things, that is -unfortunately very well known to us, for example, our multiplication -table, or our logic, or our willing and desiring, how happy they -immediately are! For "what is known is understood": they are unanimous -as to that. Even the most circumspect among them think that the known -is at least _more easily understood_ than the strange; that for -example, it is methodically ordered to proceed outward from the "inner -world," from "the facts of consciousness," because it is the world -which is _better known to us_! Error of errors! The known is the -accustomed, and the accustomed is the most difficult of all to -"understand," that is to say, to perceive as a problem, to perceive as -strange, distant, "outside of us."... The great certainty of the -natural sciences in comparison with psychology and the criticism of -the elements of consciousness—_unnatural_ sciences as one might almost -be entitled to call them—rests precisely on the fact that they take -_what is strange_ as their object: while it is almost like something -contradictory and absurd _to wish_ to take generally what is not -strange as an object.... - - - 356. - -_In what Manner Europe will always become "more Artistic."_—Providing a -living still enforces even in the present day (in our transition period -when so much ceases to enforce) a definite _rôle_ on almost all male -Europeans, their so-called callings; some have the liberty, an apparent -liberty, to choose this rôle themselves, but most have it chosen for -them. The result is strange enough. Almost all Europeans confound -themselves with their rôle when they advance in age; they themselves are -the victims of their "good acting," they have forgotten how much chance, -whim and arbitrariness swayed them when their "calling" was decided—and -how many other rôles they _could_ perhaps have played: for it is now too -late! Looked at more closely, we see that their characters have actually -_evolved_ out of their rôle, nature out of art. There were ages in which -people believed with unshaken confidence, yea, with piety, in their -predestination for this very business, for that very mode of livelihood, -and would not at all acknowledge chance, or the fortuitous rôle, or -arbitrariness therein. Ranks, guilds, and hereditary trade privileges -succeeded, with the help of this belief, in rearing those extraordinary -broad towers of society which distinguished the Middle Ages, and of -which at all events one thing remains to their credit: capacity for -duration (and duration is a value of the first rank on earth!). But -there are ages entirely the reverse, the properly democratic ages, in -which people tend to become more and more oblivious of this conviction, -and a sort of impudent conviction and quite contrary mode of viewing -things comes to the front, the Athenian conviction which is first -observed in the epoch of Pericles, the American conviction of the -present day, which wants also more and more to become an European -conviction, whereby the individual is convinced that he can do almost -anything, that he _can play almost any rôle_, whereby everyone makes -experiments with himself, improvises, tries anew, tries with delight, -whereby all nature ceases and becomes art.... The Greeks, having adopted -this _rôle-creed_—an artist creed, if you will—underwent step by step, -as is well known, a curious transformation, not in every respect worthy -of imitation: _they became actual stage-players_; and as such they -enchanted, they conquered all the world, and at last even the conqueror -of the world, (for the _Graeculus histrio_ conquered Rome, and _not_ -Greek culture, as the naïve are accustomed to say....) What I fear, -however, and what is at present obvious, if we desire to perceive it, is -that we modern men are quite on the same road already; and whenever man -begins to discover in what respect he plays a rôle, and to what extent -he _can_ be a stage-player, he _becomes_ a stage-player.... A new flora -and fauna of men thereupon springs up, which cannot grow in more stable, -more restricted eras—or is left "at the bottom," under the ban and -suspicion of infamy—, thereupon the most interesting and insane periods -of history always make their appearance, in which "stage-players," _all_ -kinds of stage-players, are the real masters. Precisely thereby another -species of man is always more and more injured, and in the end made -impossible: above all the great "architects"; the building power is now -being paralysed; the courage that makes plans for the distant future is -disheartened; there begins to be a lack of organising geniuses. Who is -there who would now venture to undertake works for the completion of -which millenniums would have to be _reckoned_ upon? The fundamental -belief is dying out, on the basis of which one could calculate, promise -and anticipate the future in one's plan, and offer it as a sacrifice -thereto, that in fact man has only value and significance in so far as -he is _a stone in a great building_; for which purpose he has first of -all to be _solid_, he has to be a "stone."... Above all, not -a—stage-player! In short—alas! this fact will be hushed up for some -considerable time to come!—that which from henceforth will no longer be -built, and _can_ no longer be built, is—a society in the old sense of -the term; to build this structure everything is lacking, above all, the -material. _None of us are any longer material for a society_: that is a -truth which is seasonable at present! It seems to me a matter of -indifference that meanwhile the most short-sighted, perhaps the most -honest, and at any rate the noisiest species of men of the present day, -our friends the Socialists, believe, hope, dream, and above all scream -and scribble almost the opposite; in fact one already reads their -watchword of the future: "free society," on all tables and walls. Free -society? Indeed! Indeed! But you know, gentlemen, sure enough whereof -one builds it? Out of wooden iron! Out of the famous wooden iron! And -not even out of wooden.... - - - 357. - -_The old Problem: "What is German?"_—Let us count up apart the real -acquisitions of philosophical thought for which we have to thank German -intellects: are they in any allowable sense to be counted also to the -credit of the whole race? Can we say that they are at the same time the -work of the "German soul," or at least a symptom of it, in the sense in -which we are accustomed to think, for example, of Plato's ideomania, his -almost religious madness for form, as an event and an evidence of the -"Greek soul"? Or would the reverse perhaps be true? Were they so -individual, so much an exception to the spirit of the race, as was, for -example, Goethe's Paganism with a good conscience? Or as Bismarck's -Macchiavelism was with a good conscience, his so-called "practical -politics" in Germany? Did our philosophers perhaps even go counter to -the _need_ of the "German soul"? In short, were the German philosophers -really philosophical _Germans_?—I call to mind three cases. Firstly, -_Leibnitz's_ incomparable insight—with which he obtained the advantage -not only over Descartes, but over all who had philosophised up to his -time,—that consciousness is only an accident of mental representation, -and _not_ its necessary and essential attribute; that consequently what -we call consciousness only constitutes a state of our spiritual and -psychical world (perhaps a morbid state), and is _far from being that -world itself_:—is there anything German in this thought, the profundity -of which has not as yet been exhausted? Is there reason to think that a -person of the Latin race would not readily have stumbled on this -reversal of the apparent?—for it is a reversal. Let us call to mind -secondly, the immense note of interrogation which _Kant_ wrote after the -notion of causality. Not that he at all doubted its legitimacy, like -Hume: on the contrary, he began cautiously to define the domain within -which this notion has significance generally (we have not even yet got -finished with the marking out of these limits). Let us take thirdly, the -astonishing hit of _Hegel_, who stuck at no logical usage or -fastidiousness when he ventured to teach that the conceptions of kinds -develop _out of one another_: with which theory the thinkers in Europe -were prepared for the last great scientific movement, for Darwinism—for -without Hegel there would have been no Darwin. Is there anything German -in this Hegelian innovation which first introduced the decisive -conception of evolution into science? Yes, without doubt we feel that -there is something of ourselves "discovered" and divined in all three -cases; we are thankful for it, and at the same time surprised; each of -these three principles is a thoughtful piece of German self-confession, -self-understanding, and self-knowledge. We feel with Leibnitz that "our -inner world is far richer, ampler, and more concealed"; as Germans we -are doubtful, like Kant, about the ultimate validity of scientific -knowledge of nature, and in general about whatever _can_ be known -_causaliter_: the _knowable_ as such now appears to us of _less_ worth. -We Germans should still have been Hegelians, even though there had never -been a Hegel, inasmuch as we (in contradistinction to all Latin peoples) -instinctively attribute to becoming, to evolution, a profounder -significance and higher value than to that which "is"—we hardly believe -at all in the validity of the concept "being." This is all the more the -case because we are not inclined to concede to our human logic that it -is logic in itself, that it is the only kind of logic (we should rather -like, on the contrary, to convince ourselves that it is only a special -case, and perhaps one of the strangest and most stupid). A fourth -question would be whether also _Schopenhauer_ with his Pessimism, that -is to say the problem of _the worth of existence_, had to be a German. I -think not. The event _after_ which this problem was to be expected with -certainty, so that an astronomer of the soul could have calculated the -day and the hour for it—namely, the decay of the belief in the Christian -God, the victory of scientific atheism,—is a universal European event, -in which all races are to have their share of service and honour. On the -contrary, it has to be ascribed precisely to the Germans—those with whom -Schopenhauer was contemporary,—that they delayed this victory of atheism -longest, and endangered it most. Hegel especially was its retarder _par -excellence_, in virtue of the grandiose attempt which he made to -persuade us of the divinity of existence, with the help at the very last -of our sixth sense, "the historical sense." As philosopher, Schopenhauer -was the _first_ avowed and inflexible atheist we Germans have had: his -hostility to Hegel had here its background. The non-divinity of -existence was regarded by him as something understood, palpable, -indisputable; he always lost his philosophical composure and got into a -passion when he saw anyone hesitate and beat about the bush here. It is -at this point that his thorough uprightness of character comes in: -unconditional, honest atheism is precisely the _preliminary condition_ -for his raising the problem, as a final and hardwon victory of the -European conscience, as the most prolific act of two thousand years' -discipline to truth, which in the end no longer tolerates the _lie_ of -the belief in a God.... One sees what has really gained the victory over -the Christian God—, Christian morality itself, the conception of -veracity, taken ever more strictly, the confessional subtlety of the -Christian conscience, translated and sublimated to the scientific -conscience, to intellectual purity at any price. To look upon nature as -if it were a proof of the goodness and care of a God; to interpret -history in honour of a divine reason, as a constant testimony to a moral -order in the world and a moral final purpose; to explain personal -experiences as pious men have long enough explained them, as if -everything were a dispensation or intimation of Providence, something -planned and sent on behalf of the salvation of the soul: all that is now -_past_, it has conscience _against_ it, it is regarded by all the more -acute consciences as disreputable and dishonourable, as mendaciousness, -femininism, weakness, and cowardice,—by virtue of this severity, if by -anything, we are _good_ Europeans, the heirs of Europe's longest and -bravest self-conquest. When we thus reject the Christian interpretation, -and condemn its "significance" as a forgery, we are immediately -confronted in a striking manner with the _Schopenhauerian_ question: -_Has existence then a significance at all?_—the question which will -require a couple of centuries even to be completely heard in all its -profundity. Schopenhauer's own answer to this question was—if I may be -forgiven for saying so—a premature, juvenile reply, a mere compromise, a -stoppage and sticking in the very same Christian-ascetic, moral -perspectives, _the belief in which had got notice to quit_ along with -the belief in God.... But he _raised_ the question—as a good European, -as we have said, and _not_ as a German.—Or did the Germans prove at -least by the way in which they seized on the Schopenhauerian question, -their inner connection and relationship to him, their preparation for -his problem, and their _need_ of it? That there has been thinking and -printing even in Germany since Schopenhauer's time on the problem raised -by him,—it was late enough!—does not at all suffice to enable us to -decide in favour of this closer relationship; one could, on the -contrary, lay great stress on the peculiar _awkwardness_ of this -post-Schopenhauerian Pessimism—Germans evidently do not behave -themselves there as in their element. I do not at all allude here to -Eduard von Hartmann; on the contrary, my old suspicion is not vanished -even at present that he is _too clever_ for us; I mean to say that as -arrant rogue from the very first, he did not perhaps make merry solely -over German Pessimism—and that in the end he might probably "bequeathe" -to them the truth as to how far a person could bamboozle the Germans -themselves in the age of bubble companies. But further, are we perhaps -to reckon to the honour of Germans, the old humming-top, Bahnsen, who -all his life spun about with the greatest pleasure around his -realistically dialectic misery and "personal ill-luck,"—was _that_ -German? (In passing I recommend his writings for the purpose for which I -myself have used them, as anti-pessimistic fare, especially on account -of his _elegantia psychologica_, which, it seems to me, could alleviate -even the most constipated body and soul). Or would it be proper to count -such dilettanti and old maids as the mawkish apostle of virginity, -Mainländer, among the genuine Germans? After all he was probably a Jew -(all Jews become mawkish when they moralise). Neither Bahnsen, nor -Mainländer, nor even Eduard von Hartmann, give us a reliable grasp of -the question whether the pessimism of Schopenhauer (his frightened -glance into an undeified world, which has become stupid, blind, deranged -and problematic, his _honourable_ fright) was not only an exceptional -case among Germans, but a _German_ event: while everything else which -stands in the foreground, like our valiant politics and our joyful -Jingoism (which decidedly enough regards everything with reference to a -principle sufficiently unphilosophical: "_Deutschland, Deutschland, über -Alles_,"[12] consequently _sub specie speciei_, namely, the German -_species_), testifies very plainly to the contrary. No! The Germans of -to-day are _not_ pessimists! And Schopenhauer was a pessimist, I repeat -it once more, as a good European, and _not_ as a German. - - - 358. - -_The Peasant Revolt of the Spirit._—We Europeans find ourselves in view -of an immense world of ruins, where some things still tower aloft, while -other objects stand mouldering and dismal, where most things however -already lie on the ground, picturesque enough—where were there ever -finer ruins?—overgrown with weeds, large and small. It is the Church -which is this city of decay: we see the religious organisation of -Christianity shaken to its deepest foundations. The belief in God is -overthrown, the belief in the Christian ascetic ideal is now fighting -its last fight. Such a long and solidly built work as Christianity—it -was the last construction of the Romans!—could not of course be -demolished all at once; every sort of earthquake had to shake it, every -sort of spirit which perforates, digs, gnaws and moulders had to assist -in the work of destruction. But that which is strangest is that those -who have exerted themselves most to retain and preserve Christianity, -have been precisely those who did most to destroy it,—the Germans. It -seems that the Germans do not understand the essence of a Church. Are -they not spiritual enough, or not distrustful enough to do so? In any -case the structure of the Church rests on a _southern_ freedom and -liberality of spirit, and similarly on a southern suspicion of nature, -man, and spirit,—it rests on a knowledge of man, an experience of man, -entirely different from what the north has had. The Lutheran Reformation -in all its length and breadth was the indignation of the simple against -something "complicated." To speak cautiously, it was a coarse, honest -misunderstanding, in which much is to be forgiven,—people did not -understand the mode of expression of a _victorious_ Church, and only saw -corruption; they misunderstood the noble scepticism, the _luxury_ of -scepticism and toleration which every victorious, self-confident power -permits.... One overlooks the fact readily enough at present that as -regards all cardinal questions concerning power Luther was badly -endowed; he was fatally short-sighted, superficial and imprudent—and -above all, as a man sprung from the people, he lacked all the hereditary -qualities of a ruling caste, and all the instincts for power; so that -his work, his intention to restore the work of the Romans, merely became -involuntarily and unconsciously the commencement of a work of -destruction. He unravelled, he tore asunder with honest rage, where the -old spider had woven longest and most carefully. He gave the sacred -books into the hands of everyone,—they thereby got at last into the -hands of the philologists, that is to say, the annihilators of every -belief based upon books. He demolished the conception of "the Church" in -that he repudiated the belief in the inspiration of the Councils: for -only under the supposition that the inspiring spirit which had founded -the Church still lives in it, still builds it, still goes on building -its house, does the conception of "the Church" retain its power. He gave -back to the priest sexual intercourse: but three-fourths of the -reverence of which the people (and above all the women of the people) -are capable, rests on the belief that an exceptional man in this respect -will also be an exceptional man in other respects. It is precisely here -that the popular belief in something superhuman in man, in a miracle, in -the saving God in man, has its most subtle and insidious advocate. After -Luther had given a wife to the priest, he had _to take from him_ -auricular confession; that was psychologically right: but thereby he -practically did away with the Christian priest himself, whose -profoundest utility has ever consisted in his being a sacred ear, a -silent well, and a grave for secrets. "Every man his own priest"—behind -such formulæ and their bucolic slyness, there was concealed in Luther -the profoundest hatred of "higher men" and the rule of "higher men," as -the Church had conceived them. Luther disowned an ideal which he did not -know how to attain, while he seemed to combat and detest the -degeneration thereof. As a matter of fact, he, the impossible monk, -repudiated the _rule_ of the _homines religiosi_; he consequently -brought about precisely the same thing within the ecclesiastical social -order that he combated so impatiently in the civic order,—namely a -"peasant insurrection."—As to all that grew out of his Reformation -afterwards, good and bad, which can at present be almost counted up,—who -would be naïve enough to praise or blame Luther simply on account of -these results? He is innocent of all; he knew not what he did. The art -of making the European spirit shallower, especially in the north, or -more _good-natured_, if people would rather hear it designated by a -moral expression, undoubtedly took a clever step in advance in the -Lutheran Reformation; and similarly there grew out of it the mobility -and disquietude of the spirit, its thirst for independence, its belief -in the right to freedom, and its "naturalness." If people wish to -ascribe to the Reformation in the last instance the merit of having -prepared and favoured that which we at present honour as "modern -science," they must of course add that it is also accessory to bringing -about the degeneration of the modern scholar with his lack of reverence, -of shame and of profundity; and that it is also responsible for all -naïve candour and plain-dealing in matters of knowledge, in short for -the _plebeianism of the spirit_ which is peculiar to the last two -centuries, and from which even pessimism hitherto, has not in any way -delivered us. "Modern ideas" also belong to this peasant insurrection of -the north against the colder, more ambiguous, more suspicious spirit of -the south, which has built itself its greatest monument in the Christian -Church. Let us not forget in the end what a Church is, and especially, -in contrast to every "State": a Church is above all an authoritative -organisation which secures to the _most spiritual_ men the highest rank, -and _believes_ in the power of spirituality so far as to forbid all -grosser appliances of authority. Through this alone the Church is under -all circumstances a _nobler_ institution than the State.— - - - 359. - -_Vengeance on Intellect and other Backgrounds of -Morality._—Morality—where do you think it has its most dangerous and -rancorous advocates?—There, for example, is an ill-constituted man, who -does not possess enough of intellect to be able to take pleasure in it, -and just enough of culture to be aware of the fact; bored, satiated, and -a self-despiser; besides being cheated unfortunately by some hereditary -property out of the last consolation, the "blessing of labour," the -self-forgetfulness in the "day's work"; one who is thoroughly ashamed of -his existence—perhaps also harbouring some vices,—and who on the other -hand (by means of books to which he has no right, or more intellectual -society than he can digest), cannot help vitiating himself more and -more, and making himself vain and irritable: such a thoroughly poisoned -man—for intellect becomes poison, culture becomes poison, possession -becomes poison, solitude becomes poison, to such ill-constituted -beings—gets at last into a habitual state of vengeance and inclination -to vengeance.... What do you think he finds necessary, absolutely -necessary in order to give himself the appearance in his own eyes of -superiority over more intellectual men, so as to give himself the -delight of _perfect revenge_, at least in imagination? It is always -_morality_ that he requires, one may wager on it; always the big moral -words, always the high-sounding words: justice, wisdom, holiness, -virtue; always the stoicism of gestures (how well stoicism hides what -one does _not_ possess!); always the mantle of wise silence, of -affability, of gentleness, and whatever else the idealist-mantle is -called in which the incurable self-despisers and also the incurably -conceited walk about. Let me not be misunderstood: out of such born -_enemies of the spirit_ there arises now and then that rare specimen of -humanity who is honoured by the people under the name of saint or sage: -it is out of such men that there arise those prodigies of morality that -make a noise, that make history,—St Augustine was one of these men. Fear -of the intellect, vengeance on the intellect—Oh! how often have these -powerfully impelling vices become the root of virtues! Yea, virtue -_itself_!—And asking the question among ourselves, even the -philosopher's pretension to wisdom, which has occasionally been made -here and there on the earth, the maddest and most immodest of all -pretensions,—has it not always been, in India as well as in Greece, -_above all a means of concealment_? Sometimes, perhaps, from the point -of view of education which hallows so many lies, it has been a tender -regard for growing and evolving persons, for disciples who have often to -be guarded against themselves by means of the belief in a person (by -means of an error). In most cases, however, it is a means of concealment -for a philosopher, behind which he seeks protection, owing to -exhaustion, age, chilliness, or hardening; as a feeling of the -approaching end, as the sagacity of the instinct which animals have -before their death,—they go apart, remain at rest, choose solitude, -creep into caves, become _wise_.... What? Wisdom a means of concealment -of the philosopher from—intellect?— - - - 360. - -_Two Kinds of Causes which are Confounded._—It seems to me one of my -most essential steps and advances that I have learned to distinguish the -cause of the action generally from the cause of action in a particular -manner, say, in this direction, with this aim. The first kind of cause -is a quantum of stored-up force, which waits to be used in some manner, -for some purpose; the second kind of cause, on the contrary, is -something quite unimportant in comparison with the first, an -insignificant hazard for the most part, in conformity with which the -quantum of force in question "discharges" itself in some unique and -definite manner: the lucifer-match in relation to the barrel of -gunpowder. Among those insignificant hazards and lucifer-matches I count -all the so-called "aims," and similarly the still more so-called -"occupations" of people: they are relatively optional, arbitrary, and -almost indifferent in relation to the immense quantum of force which -presses on, as we have said, to be used up in any way whatever. One -generally looks at the matter in a different manner: one is accustomed -to see the _impelling_ force precisely in the aim (object, calling, -&c.), according to a primeval error,—but it is only the _directing_ -force; the steersman and the steam have thereby been confounded. And yet -it is not even always the steersman, the directing force.... Is the -"aim," the "purpose," not often enough only an extenuating pretext, an -additional self-blinding of conceit, which does not wish it to be said -that the ship _follows_ the stream into which it has accidentally run? -That it "wishes" to go that way, _because_ it _must_ go that way? That -it has a direction, sure enough, but—not a steersman? We still require a -criticism of the conception of "purpose." - - - 361. - -_The Problem of the Actor._—The problem of the actor has disquieted me -the longest; I was uncertain (and am sometimes so still) whether one -could not get at the dangerous conception of "artist"—a conception -hitherto treated with unpardonable leniency—from this point of view. -Falsity with a good conscience; delight in dissimulation breaking forth -as power, pushing aside, overflowing, and sometimes extinguishing the -so-called "character"; the inner longing to play a rôle, to assume a -mask, to put on an _appearance_; a surplus of capacity for adaptations -of every kind, which can no longer gratify themselves in the service of -the nearest and narrowest utility: all that perhaps does not pertain -_solely_ to the actor in himself?... Such an instinct would develop most -readily in families of the lower class of the people, who have had to -pass their lives in absolute dependence, under shifting pressure and -constraint, who (to accommodate themselves to their conditions, to adapt -themselves always to new circumstances) had again and again to pass -themselves off and represent themselves as different persons,—thus -having gradually qualified themselves to adjust the mantle to _every_ -wind, thereby almost becoming the mantle itself, as masters of the -embodied and incarnated art of eternally playing the game of hide and -seek, which one calls _mimicry_ among the animals:—until at last this -ability, stored up from generation to generation, has become -domineering, irrational and intractable, till as instinct it begins to -command the other instincts, and begets the actor, the "artist" (the -buffoon, the pantaloon, the Jack-Pudding, the fool, and the clown in the -first place, also the classical type of servant, Gil Blas: for in such -types one has the precursors of the artist, and often enough even of the -"genius"). Also under higher social conditions there grows under similar -pressure a similar species of men. Only the histrionic instinct is there -for the most part held strictly in check by another instinct, for -example, among "diplomatists";—for the rest, I should think that it -would always be open to a good diplomatist to become a good actor on the -stage, provided his dignity "allowed" it. As regards the _Jews_, -however, the adaptable people _par excellence_, we should, in conformity -to this line of thought, expect to see among them a world-historical -institution from the very beginning, for the rearing of actors, a -genuine breeding-place for actors; and in fact the question is very -pertinent just now: what good actor at present is _not_—a Jew? The Jew -also, as a born literary man, as the actual ruler of the European press, -exercises this power on the basis of his histrionic capacity: for the -literary man is essentially an actor,—he plays the part of "expert," of -"specialist."—Finally _women_. If we consider the whole history of -women, are they not _obliged_ first of all, and above all to be -actresses? If we listen to doctors who have hypnotised women, or, -finally, if we love them—and let ourselves be "hypnotised" by them,—what -is always divulged thereby? That they "give themselves airs," even when -they—"give themselves."... Woman is so artistic.... - - - 362. - -_My Belief in the Virilising of Europe._—We owe it to Napoleon (and not -at all to the French Revolution, which had in view the "fraternity" of -the nations, and the florid interchange of good graces among people -generally) that several warlike centuries, which have not had their like -in past history, may now follow one another—in short, that we have -entered upon _the classical age of war_, war at the same time scientific -and popular, on the grandest scale (as regards means, talents and -discipline), to which all coming millenniums will look back with envy -and awe as a work of perfection:—for the national movement out of which -this martial glory springs, is only the counter-_choc_ against Napoleon, -and would not have existed without him. To him, consequently, one will -one day be able to attribute the fact that _man_ in Europe has again got -the upper hand of the merchant and the Philistine; perhaps even of -"woman" also, who has become pampered owing to Christianity and the -extravagant spirit of the eighteenth century, and still more owing to -"modern ideas." Napoleon, who saw in modern ideas, and accordingly in -civilisation, something like a personal enemy, has by this hostility -proved himself one of the greatest continuators of the Renaissance: he -has brought to the surface a whole block of the ancient character, the -decisive block perhaps, the block of granite. And who knows but that -this block of ancient character will in the end get the upper hand of -the national movement, and will have to make itself in a _positive_ -sense the heir and continuator of Napoleon:—who, as one knows, wanted -_one_ Europe, which was to be _mistress of the world_.— - - - 363. - -_How each Sex has its Prejudice about Love._—Notwithstanding all the -concessions which I am inclined to make to the monogamic prejudice, I -will never admit that we should speak of _equal_ rights in the love of -man and woman: there are no such equal rights. The reason is that man -and woman understand something different by the term love,—and it -belongs to the conditions of love in both sexes that the one sex does -_not_ presuppose the same feeling, the same conception of "love," in the -other sex. What woman understands by love is clear enough: complete -surrender (not merely devotion) of soul and body, without any motive, -without any reservation, rather with shame and terror at the thought of -a devotion restricted by clauses or associated with conditions. In this -absence of conditions her love is precisely a _faith_: woman has no -other.—Man, when he loves a woman, _wants_ precisely this love from her; -he is consequently, as regards himself, furthest removed from the -prerequisites of feminine love; granted, however, that there should also -be men to whom on their side the demand for complete devotion is not -unfamiliar,—well, they are really—not men. A man who loves like a woman -becomes thereby a slave; a woman, however, who loves like a woman -becomes thereby a _more perfect_ woman.... The passion of woman in its -unconditional renunciation of its own rights presupposes in fact that -there does _not_ exist on the other side an equal _pathos_, an equal -desire for renunciation: for if both renounced themselves out of love, -there would result—well, I don't know what, perhaps a _horror vacui_? -Woman wants to be taken and accepted as a possession, she wishes to be -merged in the conceptions of "possession" and "possessed"; consequently -she wants one who _takes_, who does not offer and give himself away, but -who reversely is rather to be made richer in "himself"—by the increase -of power, happiness and faith which the woman herself gives to him. -Woman gives herself, man takes her.—I do not think one will get over -this natural contrast by any social contract, or with the very best will -to do justice, however desirable it may be to avoid bringing the severe, -frightful, enigmatical, and unmoral elements of this antagonism -constantly before our eyes. For love, regarded as complete, great, and -full, is nature, and as nature, is to all eternity something -"unmoral."—_Fidelity_ is accordingly included in woman's love, it -follows from the definition thereof; with man fidelity _may_ readily -result in consequence of his love, perhaps as gratitude or idiosyncrasy -of taste, and so-called elective affinity, but it does not belong to the -_essence_ of his love—and indeed so little, that one might almost be -entitled to speak of a natural opposition between love and fidelity in -man, whose love is just a desire to possess, and _not_ a renunciation -and giving away; the desire to possess, however, comes to an end every -time with the possession.... As a matter of fact it is the more subtle -and jealous thirst for possession in the man (who is rarely and tardily -convinced of having this "possession"), which makes his love continue; -in that case it is even possible that the love may increase after the -surrender,—he does not readily own that a woman has nothing more to -"surrender" to him.— - - - 364. - -_The Anchorite Speaks._—The art of associating with men rests -essentially on one's skilfulness (which presupposes long exercise) in -accepting a repast, in taking a repast in the cuisine of which one has -no confidence. Provided one comes to the table with the hunger of a wolf -everything is easy ("the worst society gives thee _experience_"—as -Mephistopheles says); but one has not got this wolf's-hunger when one -needs it! Alas! how difficult are our fellow-men to digest! First -principle: to stake one's courage as in a misfortune, to seize boldly, -to admire oneself at the same time, to take one's repugnance between -one's teeth, to cram down one's disgust. Second principle: to "improve" -one's fellow-man, by praise for example, so that he may begin to sweat -out his self-complacency; or to seize a tuft of his good or -"interesting" qualities, and pull at it till one gets his whole virtue -out, and can put him under the folds of it. Third principle: -self-hypnotism. To fix one's eye on the object of one's intercourse, as -on a glass knob, until, ceasing to feel pleasure or pain thereat, one -falls asleep unobserved, becomes rigid, and acquires a fixed pose: a -household recipe used in married life and in friendship, well tested and -prized as indispensable, but not yet scientifically formulated. Its -proper name is—patience.— - - - 365. - -_The Anchorite Speaks once more._—We also have intercourse with "men," -we also modestly put on the clothes in which people know us (_as such_), -respect us and seek us; and we thereby mingle in society, that is to -say, among the disguised who do not wish to be so called; we also do -like all prudent masqueraders, and courteously dismiss all curiosity -which has not reference merely to our "clothes." There are however other -modes and artifices for "going about" among men and associating with -them: for example, as a ghost,—which is very advisable when one wants to -scare them, and get rid of them easily. An example: a person grasps at -us, and is unable to seize us. That frightens him. Or we enter by a -closed door. Or when the lights are extinguished. Or after we are dead. -The latter is the artifice of _posthumous_ men _par excellence_. -("What?" said such a one once impatiently, "do you think we should -delight in enduring this strangeness, coldness, death-stillness about -us, all this subterranean, hidden, dim, undiscovered solitude, which is -called life with us, and might just as well be called death, if we were -not conscious of what _will arise_ out of us,—and that only after our -death shall we attain to _our_ life and become living, ah! very living! -we posthumous men!"—) - - - 366. - -_At the Sight of a Learned Book._—We do not belong to those who only get -their thoughts from books, or at the prompting of books,—it is our -custom to think in the open air, walking, leaping, climbing, or dancing -on lonesome mountains by preference, or close to the sea, where even the -paths become thoughtful. Our first question concerning the value of a -book, a man, or a piece of music is: Can it walk? or still better: Can -it dance?... We seldom read; we do not read the worse for that—oh, how -quickly do we divine how a person has arrived at his thoughts:—whether -sitting before an ink-bottle with compressed belly and head bent over -the paper: oh, how quickly we are then done with his book! The -constipated bowels betray themselves, one may wager on it, just as the -atmosphere of the room, the ceiling of the room, the smallness of the -room, betray themselves.—These were my feelings as I was closing a -straightforward, learned book, thankful, very thankful, but also -relieved.... In the book of a learned man there is almost always -something oppressive and oppressed: the "specialist" comes to light -somewhere, his ardour, his seriousness, his wrath, his over-estimation -of the nook in which he sits and spins, his hump—every specialist has -his hump. A learned book also always mirrors a distorted soul: every -trade distorts. Look at our friends again with whom we have spent our -youth, after they have taken possession of their science: alas! how the -reverse has always taken place! Alas! how they themselves are now for -ever occupied and possessed by their science! Grown into their nook, -crumpled into unrecognisability, constrained, deprived of their -equilibrium, emaciated and angular everywhere, perfectly round only in -one place,—we are moved and silent when we find them so. Every -handicraft, granting even that it has a golden floor,[13] has also a -leaden ceiling above it, which presses and presses on the soul, till it -is pressed into a strange and distorted shape. There is nothing to alter -here. We need not think that it is at all possible to obviate this -disfigurement by any educational artifice whatever. Every kind of -_perfection_ is purchased at a high price on earth, where everything is -perhaps purchased too dear; one is an expert in one's department at the -price of being also a victim of one's department. But you want to have -it otherwise—"more reasonable," above all more convenient—is it not so, -my dear contemporaries? Very well! But then you will also immediately -get something different: that is to say, instead of the craftsman and -expert, the literary man, the versatile, "many-sided" littérateur, who -to be sure lacks the hump—not taking account of the hump or bow which he -makes before you as the shopman of the intellect and the "porter" of -culture—, the littérateur, who _is_ really nothing, but "represents" -almost everything: he plays and "represents" the expert, he also takes -it upon himself in all modesty _to see that he is_ paid, honoured and -celebrated in this position.—No, my learned friends! I bless you even on -account of your humps! And also because like me you despise the -littérateurs and parasites of culture! And because you do not know how -to make merchandise of your intellect! And have so many opinions which -cannot be expressed in money value! And because you do not represent -anything which you _are_ not! Because your sole desire is to become -masters of your craft; because you reverence every kind of mastership -and ability, and repudiate with the most relentless scorn everything of -a make-believe, half-genuine, dressed-up, virtuoso, demagogic, -histrionic nature in _litteris et artibus_—all that which does not -convince you by its absolute _genuineness_ of discipline and preparatory -training, or cannot stand your test! (Even genius does not help a person -to get over such a defect, however well it may be able to deceive with -regard to it: one understands this if one has once looked closely at our -most gifted painters and musicians,—who almost without exception, can -artificially and supplementarily appropriate to themselves (by means of -artful inventions of style, make-shifts, and even principles), the -_appearance_ of that genuineness, that solidity of training and culture; -to be sure, without thereby deceiving themselves, without thereby -imposing perpetual silence on their bad consciences. For you know well -enough that all great modern artists suffer from bad consciences?...) - - - 367. - -_How one has to Distinguish first of all in Works of Art._—Everything -that is thought, versified, painted and composed, yea, even built and -moulded, belongs either to monologic art, or to art before witnesses. -Under the latter there is also to be included the apparently monologic -art which involves the belief in God, the whole lyric of prayer; because -for a pious man there is no solitude,—we, the godless, have been the -first to devise this invention. I know of no profounder distinction in -all the perspective of the artist than this: Whether he looks at his -growing work of art (at "himself—") with the eye of the witness; or -whether he "has forgotten the world," as is the essential thing in all -monologic art,——it rests _on forgetting_, it is the music of forgetting. - - - 368. - -_The Cynic Speaks._—My objections to Wagner's music are physiological -objections. Why should I therefore begin by disguising them under -æsthetic formulæ? My "point" is that I can no longer breathe freely when -this music begins to operate on me; my _foot_ immediately becomes -indignant at it and rebels: for what it needs is time, dance and march; -it demands first of all from music the ecstasies which are in _good_ -walking, striding, leaping and dancing. But do not my stomach, my heart, -my blood and my bowels also protest? Do I not become hoarse unawares -under its influence? And then I ask myself what it is really that my -body _wants_ from music generally. I believe it wants to have _relief_: -so that all animal functions should be accelerated by means of light, -bold, unfettered, self-assured rhythms; so that brazen, leaden life -should be gilded by means of golden, good, tender harmonies. My -melancholy would fain rest its head in the hiding-places and abysses of -_perfection_: for this reason I need music. What do I care for the -drama! What do I care for the spasms of its moral ecstasies, in which -the "people" have their satisfaction! What do I care for the whole -pantomimic hocus-pocus of the actor!... It will now be divined that I am -essentially anti-theatrical at heart,—but Wagner on the contrary, was -essentially a man of the stage and an actor, the most enthusiastic -mummer-worshipper that has ever existed, even among musicians!... And -let it be said in passing that if Wagner's theory was that "drama is the -object, and music is only the means to it,"—his _practice_ on the -contrary from beginning to end has been to the effect that "attitude is -the object, drama and even music can never be anything else but means to -_that_." Music as a means of elucidating, strengthening and intensifying -dramatic poses and the actor's appeal to the senses, and Wagnerian drama -only an opportunity for a number of dramatic attitudes! Wagner -possessed, along with all other instincts, the dictatorial instinct of a -great actor in all and everything, and as has been said, also as a -musician.—I once made this clear with some trouble to a thorough-going -Wagnerian, and I had reasons for adding:—"Do be a little more honest -with yourself: we are not now in the theatre. In the theatre we are only -honest in the mass; as individuals we lie, we belie even ourselves. We -leave ourselves at home when we go to the theatre; we there renounce the -right to our own tongue and choice, to our taste, and even to our -courage as we possess it and practise it within our own four walls in -relation to God and man. No one takes his finest taste in art into the -theatre with him, not even the artist who works for the theatre: there -one is people, public, herd, woman, Pharisee, voting animal, democrat, -neighbour, and fellow-creature; there even the most personal conscience -succumbs to the levelling charm of the 'great multitude'; there -stupidity operates as wantonness and contagion; there the neighbour -rules, there one _becomes_ a neighbour...." (I have forgotten to mention -what my enlightened Wagnerian answered to my physiological objections: -"So the fact is that you are really not healthy enough for our music?"—) - - - 369. - -_Juxtapositions in us._—Must we not acknowledge to ourselves, we -artists, that there is a strange discrepancy in us; that on the one hand -our taste, and on the other hand our creative power, keep apart in an -extraordinary manner, continue apart, and have a separate growth;—I mean -to say that they have entirely different gradations and _tempi_ of age, -youth, maturity, mellowness and rottenness? So that, for example, a -musician could all his life create things which _contradict_ all that -his ear and heart, spoilt as they are for listening, prize, relish and -prefer:—he would not even require to be aware of the contradiction! As -an almost painfully regular experience shows, a person's taste can -easily outgrow the taste of his power, even without the latter being -thereby paralysed or checked in its productivity. The reverse, however, -can also to some extent take place,—and it is to this especially that I -should like to direct the attention of artists. A constant producer, a -man who is a "mother" in the grand sense of the term, one who no longer -knows or hears of anything except pregnancies and child-beds of his -spirit, who has no time at all to reflect and make comparisons with -regard to himself and his work, who is also no longer inclined to -exercise his taste, but simply forgets it, letting it take its chance of -standing, lying or falling,—perhaps such a man at last produces works -_on which he is then not at all fit to pass a judgment_: so that he -speaks and thinks foolishly about them and about himself. This seems to -me almost the normal condition with fruitful artists,—nobody knows a -child worse than its parents—and the rule applies even (to take an -immense example) to the entire Greek world of poetry and art, which was -never "conscious" of what it had done.... - - - 370. - -_What is Romanticism?_—It will be remembered perhaps, at least among my -friends, that at first I assailed the modern world with some gross -errors and exaggerations, but at any rate with _hope_ in my heart. I -recognised—who knows from what personal experiences?—the philosophical -pessimism of the nineteenth century as the symptom of a higher power of -thought, a more daring courage and a more triumphant _plenitude_ of life -than had been characteristic of the eighteenth century, the age of Hume, -Kant, Condillac, and the sensualists: so that the tragic view of things -seemed to me the peculiar _luxury_ of our culture, its most precious, -noble, and dangerous mode of prodigality; but nevertheless, in view of -its overflowing wealth, a _justifiable_ luxury. In the same way I -interpreted for myself German music as the expression of a Dionysian -power in the German soul: I thought I heard in it the earthquake by -means of which a primeval force that had been imprisoned for ages was -finally finding vent—indifferent as to whether all that usually calls -itself culture was thereby made to totter. It is obvious that I then -misunderstood what constitutes the veritable character both of -philosophical pessimism and of German music,—namely, their -_Romanticism_. What is Romanticism? Every art and every philosophy may -be regarded as a healing and helping appliance in the service of -growing, struggling life: they always presuppose suffering and -sufferers. But there are two kinds of sufferers: on the one hand those -that suffer from _overflowing vitality_, who need Dionysian art, and -require a tragic view and insight into life; and on the other hand those -who suffer from _reduced vitality_, who seek repose, quietness, calm -seas, and deliverance from themselves through art or knowledge, or else -intoxication, spasm, bewilderment and madness. All Romanticism in art -and knowledge responds to the twofold craving of the _latter_; to them -Schopenhauer as well as Wagner responded (and responds),—to name those -most celebrated and decided romanticists who were then _misunderstood_ -by me (_not_ however to their disadvantage, as may be reasonably -conceded to me). The being richest in overflowing vitality, the -Dionysian God and man, may not only allow himself the spectacle of the -horrible and questionable, but even the fearful deed itself, and all the -luxury of destruction, disorganisation and negation. With him evil, -senselessness and ugliness seem as it were licensed, in consequence of -the overflowing plenitude of procreative, fructifying power, which can -convert every desert into a luxuriant orchard. Conversely, the greatest -sufferer, the man poorest in vitality, would have most need of mildness, -peace and kindliness in thought and action: he would need, if possible, -a God who is specially the God of the sick, a "Saviour"; similarly he -would have need of logic, the abstract intelligibility of existence—for -logic soothes and gives confidence;—in short he would need a certain -warm, fear-dispelling narrowness and imprisonment within optimistic -horizons. In this manner I gradually began to understand Epicurus, the -opposite of a Dionysian pessimist;—in a similar manner also the -"Christian," who in fact is only a type of Epicurean, and like him -essentially a romanticist:—and my vision has always become keener in -tracing that most difficult and insidious of all forms of _retrospective -inference_, which most mistakes have been made—the inference from the -work to its author, from the deed to its doer, from the ideal to him who -_needs_ it, from every mode of thinking and valuing to the imperative -_want_ behind it.—In regard to all æsthetic values I now avail myself of -this radical distinction: I ask in every single case, "Has hunger or -superfluity become creative here?" At the outset another distinction -might seem to recommend itself more—it is far more conspicuous,—namely, -to have in view whether the desire for rigidity, for perpetuation, for -_being_ is the cause of the creating, or the desire for destruction, for -change, for the new, for the future—for _becoming_. But when looked at -more carefully, both these kinds of desire prove themselves ambiguous, -and are explicable precisely according to the before-mentioned and, as -it seems to me, rightly preferred scheme. The desire for _destruction_, -change and becoming, may be the expression of overflowing power, -pregnant with futurity (my _terminus_ for this is of course the word -"Dionysian"); but it may also be the hatred of the ill-constituted, -destitute and unfortunate, which destroys, and _must_ destroy, because -the enduring, yea, all that endures, in fact all being, excites and -provokes it. To understand this emotion we have but to look closely at -our anarchists. The will to _perpetuation_ requires equally a double -interpretation. It may on the one hand proceed from gratitude and -love:—art of this origin will always be an art of apotheosis, perhaps -dithyrambic, as with Rubens, mocking divinely, as with Hafiz, or clear -and kind-hearted as with Goethe, and spreading a Homeric brightness and -glory over everything (in this case I speak of _Apollonian_ art). It may -also, however, be the tyrannical will of a sorely-suffering, struggling -or tortured being, who would like to stamp his most personal, individual -and narrow characteristics, the very idiosyncrasy of his suffering, as -an obligatory law and constraint on others; who, as it were, takes -revenge on all things, in that he imprints, enforces and brands _his_ -image, the image of _his_ torture, upon them. The latter is _romantic -pessimism_ in its most extreme form, whether it be as Schopenhauerian -will-philosophy, or as Wagnerian music:—romantic pessimism, the last -_great_ event in the destiny of our civilisation. (That there _may be_ -quite a different kind of pessimism, a classical pessimism—this -presentiment and vision belongs to me, as something inseparable from me, -as my _proprium_ and _ipsissimum_; only that the word "classical" is -repugnant to my ears, it has become far too worn; too indefinite and -indistinguishable. I call that pessimism of the future,—for it is -coming! I see it coming!—_Dionysian_ pessimism.) - - - 371. - -_We Unintelligible Ones._—Have we ever complained among ourselves of -being misunderstood, misjudged, and confounded with others; of being -calumniated, misheard, and not heard? That is just our lot—alas, for a -long time yet! say, to be modest, until 1901—, it is also our -distinction; we should not have sufficient respect for ourselves if we -wished it otherwise. People confound us with others—the reason of it is -that we ourselves grow, we change continually, we cast off old bark, we -still slough every spring, we always become younger, higher, stronger, -as men of the future, we thrust our roots always more powerfully into -the deep—into evil—, while at the same time we embrace the heavens ever -more lovingly, more extensively, and suck in their light ever more -eagerly with all our branches and leaves. We grow like trees—that is -difficult to understand, like all life!—not in one place, but -everywhere, not in one direction only, but upwards and outwards, as well -as inwards and downwards. At the same time our force shoots forth in -stem, branches, and roots; we are really no longer free to do anything -separately, or to _be_ anything separately.... Such is our lot, as we -have said: we grow in _height_; and even should it be our calamity—for -we dwell ever closer to the lightning!—well, we honour it none the less -on that account; it is that which we do not wish to share with others, -which we do not wish to bestow upon others, the fate of all elevation, -_our_ fate.... - - - 372. - -_Why we are not Idealists._—Formerly philosophers were afraid of the -senses: have we, perhaps, been far too forgetful of this fear? We are at -present all of us sensualists, we representatives of the present and of -the future in philosophy,—_not_ according to theory, however, but in -_praxis_, in practice.... Those former philosophers, on the contrary, -thought that the senses lured them out of _their_ world, the cold realm -of "ideas," to a dangerous southern island, where they were afraid that -their philosopher-virtues would melt away like snow in the sun. "Wax in -the ears," was then almost a condition of philosophising; a genuine -philosopher no longer listened to life, in so far as life is music, he -_denied_ the music of life—it is an old philosophical superstition that -all music is Sirens' music.—Now we should be inclined at the present day -to judge precisely in the opposite manner (which in itself might be just -as false), and to regard _ideas_, with their cold, anæmic appearance, -and not even in spite of this appearance, as worse seducers than the -senses. They have always lived on the "blood" of the philosopher, they -always consumed his senses, and indeed, if you will believe me, his -"heart" as well. Those old philosophers were heartless: philosophising -was always a species of vampirism. At the sight of such figures even as -Spinoza, do you not feel a profoundly enigmatical and disquieting sort -of impression? Do you not see the drama which is here performed, the -constantly _increasing pallor_—, the spiritualisation always more -ideally displayed? Do you not imagine some long-concealed blood-sucker -in the background, which makes its beginning with the senses, and in the -end retains or leaves behind nothing but bones and their rattling?—I -mean categories, formulæ, and _words_ (for you will pardon me in saying -that what _remains_ of Spinoza, _amor intellectualis dei_, is rattling -and nothing more! What is _amor_, what is _deus_, when they have lost -every drop of blood?...) _In summa_: all philosophical idealism has -hitherto been something like a disease, where it has not been, as in the -case of Plato, the prudence of superabundant and dangerous -healthfulness, the fear of _overpowerful_ senses, and the wisdom of a -wise Socratic.—Perhaps, is it the case that we moderns are merely not -sufficiently sound _to require_ Plato's idealism? And we do not fear the -senses because——. - - - 373. - -_"Science" as Prejudice._—It follows from the laws of class distinction -that the learned, in so far as they belong to the intellectual -middle-class, are debarred from getting even a sight of the really -_great_ problems and notes of interrogation. Besides, their courage, and -similarly their outlook, does not reach so far,—and above all, their -need, which makes them investigators, their innate anticipation and -desire that things should be constituted _in such and such a way_, their -fears and hopes are too soon quieted and set at rest. For example, that -which makes the pedantic Englishman, Herbert Spencer, so enthusiastic in -his way, and impels him to draw a line of hope, a horizon of -desirability, the final reconciliation of "egoism and altruism" of which -he dreams,—that almost causes nausea to people like us:—a humanity with -such Spencerian perspectives as ultimate perspectives would seem to us -deserving of contempt, of extermination! But the _fact_ that something -has to be taken by him as his highest hope, which is regarded, and may -well be regarded, by others merely as a distasteful possibility, is a -note of interrogation which Spencer could not have foreseen.... It is -just the same with the belief with which at present so many -materialistic natural-scientists are content, the belief in a world -which is supposed to have its equivalent and measure in human thinking -and human valuations, a "world of truth" at which we might be able -ultimately to arrive with the help of our insignificant, four-cornered -human reason! What? do we actually wish to have existence debased in -that fashion to a ready-reckoner exercise and calculation for -stay-at-home mathematicians? We should not, above all, seek to divest -existence of its _ambiguous_ character: _good_ taste forbids it, -gentlemen, the taste of reverence for everything that goes beyond your -horizon! That a world-interpretation is alone right by which _you_ -maintain your position, by which investigation and work can go on -scientifically in _your_ sense (you really mean _mechanically_?), an -interpretation which acknowledges numbering, calculating, weighing, -seeing and handling, and nothing more—such an idea is a piece of -grossness and naïvety, provided it is not lunacy and idiocy. Would the -reverse not be quite probable, that the most superficial and external -characters of existence—its most apparent quality, its outside, its -embodiment—should let themselves be apprehended first? perhaps alone -allow themselves to be apprehended? A "scientific" interpretation of the -world as you understand it might consequently still be one of the -_stupidest_ that is to say, the most destitute of significance, of all -possible world-interpretations:—I say this in confidence to my friends -the Mechanicians, who to-day like to hobnob with philosophers, and -absolutely believe that mechanics is the teaching of the first and last -laws upon which, as upon a ground-floor, all existence must be built. -But an essentially mechanical world would be an essentially -_meaningless_ world! Supposing we valued the _worth_ of a music with -reference to how much it could be counted, calculated, or formulated—how -absurd such a "scientific" estimate of music would be! What would one -have apprehended, understood, or discerned in it! Nothing, absolutely -nothing of what is really "music" in it!... - - - 374. - -_Our new "Infinite."_—How far the perspective character of existence -extends, or whether it have any other character at all, whether an -existence without explanation, without "sense" does not just become -"nonsense," whether, on the other hand, all existence is not essentially -an _explaining_ existence—these questions, as is right and proper, -cannot be determined even by the most diligent and severely -conscientious analysis and self-examination of the intellect, because in -this analysis the human intellect cannot avoid seeing itself in its -perspective forms, and _only_ in them. We cannot see round our corner: -it is hopeless curiosity to want to know what other modes of intellect -and perspective there _might_ be: for example, whether any kind of being -could perceive time backwards, or alternately forwards and backwards (by -which another direction of life and another conception of cause and -effect would be given). But I think that we are to-day at least far from -the ludicrous immodesty of decreeing from our nook that there _can_ only -be legitimate perspectives from that nook. The world, on the contrary, -has once more become "infinite" to us: in so far we cannot dismiss the -possibility that it _contains infinite interpretations_. Once more the -great horror seizes us—but who would desire forthwith to deify once more -_this_ monster of an unknown world in the old fashion? And perhaps -worship _the_ unknown thing as _the_ "unknown person" in future? Ah! -there are too many _ungodly_ possibilities of interpretation comprised -in this unknown, too much devilment, stupidity and folly of -interpretation.—also our own human, all too human interpretation itself, -which we know.... - - - 375. - -_Why we Seem to be Epicureans._—We are cautious, we modern men, with -regard to final convictions, our distrust lies in wait for the -enchantments and tricks of conscience involved in every strong belief, -in every absolute Yea and Nay: how is this explained? Perhaps one may -see in it a good deal of the caution of the "burnt child," of the -disillusioned idealist; but one may also see in it another and better -element, the joyful curiosity of a former lingerer in the corner, who -has been brought to despair by his nook, and now luxuriates and revels -in its antithesis, in the unbounded, in the "open air in itself." Thus -there is developed an almost Epicurean inclination for knowledge, which -does not readily lose sight of the questionable character of things; -likewise also a repugnance to pompous moral phrases and attitudes, a -taste that repudiates all coarse, square contrasts, and is proudly -conscious of its habitual reserve. For _this too_ constitutes our pride, -this easy tightening of the reins in our headlong impulse after -certainty, this self-control of the rider in his most furious riding: -for now, as of old we have mad, fiery steeds under us, and if we delay, -it is certainly least of all the danger which causes us to delay.... - - - 376. - -_Our Slow Periods._—It is thus that artists feel, and all men of -"works," the maternal species of men: they always believe at every -chapter of their life—a work always makes a chapter—that they have -already reached the goal itself; they would always patiently accept -death with the feeling: "we are ripe for it." This is not the expression -of exhaustion,—but rather that of a certain autumnal sunniness and -mildness, which the work itself, the maturing of the work, always leaves -behind in its originator. Then the _tempo_ of life slows down—turns -thick and flows with honey—into long pauses, into the belief in _the_ -long pause.... - - - 377. - -_We Homeless Ones._—Among the Europeans of to-day there are not lacking -those who may call themselves homeless ones in a way which is at once a -distinction and an honour; it is by them that my secret wisdom and _gaya -scienza_ is expressly to be laid to heart. For their lot is hard, their -hope uncertain; it is a clever feat to devise consolation for them. But -what good does it do! We children of the future, how _could_ we be at -home in the present? We are unfavourable to all ideals which could make -us feel at home in this frail, broken-down, transition period; and as -regards the "realities" thereof, we do not believe in their _endurance_. -The ice which still carries us has become very thin: the thawing wind -blows; we ourselves, the homeless ones, are an influence that breaks the -ice, and the other all too thin "realities."... We "preserve" nothing, -nor would we return to any past age; we are not at all "liberal," we do -not labour for "progress," we do not need first to stop our ears to the -song of the market-place and the sirens of the future—their song of -"equal rights," "free society," "no longer either lords or slaves," does -not allure us! We do not by any means think it desirable that the -kingdom of righteousness and peace should be established on earth -(because under any circumstances it would be the kingdom of the -profoundest mediocrity and Chinaism); we rejoice in all men, who, like -ourselves, love danger, war and adventure, who do not make compromises, -nor let themselves be captured, conciliated and stunted; we count -ourselves among the conquerors; we ponder over the need of a new order -of things, even of a new slavery—for every strengthening and elevation -of the type "man" also involves a new form of slavery. Is it not obvious -that with all this we must feel ill at ease in an age which claims the -honour of being the most humane, gentle and just that the sun has ever -seen? What a pity that at the mere mention of these fine words, the -thoughts at the back of our minds are all the more unpleasant, that we -see therein only the expression—or the masquerade—of profound weakening, -exhaustion, age, and declining power! What can it matter to us with what -kind of tinsel an invalid decks out his weakness? He may parade it as -his _virtue_; there is no doubt whatever that weakness makes people -gentle, alas, so gentle, so just, so inoffensive, so "humane"!—The -"religion of pity," to which people would like to persuade us—yes, we -know sufficiently well the hysterical little men and women who need this -religion at present as a cloak and adornment! We are no humanitarians; -we should not dare to speak of our "love of mankind"; for that, a person -of our stamp is not enough of an actor! Or not sufficiently -Saint-Simonist, not sufficiently French. A person must have been -affected with a _Gallic_ excess of erotic susceptibility and amorous -impatience even to approach mankind honourably with his lewdness.... -Mankind! Was there ever a more hideous old woman among all old women -(unless perhaps it were "the Truth": a question for philosophers)? No, -we do not love Mankind! On the other hand, however, we are not nearly -"German" enough (in the sense in which the word "German" is current at -present) to advocate nationalism and race-hatred, or take delight in the -national heart-itch and blood-poisoning, on account of which the nations -of Europe are at present bounded off and secluded from one another as if -by quarantines. We are too unprejudiced for that, too perverse, too -fastidious; also too well-informed, and too much "travelled." We prefer -much rather to live on mountains, apart and "out of season," in past or -coming centuries, in order merely to spare ourselves the silent rage to -which we know we should be condemned as witnesses of a system of -politics which makes the German nation barren by making it vain, and -which is a _petty_ system besides:—will it not be necessary for this -system to plant itself between two mortal hatreds, lest its own creation -should immediately collapse? Will it not _be obliged_ to desire the -perpetuation of the petty-state system of Europe?... We homeless ones -are too diverse and mixed in race and descent as "modern men," and are -consequently little tempted to participate in the falsified racial -self-admiration and lewdness which at present display themselves in -Germany, as signs of German sentiment, and which strike one as doubly -false and unbecoming in the people with the "historical sense." We are, -in a word—and it shall be our word of honour!—_good Europeans_, the -heirs of Europe, the rich, over-wealthy heirs, also the too deeply -pledged heirs of millenniums of European thought. As such, we have also -outgrown Christianity, and are disinclined to it—and just because we -have grown _out of_ it, because our forefathers were Christians -uncompromising in their Christian integrity, who willingly sacrificed -possessions and positions, blood and country, for the sake of their -belief. We—do the same. For what, then? For our unbelief? For all sorts -of unbelief? Nay, you know better than that, my friends! The hidden -_Yea_ in you is stronger than all the Nays and Perhapses, of which you -and your age are sick; and when you are obliged to put out to sea, you -emigrants, it is—once more a _faith_ which urges you thereto!... - - - 378. - -"_And once more Grow Clear._"—We, the generous and rich in spirit, who -stand at the sides of the streets like open fountains and would hinder -no one from drinking from us: we do not know, alas! how to defend -ourselves when we should like to do so; we have no means of preventing -ourselves being made _turbid_ and dark,—we have no means of preventing -the age in which we live casting its "up-to-date rubbish" into us, nor -of hindering filthy birds throwing their excrement, the boys their -trash, and fatigued resting travellers their misery, great and small, -into us. But we do as we have always done: we take whatever is cast into -us down into our depths—for we are deep, we do not forget—_and once more -grow clear_.... - - - 379. - -_The Fool's Interruption._—It is not a misanthrope who has written this -book: the hatred of men costs too dear to-day. To hate as they formerly -hated _man_, in the fashion of Timon, completely, without qualification, -with all the heart, from the pure _love_ of hatred—for that purpose one -would have to renounce contempt:—and how much refined pleasure, how much -patience, how much benevolence even, do we owe to contempt! Moreover we -are thereby the "elect of God": refined contempt is our taste and -privilege, our art, our virtue perhaps, we, the most modern amongst the -moderns!... Hatred, on the contrary, makes equal, it puts men face to -face, in hatred there is honour; finally, in hatred there is _fear_, -quite a large amount of fear. We fearless ones, however, we, the most -intellectual men of the period, know our advantage well enough to live -without fear as the most intellectual persons of this age. People will -not easily behead us, shut us up, or banish us; they will not even ban -or burn our books. The age loves intellect, it loves us, and needs us, -even when we have to give it to understand that we are artists in -despising; that all intercourse with men is something of a horror to us; -that with all our gentleness, patience, humanity and courteousness, we -cannot persuade our nose to abandon its prejudice against the proximity -of man; that we love nature the more, the less humanly things are done -by her, and that we love art _when_ it is the flight of the artist from -man, or the raillery of the artist at man, or the raillery of the artist -at himself.... - - - 380. - -_"The Wanderer" Speaks._—In order for once to get a glimpse of our -European morality from a distance, in order to compare it with other -earlier or future moralities, one must do as the traveller who wants to -know the height of the towers of a city: for that purpose he _leaves_ -the city. "Thoughts concerning moral prejudices," if they are not to be -prejudices concerning prejudices, presuppose a position _outside of_ -morality, some sort of world beyond good and evil, to which one must -ascend, climb, or fly—and in the given case at any rate, a position -beyond _our_ good and evil, an emancipation from all "Europe," -understood as a sum of inviolable valuations which have become part and -parcel of our flesh and blood. That one _wants_ in fact to get outside, -or aloft, is perhaps a sort of madness, a peculiarly unreasonable "thou -must"—for even we thinkers have our idiosyncrasies of "unfree will"—: -the question is whether one _can_ really get there. That may depend on -manifold conditions: in the main it is a question of how light or how -heavy we are, the problem of our "specific gravity." One must be _very -light_ in order to impel one's will to knowledge to such a distance, and -as it were beyond one's age, in order to create eyes for oneself for the -survey of millenniums, and a pure heaven in these eyes besides! One must -have freed oneself from many things by which we Europeans of to-day are -oppressed, hindered, held down, and made heavy. The man of such a -"Beyond," who wants to get even in sight of the highest standards of -worth of his age, must first of all "surmount" this age in himself—it is -the test of his power—and consequently not only his age, but also his -past aversion and opposition _to_ his age, his suffering _caused by_ his -age, his unseasonableness, his Romanticism.... - - - 381. - -_The Question of Intelligibility._—One not only wants to be understood -when one writes, but also—quite as certainly—_not_ to be understood. It -is by no means an objection to a book when someone finds it -unintelligible: perhaps this might just have been the intention of its -author,—perhaps he did not _want_ to be understood by "anyone." A -distinguished intellect and taste, when it wants to communicate its -thoughts, always selects its hearers; by selecting them, it at the same -time closes its barriers against "the others." It is there that all the -more refined laws of style have their origin: they at the same time keep -off, they create distance, they prevent "access" (intelligibility, as we -have said,)—while they open the ears of those who are acoustically -related to them. And to say it between ourselves and with reference to -my own case,—I do not desire that either my ignorance, or the vivacity -of my temperament, should prevent me being understood by _you_, my -friends: I certainly do not desire that my vivacity should have that -effect, however much it may impel me to arrive quickly at an object, in -order to arrive at it at all. For I think it is best to do with profound -problems as with a cold bath—quickly in, quickly out. That one does not -thereby get into the depths, that one does not get deep enough _down_—is -a superstition of the hydrophobic, the enemies of cold water; they speak -without experience. Oh! the great cold makes one quick!—And let me ask -by the way: Is it a fact that a thing has been misunderstood and -unrecognised when it has only been touched upon in passing, glanced at, -flashed at? Must one absolutely sit upon it in the first place? Must one -have brooded on it as on an egg? _Diu noctuque incubando_, as Newton -said of himself? At least there are truths of a peculiar shyness and -ticklishness which one can only get hold of suddenly, and in no other -way,—which one must either _take by surprise_, or leave alone.... -Finally, my brevity has still another value: on those questions which -pre-occupy me, I must say a great deal briefly, in order that it may be -heard yet more briefly. For as immoralist, one has to take care lest one -ruins innocence, I mean the asses and old maids of both sexes, who get -nothing from life but their innocence; moreover my writings are meant to -fill them with enthusiasm, to elevate them, to encourage them in virtue. -I should be at a loss to know of anything more amusing than to see -enthusiastic old asses and maids moved by the sweet feelings of virtue: -and "that have I seen"—spake Zarathustra. So much with respect to -brevity; the matter stands worse as regards my ignorance, of which I -make no secret to myself. There are hours in which I am ashamed of it; -to be sure there are likewise hours in which I am ashamed of this shame. -Perhaps we philosophers, all of us, are badly placed at present with -regard to knowledge: science is growing, the most learned of us are on -the point of discovering that we know too little. But it would be worse -still if it were otherwise,—if we knew too much; our duty is and -remains, first of all, not to get into confusion about ourselves. We -_are_ different from the learned; although it cannot be denied that -amongst other things we are also learned. We have different needs, a -different growth, a different digestion: we need more, we need also -less. There is no formula as to how much an intellect needs for its -nourishment; if, however, its taste be in the direction of independence, -rapid coming and going, travelling, and perhaps adventure for which only -the swiftest are qualified, it prefers rather to live free on poor fare, -than to be unfree and plethoric. Not fat, but the greatest suppleness -and power is what a good dancer wishes from his nourishment,—and I know -not what the spirit of a philosopher would like better than to be a good -dancer. For the dance is his ideal, and also his art, in the end -likewise his sole piety, his "divine service."... - - - 382. - -_Great Healthiness._—We, the new, the nameless, the hard-to-understand, -we firstlings of a yet untried future—we require for a new end also a -new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher, bolder -and merrier than any healthiness hitherto. He whose soul longs to -experience the whole range of hitherto recognised values and -desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal -"Mediterranean Sea," who, from the adventures of his most personal -experience, wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and discoverer -of the ideal—as likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the -legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the -godly Nonconformist of the old style:—requires one thing above all for -that purpose, _great healthiness_—such healthiness as one not only -possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, because one -continually sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!—And now, after -having been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the ideal, -who are more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough -shipwrecked and brought to grief, nevertheless, as said above, healthier -than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, always healthy -again,—it would seem, as if in recompense for it all, that we have a -still undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one has -yet seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known -hitherto, a world so over-rich in the beautiful, the strange, the -questionable, the frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well -as our thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand—alas! that -nothing will now any longer satisfy us! How could we still be content -with _the man of the present day_ after such peeps, and with such a -craving in our conscience and consciousness? What a pity; but it is -unavoidable that we should look on the worthiest aims and hopes of the -man of the present day with ill-concealed amusement, and perhaps should -no longer look at them. Another ideal runs on before us, a strange, -tempting ideal, full of danger, to which we should not like to persuade -any one, because we do not so readily acknowledge any one's _right -thereto_: the ideal of a spirit who plays naïvely (that is to say -involuntarily and from overflowing abundance and power) with everything -that has hitherto been called holy, good, inviolable, divine; to whom -the loftiest conception which the people have reasonably made their -measure of value, would already imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at -least relaxation, blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal -of a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which may often enough -appear _inhuman_, for example, when put by the side of all past -seriousness on earth, and in comparison with all past solemnities in -bearing, word, tone, look, morality and pursuit, as their truest -involuntary parody,— but with which, nevertheless, perhaps _the great -seriousness_ only commences, the proper interrogation mark is set up, -the fate of the soul changes, the hour-hand moves, and tragedy -_begins_.... - - - 383. - -_Epilogue._—But while I slowly, slowly finish the painting of this -sombre interrogation-mark, and am still inclined to remind my readers of -the virtues of right reading—oh, what forgotten and unknown virtues—it -comes to pass that the wickedest, merriest, gnome-like laughter resounds -around me: the spirits of my book themselves pounce upon me, pull me by -the ears, and call me to order. "We cannot endure it any longer," they -shout to me, "away, away with this raven-black music. Is it not clear -morning round about us? And green, soft ground and turf, the domain of -the dance? Was there ever a better hour in which to be joyful? Who will -sing us a song, a morning song, so sunny, so light and so fledged that -it will _not_ scare the tantrums,—but will rather invite them to take -part in the singing and dancing. And better a simple rustic bagpipe than -such weird sounds, such toad-croakings, grave-voices and marmot-pipings, -with which you have hitherto regaled us in your wilderness, Mr Anchorite -and Musician of the Future! No! Not such tones! But let us strike up -something more agreeable and more joyful!"—You would like to have it so, -my impatient friends? Well! Who would not willingly accord with your -wishes? My bagpipe is waiting, and my voice also—it may sound a little -hoarse; take it as it is! don't forget we are in the mountains! But what -you will hear is at least new; and if you do not understand it, if you -misunderstand the _singer_, what does it matter! That—has always been -"The Singer's Curse."[14] So much the more distinctly can you hear his -music and melody, so much the better also can you—dance to his piping. -_Would you like_ to do that?... - ------ - -Footnote 11: - - In German the expression _Kopf zu waschen_, besides the literal sense, - also means "to give a person a sound drubbing."—TR. - -Footnote 12: - - "_Germany, Germany, above all_": the first line of the German national - song.—TR. - -Footnote 13: - - An allusion to the German Proverb, "Handwerk hat einen goldenen - Boden."—TR. - -Footnote 14: - - Title of the well-known poem of Uhland.—TR. - - - - - APPENDIX - - SONGS OF PRINCE FREE-AS-A-BIRD - - - TO GOETHE.[15] - - "The Undecaying" - Is but thy label, - God the betraying - Is poets' fable. - - Our aims all are thwarted - By the World-wheel's blind roll: - "Doom," says the downhearted, - "Sport," says the fool. - - The World-sport, all-ruling, - Mingles false with true: - The Eternally Fooling - Makes us play, too! - - - THE POET'S CALL. - - As 'neath a shady tree I sat - After long toil to take my pleasure, - I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat" - Beat prettily in rhythmic measure. - Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard, - The sound at length my sense entrapping - Forced me to speak like any bard, - And keep true time unto the tapping. - - As I made verses, never stopping, - Each syllable the bird went after, - Keeping in time with dainty hopping! - I burst into unmeasured laughter! - What, you a poet? You a poet? - Can your brains truly so addled be? - "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," - Chirped out the pecker, mocking me. - - What doth me to these woods entice? - The chance to give some thief a trouncing? - A saw, an image? Ha, in a trice - My rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing! - All things that creep or crawl the poet - Weaves in his word-loom cunningly. - "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," - Chirped out the pecker, mocking me. - - Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is, - See how it quivers, pricks and smarts - When shot full straight (no tender mercies!) - Into the reptile's nobler parts! - Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet, - Or stagger like men that have drunk too free. - "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," - Chirped out the pecker, mocking me. - - So they go hurrying, stanzas malign, - Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!— - Till the whole company, line on line, - All on the rhythmic chain are hanging. - Has he really a cruel heart, your poet? - Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see? - "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," - Chirped out the pecker, mocking me. - - So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces? - So sore indeed is the plight of my head? - And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is? - Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread! - Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poet - Rhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee. - "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," - Chirped out the pecker, mocking me. - - - IN THE SOUTH.[16] - - I swing on a bough, and rest - My tired limbs in a nest, - In the rocking home of a bird, - Wherein I perch as his guest, - In the South! - - I gaze on the ocean asleep, - On the purple sail of a boat; - On the harbour and tower steep, - On the rocks that stand out of the deep, - In the South! - - For I could no longer stay, - To crawl in slow German way; - So I called to the birds, bade the wind - Lift me up and bear me away - To the South! - - No reasons for me, if you please; - Their end is too dull and too plain; - But a pair of wings and a breeze, - With courage and health and ease, - And games that chase disease - From the South! - - Wise thoughts can move without sound, - But I've songs that I can't sing alone; - So birdies, pray gather around, - And listen to what I have found - In the South! - - * * * - - "You are merry lovers and false and gay, - In frolics and sport you pass the day; - Whilst in the North, I shudder to say, - I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray, - Her name was Truth, so I heard them say, - But I left her there and I flew away - To the South!" - - - BEPPA THE PIOUS. - - While beauty in my face is, - Be piety my care, - For God, you know, loves lasses, - And, more than all, the fair. - And if yon hapless monkling - Is fain with me to live, - Like many another monkling, - God surely will forgive. - - No grey old priestly devil, - But, young, with cheeks aflame— - Who e'en when sick with revel, - Can jealous be and blame. - To greybeards I'm a stranger, - And he, too, hates the old: - Of God, the world-arranger, - The wisdom here behold! - - The Church has ken of living, - And tests by heart and face. - To me she'll be forgiving! - Who will not show me grace? - I lisp with pretty halting, - I curtsey, bid "good day," - And with the fresh defaulting - I wash the old away! - - Praise be this man-God's guerdon, - Who loves all maidens fair, - And his own heart can pardon - The sin he planted there. - While beauty in my face is, - With piety I'll stand, - When age has killed my graces, - Let Satan claim my hand! - - - THE BOAT OF MYSTERY. - - Yester-eve, when all things slept— - Scarce a breeze to stir the lane— - I a restless vigil kept, - Nor from pillows sleep could gain, - Nor from poppies nor—most sure - Of opiates—a conscience pure. - - Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear, - Rose and walked along the strand, - Found, in warm and moonlit air, - Man and boat upon the sand, - Drowsy both, and drowsily - Did the boat put out to sea. - - Passed an hour or two perchance, - Or a year? then thought and sense - Vanished in the engulfing trance - Of a vast Indifference. - Fathomless, abysses dread - Opened—then the vision fled. - - Morning came: becalmed, the boat - Rested on the purple flood: - "What had happened?" every throat - Shrieked the question: "was there—Blood?" - Naught had happened! On the swell - We had slumbered, oh, so well! - - - AN AVOWAL OF LOVE - - (_during which, however, the poet fell into a pit_). - - Oh marvel! there he flies - Cleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what force - Impels him, bids him rise, - What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course? - - Like stars and time eterne - He liveth now in heights that life forswore, - Nor envy's self doth spurn: - A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar! - - Oh albatross, great bird, - Speeding me upward ever through the blue! - I thought of her, was stirred - To tears unending—yea, I love her true! - - - SONG OF A THEOCRITEAN GOATHERD. - - Here I lie, my bowels sore, - Hosts of bugs advancing, - Yonder lights and romp and roar! - What's that sound? They're dancing! - - At this instant, so she prated, - Stealthily she'd meet me: - Like a faithful dog I've waited, - Not a sign to greet me! - - She promised, made the cross-sign, too, - Could her vows be hollow? - Or runs she after all that woo, - Like the goats I follow? - - Whence your silken gown, my maid? - Ah, you'd fain be haughty, - Yet perchance you've proved a jade - With some satyr naughty! - - Waiting long, the lovelorn wight - Is filled with rage and poison: - Even so on sultry night - Toadstools grow in foison. - - Pinching sore, in devil's mood, - Love doth plague my crupper: - Truly I can eat no food: - Farewell, onion-supper! - - Seaward sinks the moon away, - The stars are wan, and flare not: - Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey, - Let Death come! I care not! - - - "SOULS THAT LACK DETERMINATION." - - Souls that lack determination - Rouse my wrath to white-hot flame! - All their glory's but vexation, - All their praise but self-contempt and shame! - - Since I baffle their advances, - Will not clutch their leading-string, - They would wither me with glances - Bitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting. - - Let them with fell curses shiver, - Curl their lip the livelong day! - Seek me as they will, forever - Helplessly their eyes shall go astray! - - - THE FOOL'S DILEMMA. - - Ah, what I wrote on board and wall - With foolish heart, in foolish scrawl, - I meant but for their decoration! - - Yet say you, "Fools' abomination! - Both board and wall require purgation, - And let no trace our eyes appal!" - - Well, I will help you, as I can, - For sponge and broom are my vocation, - As critic and as waterman. - - But when the finished work I scan, - I'm glad to see each learned owl - With "wisdom" board and wall defoul. - - - RIMUS REMEDIUM - - (_or a Consolation to Sick Poets_). - - From thy moist lips, - O Time, thou witch, beslavering me, - Hour upon hour too slowly drips - In vain—I cry, in frenzy's fit, - "A curse upon that yawning pit, - A curse upon Eternity!" - - The world's of brass, - A fiery bullock, deaf to wail: - Pain's dagger pierces my cuirass, - Wingéd, and writes upon my bone: - "Bowels and heart the world hath none, - Why scourge her sins with anger's flail?" - - Pour poppies now, - Pour venom, Fever, on my brain! - Too long you test my hand and brow: - What ask you? "What—reward is paid?" - A malediction on you, jade, - And your disdain! - - No, I retract, - 'Tis cold—I hear the rain importune— - Fever, I'll soften, show my tact: - Here's gold—a coin—see it gleam! - Shall I with blessings on you beam, - Call you "good fortune"? - - The door opes wide, - And raindrops on my bed are scattered, - The light's blown out—woes multiplied! - He that hath not an hundred rhymes, - I'll wager, in these dolorous times - We'd see him shattered! - - - MY BLISS. - - Once more, St Mark, thy pigeons meet my gaze, - The Square lies still, in slumbering morning mood: - In soft, cool air I fashion idle lays, - Speeding them skyward like a pigeon's brood: - And then recall my minions - To tie fresh rhymes upon their willing pinions. - My bliss! My bliss! - - Calm heavenly roof of azure silkiness, - Guarding with shimmering haze yon house divine! - Thee, house, I love, fear—envy, I'll confess, - And gladly would suck out that soul of thine! - "Should I give back the prize?" - Ask not, great pasture-ground for human eyes! - My bliss! My bliss! - - Stern belfry, rising as with lion's leap - Sheer from the soil in easy victory, - That fill'st the Square with peal resounding, deep, - Wert thou in French that Square's "accent aigu"? - Were I for ages set - In earth like thee, I know what silk-meshed net.... - My bliss! My bliss! - - Hence, music! First let darker shadows come, - And grow, and merge into brown, mellow night! - 'Tis early for your pealing, ere the dome - Sparkle in roseate glory, gold-bedight - While yet 'tis day, there's time - For strolling, lonely muttering, forging rhyme— - My bliss! My bliss! - - - COLUMBUS REDIVIVUS. - - Thither I'll travel, that's my notion, - I'll trust myself, my grip, - Where opens wide and blue the ocean - I'll ply my Genoa ship. - - New things on new the world unfolds me, - Time, space with noonday die: - Alone thy monstrous eye beholds me, - Awful Infinity! - - - SILS-MARIA. - - Here sat I waiting, waiting, but for naught! - Beyond all good and evil—now by light wrought - - To joy, now by dark shadows—all was leisure, - All lake, all noon, all time sans aim, sans measure. - - Then one, dear friend, was swiftly changed to twain, - And Zarathustra left my teeming brain.... - - - A DANCING SONG TO THE MISTRAL - WIND.[17] - - Wildly rushing, clouds outleaping, - Care-destroying, Heaven sweeping, - Mistral wind, thou art my friend! - Surely 'twas one womb did bear us, - Surely 'twas one fate did pair us, - Fellows for a common end. - - From the crags I gaily greet you, - Running fast I come to meet you, - Dancing while you pipe and sing. - How you bound across the ocean, - Unimpeded, free in motion, - Swifter than with boat or wing! - - Through my dreams your whistle sounded, - Down the rocky stairs I bounded - To the golden ocean wall; - Saw you hasten, swift and glorious, - Like a river, strong, victorious, - Tumbling in a waterfall. - - Saw you rushing over Heaven, - With your steeds so wildly driven, - Saw the car in which you flew; - Saw the lash that wheeled and quivered, - While the hand that held it shivered, - Urging on the steeds anew. - - Saw you from your chariot swinging, - So that swifter downward springing - Like an arrow you might go - Straight into the deep abysses, - As a sunbeam falls and kisses - Roses in the morning glow. - - Dance, oh! dance on all the edges, - Wave-crests, cliffs and mountain ledges, - Ever finding dances new! - Let our knowledge be our gladness, - Let our art be sport and madness, - All that's joyful shall be true! - - Let us snatch from every bower, - As we pass, the fairest flower, - With some leaves to make a crown; - Then, like minstrels gaily dancing, - Saint and witch together prancing, - Let us foot it up and down. - - Those who come must move as quickly - As the wind—we'll have no sickly, - Crippled, withered, in our crew; - Off with hypocrites and preachers, - Proper folk and prosy teachers, - Sweep them from our heaven blue. - - Sweep away all sad grimaces, - Whirl the dust into the faces - Of the dismal sick and cold! - Hunt them from our breezy places, - Not for them the wind that braces, - But for men of visage bold. - - Off with those who spoil earth's gladness, - Blow away all clouds of sadness, - Till our heaven clear we see; - Let me hold thy hand, best fellow, - Till my joy like tempest bellow! - Freest thou of spirits free! - - When thou partest, take a token - Of the joy thou hast awoken, - Take our wreath and fling it far; - Toss it up and catch it never, - Whirl it on before thee ever, - Till it reach the farthest star. - ------ - -Footnote 15: - - This poem is a parody of the "Chorus Mysticus" which concludes the - second part of Goethe's "Faust." Bayard Taylor's translation of the - passage in "Faust" runs as follows:— - - "All things transitory - But as symbols are sent, - Earth's insufficiency - Here grows to Event: - The Indescribable - Here it is done: - The Woman-Soul leadeth us - Upward and on!" - -Footnote 16: - - Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. Inserted by permission of the editor - of the _Nation_, in which it appeared on April 17, 1909. - -Footnote 17: - - Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. Inserted by permission of the editor - of the _Nation_, in which it appeared on May 15, 1909. - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - FOOTNOTES: - - - - - Transcriber's Note - -The original spelling and punctuation has been retained. - -Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. - -Italicized words and phrases in the text version are presented by -surrounding the text with underscores. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Joyful Wisdom, by Friedrich Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JOYFUL WISDOM *** - -***** This file should be named 52881-0.txt or 52881-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/8/8/52881/ - -Produced by Thierry Alberto, readbueno and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Joyful Wisdom - -Author: Friedrich Nietzsche - -Contributor: Paul V. Cohn -Maude D. Petre - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Thomas Common - -Release Date: August 23, 2016 [EBook #52881] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JOYFUL WISDOM *** - - - - -Produced by Thierry Alberto, readbueno and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>This cover was produced by the Transcriber<br />and is in the public domain.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c000' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_i'>i</span>THE COMPLETE WORKS</div> - <div>OF</div> - <div>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</div> - <div class='c000'><i>The First Complete and Authorised English Translation</i></div> - <div class='c000'>EDITED BY</div> - <div><span class='sc'>Dr</span> OSCAR LEVY</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i_001.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>VOLUME TEN</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <h1 class='c002'>THE JOYFUL WISDOM</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div>("LA GAYA SCIENZA")</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c000' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_ii'>ii</span>Of the First Edition of</div> - <div>One Thousand Five Hundred</div> - <div>Copies this is</div> - <div>No.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_iii'>iii</span><i>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</i></div> - <div class='c000'>THE</div> - <div class='c000'><span class='xxlarge'>JOYFUL WISDOM</span></div> - <div class='c000'>("LA GAYA SCIENZA")</div> - <div class='c003'>TRANSLATED BY</div> - <div class='c000'>THOMAS COMMON</div> - <div class='c003'>WITH POETRY RENDERED BY</div> - <div class='c000'>PAUL V. COHN</div> - <div class='c000'>AND</div> - <div class='c000'>MAUDE D. PETRE</div> - <div class='c000'><i>I stay to mine house confined,</i></div> - <div><i>Nor graft my wits on alien stock;</i></div> - <div><i>And mock at every master mind</i></div> - <div><i>That never at itself could mock.</i></div> - <div class='c003'>T. N. FOULIS</div> - <div class='c000'>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</div> - <div class='c000'>EDINBURGH: & LONDON</div> - <div class='c000'>1910</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c000' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_iv'>iv</span>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</div> - <div class='c000'>Printed at <span class='sc'>The Darien Press</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span> - <h2 class='c004'>CONTENTS</h2> -</div> -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='89%' /> -<col width='10%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c005'> </td> - <td class='c006'>PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Editorial Note</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_vii'>vii</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Preface to the Second Edition</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Jest, Ruse and Revenge: A Prelude in Rhyme</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_11'>11</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Book First</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_29'>29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Book Second</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_93'>93</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Book Third</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_149'>149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Book Fourth: Sanctus Januarius</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_211'>211</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Book Fifth: We Fearless Ones</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_273'>273</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Appendix: Songs of Prince Free-as-a-Bird</span></td> - <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_355'>355</a></td> - </tr> -</table> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_vii'>vii</span> - <h2 class='c004'>EDITORIAL NOTE</h2> -</div> -<p class='c007'>"The Joyful Wisdom," written in 1882, just before -"Zarathustra," is rightly judged to be one of -Nietzsche's best books. Here the essentially grave -and masculine face of the poet-philosopher is seen -to light up and suddenly break into a delightful -smile. The warmth and kindness that beam from -his features will astonish those hasty psychologists -who have never divined that behind the destroyer -is the creator, and behind the blasphemer the lover -of life. In the retrospective valuation of his work -which appears in "Ecce Homo" the author himself -observes with truth that the fourth book, -"Sanctus Januarius," deserves especial attention: -"The whole book is a gift from the Saint, and -the introductory verses express my gratitude for -the most wonderful month of January that I have -ever spent." Book fifth "We Fearless Ones," -the Appendix "Songs of Prince Free-as-a-Bird," -and the Preface, were added to the second edition -in 1887.</p> - -<p class='c008'>The translation of Nietzsche's poetry has proved -<span class='pageno' id='Page_viii'>viii</span>to be a more embarrassing problem than that of -his prose. Not only has there been a difficulty in -finding adequate translators—a difficulty overcome, -it is hoped, by the choice of Miss Petre and Mr -Cohn,—but it cannot be denied that even in the -original the poems are of unequal merit. By the -side of such masterpieces as "To the Mistral" are -several verses of comparatively little value. The -Editor, however, did not feel justified in making a -selection, as it was intended that the edition should -be complete. The heading, "Jest, Ruse and -Revenge," of the "Prelude in Rhyme" is borrowed -from Goethe.</p> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> - <h2 class='c004'>PREFACE TO THE SECOND<br />EDITION.</h2> -</div> -<h3 class='c009'>1.</h3> - -<p class='c010'>Perhaps more than one preface would be necessary -for this book; and after all it might still be doubtful -whether any one could be brought nearer to the -<i>experiences</i> in it by means of prefaces, without -having himself experienced something similar. It -seems to be written in the language of the thawing-wind: -there is wantonness, restlessness, contradiction -and April-weather in it; so that one is -as constantly reminded of the proximity of winter as -of the <i>victory</i> over it: the victory which is coming, -which must come, which has perhaps already -come.... Gratitude continually flows forth, as -if the most unexpected thing had happened, the -gratitude of a convalescent—for <i>convalescence</i> was -this most unexpected thing. "Joyful Wisdom": -that implies the Saturnalia of a spirit which has -patiently withstood a long, frightful pressure—patiently, -strenuously, impassionately, without -submitting, but without hope—and which is now -suddenly o'erpowered with hope, the hope of -health, the <i>intoxication</i> of convalescence. What -wonder that much that is unreasonable and -foolish thereby comes to light: much wanton -tenderness expended even on problems which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>have a prickly hide, and are not therefore fit to be -fondled and allured. The whole book is really -nothing but a revel after long privation and impotence: -the frolicking of returning energy, of -newly awakened belief in a to-morrow and after-to-morrow; -of sudden sentience and prescience of -a future, of near adventures, of seas open once -more, and aims once more permitted and believed -in. And what was now all behind me! This -track of desert, exhaustion, unbelief, and frigidity -in the midst of youth, this advent of grey -hairs at the wrong time, this tyranny of pain, -surpassed, however, by the tyranny of pride which -repudiated the <i>consequences</i> of pain—and consequences -are comforts,—this radical isolation, as -defence against the contempt of mankind become -morbidly clairvoyant, this restriction upon principle -to all that is bitter, sharp, and painful in knowledge, -as prescribed by the <i>disgust</i> which had gradually -resulted from imprudent spiritual diet and pampering—it -is called Romanticism,—oh, who could -realise all those feelings of mine! He, however, -who could do so would certainly forgive me -everything, and more than a little folly, boisterousness -and "Joyful Wisdom"—for example, the -handful of songs which are given along with -the book on this occasion,—songs in which a poet -makes merry over all poets in a way not easily -pardoned.—Alas, it is not only on the poets -and their fine "lyrical sentiments" that this -reconvalescent must vent his malignity: who knows -what kind of victim he seeks, what kind of monster -of material for parody will allure him ere long? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span><i>Incipit tragœdia</i>, it is said at the conclusion of this -seriously frivolous book; let people be on their -guard! Something or other extraordinarily bad -and wicked announces itself: <i>incipit parodia</i>, there -is no doubt...</p> -<h3 class='c009'>2.</h3> - -<p class='c010'>——But let us leave Herr Nietzsche; what does it -matter to people that Herr Nietzsche has got well -again?... A psychologist knows few questions -so attractive as those concerning the relations of -health to philosophy, and in the case when he -himself falls sick, he carries with him all his -scientific curiosity into his sickness. For, granting -that one is a person, one has necessarily also the -philosophy of one's personality, there is, however, an -important distinction here. With the one it is his -defects which philosophise, with the other it is his -riches and powers. The former <i>requires</i> his philosophy, -whether it be as support, sedative, or -medicine, as salvation, elevation, or self-alienation; -with the latter it is merely a fine luxury, at best -the voluptuousness of a triumphant gratitude, which -must inscribe itself ultimately in cosmic capitals -on the heaven of ideas. In the other more usual -case, however, when states of distress occupy themselves -with philosophy (as is the case with all sickly -thinkers—and perhaps the sickly thinkers preponderate -in the history of philosophy), what will -happen to the thought itself which is brought -under the <i>pressure</i> of sickness? This is the important -question for psychologists: and here -experiment is possible. We philosophers do just -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>like a traveller who resolves to awake at a given -hour, and then quietly yields himself to sleep: we -surrender ourselves temporarily, body and soul, to -the sickness, supposing we become ill—we shut, as -it were, our eyes on ourselves. And as the traveller -knows that something <i>does not</i> sleep, that something -counts the hours and will awake him, we also know -that the critical moment will find us awake—that -then something will spring forward and surprise -the spirit <i>in the very act</i>, I mean in weakness, or -reversion, or submission, or obduracy, or obscurity, -or whatever the morbid conditions are called, which -in times of good health have the <i>pride</i> of the spirit -opposed to them (for it is as in the old rhyme: -"The spirit proud, peacock and horse are the three -proudest things of earthly source"). After such -self-questioning and self-testing, one learns to look -with a sharper eye at all that has hitherto been -philosophised; one divines better than before the -arbitrary by-ways, side-streets, resting-places, and -<i>sunny</i> places of thought, to which suffering thinkers, -precisely as sufferers, are led and misled: one -knows now in what direction the sickly <i>body</i> and -its requirements unconsciously press, push, and -allure the spirit—towards the sun, stillness, gentleness, -patience, medicine, refreshment in any sense -whatever. Every philosophy which puts peace -higher than war, every ethic with a negative grasp -of the idea of happiness, every metaphysic and -physic that knows a <i>finale</i>, an ultimate condition -of any kind whatever, every predominating, æsthetic -or religious longing for an aside, a beyond, an outside, -an above—all these permit one to ask whether -<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>sickness has not been the motive which inspired the -philosopher. The unconscious disguising of physiological -requirements under the cloak of the objective, -the ideal, the purely spiritual, is carried on to an -alarming extent,—and I have often enough asked -myself, whether, on the whole, philosophy hitherto -has not generally been merely an interpretation -of the body, and a <i>misunderstanding of the -body</i>. Behind the loftiest estimates of value by -which the history of thought has hitherto been -governed, misunderstandings of the bodily constitution, -either of individuals, classes, or entire races -are concealed. One may always primarily consider -these audacious freaks of metaphysic, and especially -its answers to the question of the <i>worth</i> of existence, -as symptoms of certain bodily constitutions; and if, -on the whole, when scientifically determined, not a -particle of significance attaches to such affirmations -and denials of the world, they nevertheless -furnish the historian and psychologist with hints -so much the more valuable (as we have said) as -symptoms of the bodily constitution, its good or bad -condition, its fullness, powerfulness, and sovereignty -in history; or else of its obstructions, exhaustions, -and impoverishments, its premonition of the end, -its will to the end. I still expect that a philosophical -<i>physician</i>, in the exceptional sense of the -word—one who applies himself to the problem of -the collective health of peoples, periods, races, and -mankind generally—will some day have the courage -to follow out my suspicion to its ultimate conclusions, -and to venture on the judgment that in -all philosophising it has not hitherto been a question -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>of "truth" at all, but of something else,—namely, -of health, futurity, growth, power, life....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>3.</h3> - -<p class='c010'>It will be surmised that I should not like to take -leave ungratefully of that period of severe sickness, -the advantage of which is not even yet exhausted -in me: for I am sufficiently conscious of what I -have in advance of the spiritually robust generally, -in my changeful state of health. A philosopher -who has made the tour of many states of -health, and always makes it anew, has also gone -through just as many philosophies: he really -<i>cannot</i> do otherwise than transform his condition -on every occasion into the most ingenious posture -and position,—this art of transfiguration <i>is</i> just -philosophy. We philosophers are not at liberty -to separate soul and body, as the people separate -them; and we are still less at liberty to separate -soul and spirit. We are not thinking frogs, we -are not objectifying and registering apparatuses -with cold entrails,—our thoughts must be continually -born to us out of our pain, and we must, -motherlike, share with them all that we have in -us of blood, heart, ardour, joy, passion, pang, -conscience, fate and fatality. Life—that means -for us to transform constantly into light and flame -all that we are, and also all that we meet with; -we <i>cannot</i> possibly do otherwise. And as regards -sickness, should we not be almost tempted to ask -whether we could in general dispense with it? It -is great pain only which is the ultimate emancipator -of the spirit; for it is the teacher of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span><i>strong suspicion</i> which makes an X out of every U<a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c011'><sup>[1]</sup></a>, a true, -correct X, <i>i.e.</i>, the ante-penultimate letter.... It is -great pain only, the long slow pain which takes -time, by which we are burned as it were with -green wood, that compels us philosophers to descend -into our ultimate depths, and divest ourselves -of all trust, all good-nature, veiling, gentleness, and -averageness, wherein we have perhaps formerly -installed our humanity. I doubt whether such -pain "improves" us; but I know that it <i>deepens</i> -us. Be it that we learn to confront it with our -pride, our scorn, our strength of will, doing like the -Indian who, however sorely tortured, revenges himself -on his tormentor with his bitter tongue; be it -that we withdraw from the pain into the oriental -nothingness—it is called Nirvana,—into mute, -benumbed, deaf self-surrender, self-forgetfulness, -and self-effacement: one emerges from such long, -dangerous exercises in self-mastery as another being, -with several additional notes of interrogation, and -above all, with the <i>will</i> to question more than ever, -more profoundly, more strictly, more sternly, more -wickedly, more quietly than has ever been questioned -hitherto. Confidence in life is gone: life -itself has become a <i>problem</i>.—Let it not be imagined -that one has necessarily become a hypochondriac -thereby! Even love of life is still possible—only -one loves differently. It is the love of a woman -of whom one is doubtful.... The charm, however, -of all that is problematic, the delight in the -X, is too great in those more spiritual and more -spiritualised men, not to spread itself again and -again like a clear glow over all the trouble of the -problematic, over all the danger of uncertainty, -and even over the jealousy of the lover. We know -a new happiness....</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span> - <h3 class='c009'>4.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'>Finally, (that the most essential may not remain -unsaid), one comes back out of such abysses, out -of such severe sickness, and out of the sickness of -strong suspicion—<i>new-born</i>, with the skin cast; -more sensitive, more wicked, with a finer taste for -joy, with a more delicate tongue for all good -things, with a merrier disposition, with a second -and more dangerous innocence in joy; more -childish at the same time, and a hundred times -more refined than ever before. Oh, how repugnant -to us now is pleasure, coarse, dull, drab -pleasure, as the pleasure-seekers, our "cultured" -classes, our rich and ruling classes, usually understand -it! How malignantly we now listen to the -great holiday-hubbub with which "cultured people" -and city-men at present allow themselves to be -forced to "spiritual enjoyment" by art, books, and -music, with the help of spirituous liquors! How -the theatrical cry of passion now pains our ear, how -strange to our taste has all the romantic riot and -sensuous bustle which the cultured populace love -become (together with their aspirations after the -exalted, the elevated, and the intricate)! No, if -we convalescents need an art at all, it is <i>another</i> -art—a mocking, light, volatile, divinely serene, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>divinely ingenious art, which blazes up like a clear -flame, into a cloudless heaven! Above all, an art -for artists, only for artists! We at last know -better what is first of all necessary <i>for it</i>—namely, -cheerfulness, <i>every</i> kind of cheerfulness, my friends! -also as artists:—I should like to prove it. We now -know something too well, we men of knowledge: -oh, how well we are now learning to forget and <i>not</i> -know, as artists! And as to our future, we are not -likely to be found again in the tracks of those -Egyptian youths who at night make the temples -unsafe, embrace statues, and would fain unveil, -uncover, and put in clear light, everything which -for good reasons is kept concealed.<a id='r2' /><a href='#f2' class='c011'><sup>[2]</sup></a> No, we have -got disgusted with this bad taste, this will to truth, -to "truth at all costs," this youthful madness in -the love of truth: we are now too experienced, too -serious, too joyful, too singed, too profound for -that.... We no longer believe that truth remains -truth when the veil is withdrawn from it: we have -lived long enough to believe this. At present we -regard it as a matter of propriety not to be anxious -either to see everything naked, or to be present at -everything, or to understand and "know" everything. -"Is it true that the good God is everywhere -present?" asked a little girl of her mother: "I -think that is indecent":—a hint to philosophers! -One should have more reverence for the <i>shamefacedness</i> -with which nature has concealed herself -behind enigmas and motley uncertainties. Perhaps -truth is a woman who has reasons for not -showing her reasons? Perhaps her name is Baubo, -to speak in Greek?... Oh, those Greeks! They -knew how <i>to live</i>: for that purpose it is necessary to -keep bravely to the surface, the fold and the skin; -to worship appearance, to believe in forms, tones, -and words, in the whole Olympus of appearance! -Those Greeks were superficial—<i>from profundity</i>! -And are we not coming back precisely to this -point, we dare-devils of the spirit, who have scaled -the highest and most dangerous peak of contemporary -thought, and have looked around us from -it, have <i>looked down</i> from it? Are we not precisely -in this respect—Greeks? Worshippers of forms, -of tones, and of words? And precisely on that -account—artists?</p> - -<p class='c012'><span class='sc'>Ruta</span>, near <span class='sc'>Genoa</span></p> - -<p class='c012'><i>Autumn, 1886.</i></p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span> - <h2 class='c004'>JEST, RUSE AND REVENGE.<br /> <br />A PRELUDE IN RHYME.</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span> - <h3 class='c009'>1.<br /> <br /><i>Invitation.</i></h3> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Venture, comrades, I implore you,</div> - <div class='line'>On the fare I set before you,</div> - <div class='line in2'>You will like it more to-morrow,</div> - <div class='line in4'>Better still the following day:</div> - <div class='line'>If yet more you're then requiring,</div> - <div class='line'>Old success I'll find inspiring,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And fresh courage thence will borrow</div> - <div class='line in4'>Novel dainties to display.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>2.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>My Good Luck.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Weary of Seeking had I grown,</div> - <div class='line in2'>So taught myself the way to Find:</div> - <div class='line'>Back by the storm I once was blown,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But follow now, where drives the wind.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>3.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Undismayed.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Where you're standing, dig, dig out:</div> - <div class='line in2'>Down below's the Well:</div> - <div class='line'>Let them that walk in darkness shout:</div> - <div class='line in2'>"Down below—there's Hell!"</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span> - <h3 class='c009'>4.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Dialogue.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>A.</i> Was I ill? and is it ended?</div> - <div class='line in3'>Pray, by what physician tended?</div> - <div class='line in3'>I recall no pain endured!</div> - <div class='line'><i>B.</i> Now I know your trouble's ended:</div> - <div class='line in3'>He that can forget, is cured.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>5.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>To the Virtuous.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Let our virtues be easy and nimble-footed in motion,</div> - <div class='line'>Like unto Homer's verse ought they to come <i>and to go</i>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>6.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Worldly Wisdom.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Stay not on level plain,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Climb not the mount too high,</div> - <div class='line'>But half-way up remain—</div> - <div class='line in2'>The world you'll best descry!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>7.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Vademecum—Vadetecum.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Attracted by my style and talk</div> - <div class='line'>You'd follow, in my footsteps walk?</div> - <div class='line'>Follow yourself unswervingly,</div> - <div class='line'>So—careful!—shall you follow me.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span> - <h3 class='c009'>8.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Third Sloughing.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My skin bursts, breaks for fresh rebirth,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And new desires come thronging:</div> - <div class='line'>Much I've devoured, yet for more earth</div> - <div class='line in2'>The serpent in me's longing.</div> - <div class='line'>'Twixt stone and grass I crawl once more,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Hungry, by crooked ways,</div> - <div class='line'>To eat the food I ate before,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Earth-fare all serpents praise!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>9.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>My Roses.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My luck's good—I'd make yours fairer,</div> - <div class='line'>(Good luck ever needs a sharer),</div> - <div class='line'>Will you stop and pluck my roses?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Oft mid rocks and thorns you'll linger,</div> - <div class='line'>Hide and stoop, suck bleeding finger—</div> - <div class='line'>Will you stop and pluck my roses?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>For my good luck's a trifle vicious,</div> - <div class='line'>Fond of teasing, tricks malicious—</div> - <div class='line'>Will you stop and pluck my roses?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>10.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Scorner.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Many drops I waste and spill,</div> - <div class='line'>So my scornful mood you curse:</div> - <div class='line'>Who to brim his cup doth fill,</div> - <div class='line'>Many drops <i>must</i> waste and spill—</div> - <div class='line'>Yet he thinks the wine no worse.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span> - <h3 class='c009'>11.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Proverb Speaks.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Harsh and gentle, fine and mean,</div> - <div class='line'>Quite rare and common, dirty and clean,</div> - <div class='line'>The fools' and the sages' go-between:</div> - <div class='line'>All this I will be, this have been,</div> - <div class='line'>Dove and serpent and swine, I ween!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>12.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>To a Lover of Light.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>That eye and sense be not fordone</div> - <div class='line'>E'en in the shade pursue the sun!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>13.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>For Dancers.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Smoothest ice,</div> - <div class='line'>A paradise</div> - <div class='line'>To him who is a dancer nice.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>14.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Brave Man.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A feud that knows not flaw nor break,</div> - <div class='line'>Rather then patched-up friendship, take.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>15.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Rust.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Rust's needed: keenness will not satisfy!</div> - <div class='line'>"He is too young!" the rabble loves to cry.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>16.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Excelsior.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"How shall I reach the top?" No time</div> - <div class='line'>For thus reflecting! Start to climb!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span> - <h3 class='c009'>17.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Man of Power Speaks.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Ask never! Cease that whining, pray!</div> - <div class='line'>Take without asking, take alway!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>18.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Narrow Souls.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Narrow souls hate I like the devil,</div> - <div class='line'>Souls wherein grows nor good nor evil.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>19.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Accidentally a Seducer.</i><a id='r3' /><a href='#f3' class='c011'><sup>[3]</sup></a></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>He shot an empty word</div> - <div class='line in2'>Into the empty blue;</div> - <div class='line'>But on the way it met</div> - <div class='line in2'>A woman whom it slew.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>20.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>For Consideration.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A twofold pain is easier far to bear</div> - <div class='line'>Than one: so now to suffer wilt thou dare?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>21.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Against Pride.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Brother, to puff thyself up ne'er be quick:</div> - <div class='line'>For burst thou shalt be by a tiny prick!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>22.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Man and Woman.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"The woman seize, who to thy heart appeals!"</div> - <div class='line'>Man's motto: woman seizes not, but steals.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span> - <h3 class='c009'>23.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Interpretation.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>If I explain my wisdom, surely</div> - <div class='line'>'Tis but entangled more securely,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I can't expound myself aright:</div> - <div class='line'>But he that's boldly up and doing,</div> - <div class='line'>His own unaided course pursuing,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Upon my image casts more light!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>24.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>A Cure for Pessimism.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Those old capricious fancies, friend!</div> - <div class='line in2'>You say your palate naught can please,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I hear you bluster, spit and wheeze,</div> - <div class='line'>My love, my patience soon will end!</div> - <div class='line'>Pluck up your courage, follow me—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Here's a fat toad! Now then, don't blink,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Swallow it whole, nor pause to think!</div> - <div class='line'>From your dyspepsia you'll be free!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>25.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>A Request.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Many men's minds I know full well,</div> - <div class='line'>Yet what mine own is, cannot tell.</div> - <div class='line'>I cannot see—my eye's too near—</div> - <div class='line'>And falsely to myself appear.</div> - <div class='line'>'Twould be to me a benefit</div> - <div class='line'>Far from myself if I could sit,</div> - <div class='line'>Less distant than my enemy,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>And yet my nearest friend's too nigh—</div> - <div class='line'>'Twixt him and me, just in the middle!</div> - <div class='line'>What do I ask for? Guess my riddle!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>26.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>My Cruelty.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I must ascend an hundred stairs,</div> - <div class='line'>I must ascend: the herd declares</div> - <div class='line'>I'm cruel: "Are we made of stone?"</div> - <div class='line'>I must ascend an hundred stairs:</div> - <div class='line'>All men the part of stair disown.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>27.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Wanderer.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"No longer path! Abyss and silence chilling!"</div> - <div class='line'>Thy fault! To leave the path thou wast too willing!</div> - <div class='line'>Now comes the test! Keep cool—eyes bright and clear!</div> - <div class='line'>Thou'rt lost for sure, if thou permittest—fear.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>28.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Encouragement for Beginners.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>See the infant, helpless creeping—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Swine around it grunt swine-talk—</div> - <div class='line'>Weeping always, naught but weeping,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Will it ever learn to walk?</div> - <div class='line'>Never fear! Just wait, I swear it</div> - <div class='line in2'>Soon to dance will be inclined,</div> - <div class='line'>And this babe, when two legs bear it,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Standing on its head you'll find.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span> - <h3 class='c009'>29.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Planet Egoism.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Did I not turn, a rolling cask,</div> - <div class='line'>Ever about myself, I ask,</div> - <div class='line'>How could I without burning run</div> - <div class='line'>Close on the track of the hot sun?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>30.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Neighbour.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Too nigh, my friend my joy doth mar,</div> - <div class='line'>I'd have him high above and far,</div> - <div class='line'>Or how can he become my star?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>31.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Disguised Saint.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Lest we for thy bliss should slay thee,</div> - <div class='line'>In devil's wiles thou dost array thee,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Devil's wit and devil's dress.</div> - <div class='line'>But in vain! Thy looks betray thee</div> - <div class='line in2'>And proclaim thy holiness.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>32.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Slave.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>A.</i> He stands and listens: whence his pain?</div> - <div class='line in3'>What smote his ears? Some far refrain?</div> - <div class='line in3'>Why is his heart with anguish torn?</div> - <div class='line'><i>B.</i> Like all that fetters once have worn,</div> - <div class='line in3'>He always hears the clinking—chain!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span> - <h3 class='c009'>33.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Lone One.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I hate to follow and I hate to lead.</div> - <div class='line'>Obedience? no! and ruling? no, indeed!</div> - <div class='line in2'>Wouldst fearful be in others' sight?</div> - <div class='line in2'>Then e'en <i>thyself</i> thou must affright:</div> - <div class='line'>The people but the Terror's guidance heed.</div> - <div class='line'>I hate to guide myself, I hate the fray.</div> - <div class='line'>Like the wild beasts I'll wander far afield.</div> - <div class='line in2'>In Error's pleasing toils I'll roam</div> - <div class='line in2'>Awhile, then lure myself back home,</div> - <div class='line'>Back home, and—to my self-seduction yield.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>34.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Seneca et hoc Genus omne.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They write and write (quite maddening me)</div> - <div class='line'>Their "sapient" twaddle airy,</div> - <div class='line'>As if 'twere <i>primum scribere,</i></div> - <div class='line'><i>Deinde philosophari</i>.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>35.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Ice.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yes! I manufacture ice:</div> - <div class='line'>Ice may help you to digest:</div> - <div class='line'>If you <i>had</i> much to digest,</div> - <div class='line'>How you would enjoy my ice!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>36.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Youthful Writings.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My wisdom's A and final O</div> - <div class='line'>Was then the sound that smote mine ear.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>Yet now it rings no longer so,</div> - <div class='line'>My youth's eternal Ah! and Oh!</div> - <div class='line'>Is now the only sound I hear.<a id='r4' /><a href='#f4' class='c011'><sup>[4]</sup></a></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>37.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Foresight.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In yonder region travelling, take good care!</div> - <div class='line'>An hast thou wit, then be thou doubly ware!</div> - <div class='line'>They'll smile and lure thee; then thy limbs they'll tear:</div> - <div class='line'>Fanatics' country this where wits are rare!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>38.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Pious One Speaks.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>God loves us, <i>for</i> he made us, sent us here!—</div> - <div class='line'>"Man hath made God!" ye subtle ones reply.</div> - <div class='line'>His handiwork he must hold dear,</div> - <div class='line'>And <i>what he made</i> shall he deny?</div> - <div class='line'>There sounds the devil's halting hoof, I fear.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>39.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>In Summer.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In sweat of face, so runs the screed,</div> - <div class='line in2'>We e'er must eat our bread,</div> - <div class='line'>Yet wise physicians if we heed</div> - <div class='line in2'>"Eat naught in sweat," 'tis said.</div> - <div class='line'>The dog-star's blinking: what's his need?</div> - <div class='line in2'>What tells his blazing sign?</div> - <div class='line'>In sweat of face (so runs <i>his</i> screed)</div> - <div class='line in2'>We're meant to drink our wine!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span> - <h3 class='c009'>40.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Without Envy.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>His look bewrays no envy: and ye laud him?</div> - <div class='line'>He cares not, asks not if your throng applaud him!</div> - <div class='line'>He has the eagle's eye for distance far,</div> - <div class='line'>He sees you not, he sees but star on star!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>41.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Heraclitism.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Brethren, war's the origin</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of happiness on earth:</div> - <div class='line'>Powder-smoke and battle-din</div> - <div class='line in2'>Witness friendship's birth!</div> - <div class='line'>Friendship means three things, you know,—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Kinship in luckless plight,</div> - <div class='line'>Equality before the foe</div> - <div class='line in2'>Freedom—in death's sight!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>42.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Maxim of the Over-refined.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"Rather on your toes stand high</div> - <div class='line in2'>Than crawl upon all fours,</div> - <div class='line'>Rather through the keyhole spy</div> - <div class='line in2'>Than through open doors!"</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>43.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Exhortation.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Renown you're quite resolved to earn?</div> - <div class='line in2'>My thought about it</div> - <div class='line'>Is this: you need not fame, must learn</div> - <div class='line in2'>To do without it!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span> - <h3 class='c009'>44.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Thorough.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I an Inquirer? No, that's not my calling</div> - <div class='line in2'>Only <i>I weigh a lot</i>—I'm such a lump!—</div> - <div class='line'>And through the waters I keep falling, falling,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Till on the ocean's deepest bed I bump.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>45.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Immortals.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"To-day is meet for me, I come to-day,"</div> - <div class='line'>Such is the speech of men foredoomed to stay.</div> - <div class='line in2'>"Thou art too soon," they cry, "thou art too late,"</div> - <div class='line'>What care the Immortals what the rabble say?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>46.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Verdicts of the Weary.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The weary shun the glaring sun, afraid,</div> - <div class='line'>And only care for trees to gain the shade.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>47.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Descent.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"He sinks, he falls," your scornful looks portend:</div> - <div class='line'>The truth is, to your level he'll descend.</div> - <div class='line in2'>His Too Much Joy is turned to weariness,</div> - <div class='line'>His Too Much Light will in your darkness end.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>48.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Nature Silenced.</i><a id='r5' /><a href='#f5' class='c011'><sup>[5]</sup></a></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Around my neck, on chain of hair,</div> - <div class='line'>The timepiece hangs—a sign of care.</div> - <div class='line'>For me the starry course is o'er,</div> - <div class='line'>No sun and shadow as before,</div> - <div class='line'>No cockcrow summons at the door,</div> - <div class='line'>For nature tells the time no more!</div> - <div class='line'>Too many clocks her voice have drowned,</div> - <div class='line'>And droning law has dulled her sound.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span> - <h3 class='c009'>49.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Sage Speaks.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Strange to the crowd, yet useful to the crowd,</div> - <div class='line'>I still pursue my path, now sun, now cloud,</div> - <div class='line'>But always pass above the crowd!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>50.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>He lost his Head....</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>She now has wit—how did it come her way?</div> - <div class='line'>A man through her his reason lost, they say.</div> - <div class='line'>His head, though wise ere to this pastime lent,</div> - <div class='line'>Straight to the devil—no, to woman went!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>51.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>A Pious Wish.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"Oh, might all keys be lost! 'Twere better so</div> - <div class='line'>And in all keyholes might the pick-lock go!"</div> - <div class='line'>Who thus reflects ye may as—picklock know.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>52.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Foot Writing.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I write not with the hand alone,</div> - <div class='line in2'>My foot would write, my foot that capers,</div> - <div class='line'>Firm, free and bold, it's marching on</div> - <div class='line in2'>Now through the fields, now through the papers.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span> - <h3 class='c009'>53.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div>"<i>Human, All-too-Human.</i>"...</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Shy, gloomy, when your looks are backward thrust,</div> - <div class='line'>Trusting the future where yourself you trust,</div> - <div class='line'>Are you an eagle, mid the nobler fowl,</div> - <div class='line'>Or are you like Minerva's darling owl?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>54.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>To my Reader.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Good teeth and a digestion good</div> - <div class='line in2'>I wish you—these you need, be sure!</div> - <div class='line'>And, certes, if my book you've stood,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Me with good humour you'll endure.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>55.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Realistic Painter.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"To nature true, complete!" so he begins.</div> - <div class='line'>Who complete Nature to his canvas <i>wins</i>?</div> - <div class='line'>Her tiniest fragment's endless, no constraint</div> - <div class='line'>Can know: he paints just what his <i>fancy</i> pins:</div> - <div class='line'>What does his fancy pin? What he <i>can</i> paint!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>56.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Poets' Vanity.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Glue, only glue to me dispense,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The wood I'll find myself, don't fear!</div> - <div class='line'>To give four senseless verses sense—</div> - <div class='line in2'>That's an achievement I revere!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span> - <h3 class='c009'>57.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Taste in Choosing.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>If to choose my niche precise</div> - <div class='line in2'>Freedom I could win from fate,</div> - <div class='line'>I'd be in midst of Paradise—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or, sooner still—before the gate!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>58.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Crooked Nose.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wide blow your nostrils, and across</div> - <div class='line'>The land your nose holds haughty sway:</div> - <div class='line'>So you, unhorned rhinoceros,</div> - <div class='line'>Proud mannikin, fall forward aye!</div> - <div class='line'>The one trait with the other goes:</div> - <div class='line'>A straight pride and a crooked nose.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>59.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Pen is Scratching....</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The pen is scratching: hang the pen!</div> - <div class='line in2'>To scratching I'm condemned to sink!</div> - <div class='line'>I grasp the inkstand fiercely then</div> - <div class='line in2'>And write in floods of flowing ink.</div> - <div class='line'>How broad, how full the stream's career!</div> - <div class='line in2'>What luck my labours doth requite!</div> - <div class='line'>'Tis true, the writing's none too clear—</div> - <div class='line in2'>What then? Who reads the stuff I write?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>60.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Loftier Spirits.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>This man's climbing up—let us praise him—</div> - <div class='line'>But that other we love</div> - <div class='line'>From aloft doth eternally move,</div> - <div class='line'>So above even praise let us raise him,</div> - <div class='line'>He <i>comes</i> from above!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span> - <h3 class='c009'>61.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>The Sceptic Speaks.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Your life is half-way o'er;</div> - <div class='line'>The clock-hand moves; your soul is thrilled with fear,</div> - <div class='line'>It roamed to distant shore</div> - <div class='line'>And sought and found not, yet you—linger here!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Your life is half-way o'er;</div> - <div class='line'>That hour by hour was pain and error sheer:</div> - <div class='line'><i>Why stay?</i> What seek you more?</div> - <div class='line'>"That's what I'm seeking—reasons why I'm here!"</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>62.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Ecce Homo.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yes, I know where I'm related,</div> - <div class='line'>Like the flame, unquenched, unsated,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I consume myself and glow:</div> - <div class='line'>All's turned to light I lay my hand on,</div> - <div class='line'>All to coal that I abandon,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Yes, I am a flame, I know!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>63.</h3> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div><i>Star Morality.</i><a id='r6' /><a href='#f6' class='c011'><sup>[6]</sup></a></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Foredoomed to spaces vast and far,</div> - <div class='line'>What matters darkness to the star?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Roll calmly on, let time go by,</div> - <div class='line'>Let sorrows pass thee—nations die!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Compassion would but dim the light</div> - <div class='line'>That distant worlds will gladly sight.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>To thee one law—be pure and bright!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span> - <h2 class='c004'>BOOK FIRST</h2> -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span> - <h3 class='c009'>1.</h3> -</div> -<p class='c010'><i>The Teachers of the Object of Existence.</i>—Whether -I look with a good or an evil eye upon men, I find -them always at one problem, each and all of them: -to do that which conduces to the conservation of -the human species. And certainly not out of any -sentiment of love for this species, but simply -because nothing in them is older, stronger, more -inexorable, and more unconquerable than that -instinct,—because it is precisely <i>the essence</i> of our -race and herd. Although we are accustomed -readily enough, with our usual short-sightedness, -to separate our neighbours precisely into useful -and hurtful, into good and evil men, yet when we -make a general calculation, and on longer reflection -on the whole question, we become distrustful -of this defining and separating, and finally -leave it alone. Even the most hurtful man -is still perhaps, in respect to the conservation -of the race, the most useful of all; for he conserves -in himself or by his effect on others, impulses -without which mankind might long ago have languished -or decayed. Hatred, delight in mischief, -rapacity and ambition, and whatever else is called -evil—belong to the marvellous economy of the -conservation of the race; to be sure a costly, lavish, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>and on the whole very foolish economy:—which -has, however, hitherto preserved our race, <i>as is -demonstrated to us</i>. I no longer know, my dear -fellow-man and neighbour, if thou <i>canst</i> at all live to -the disadvantage of the race, and therefore, "unreasonably" -and "badly"; that which could have -injured the race has perhaps died out many -millenniums ago, and now belongs to the things -which are no longer possible even to God. Indulge -thy best or thy worst desires, and above all, go to -wreck!—in either case thou art still probably the -furtherer and benefactor of mankind in some way -or other, and in that respect thou mayest have -thy panegyrists—and similarly thy mockers! But -thou wilt never find him who would be quite -qualified to mock at thee, the individual, at thy -best, who could bring home to thy conscience its -limitless, buzzing and croaking wretchedness so -as to be in accord with truth! To laugh at -oneself as one would have to laugh in order to -laugh <i>out of the veriest truth</i>,—to do this the best -have not hitherto had enough of the sense of truth, -and the most endowed have had far too little -genius! There is perhaps still a future even for -laughter! When the maxim, "The race is all, -the individual is nothing,"—has incorporated itself -in humanity, and when access stands open to -every one at all times to this ultimate emancipation -and irresponsibility.—Perhaps then laughter -will have united with wisdom, perhaps then there -will be only "joyful wisdom." Meanwhile, however, -it is quite otherwise, meanwhile the comedy of -existence has not yet "become conscious" of itself, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>meanwhile it is still the period of tragedy, the -period of morals and religions. What does the -ever new appearing of founders of morals and -religions, of instigators of struggles for moral valuations, -of teachers of remorse of conscience and -religious war, imply? What do these heroes on -this stage imply? For they have hitherto been -the heroes of it, and all else, though solely visible -for the time being, and too close to one, has served -only as preparation for these heroes, whether as -machinery and coulisse, or in the rôle of confidants -and valets. (The poets, for example, have always -been the valets of some morality or other.)—It is -obvious of itself that these tragedians also work in -the interest of the <i>race</i>, though they may believe -that they work in the interest of God, and as -emissaries of God. They also further the life of -the species, <i>in that they further the belief in life</i>. -"It is worth while to live"—each of them calls -out,—"there is something of importance in this -life; life has something behind it and under it; -take care!" That impulse, which rules equally in -the noblest and the ignoblest, the impulse towards -the conservation of the species, breaks forth from -time to time as reason and passion of spirit; it -has then a brilliant train of motives about it, and -tries with all its power to make us forget that -fundamentally it is just impulse, instinct, folly and -baselessness. Life <i>should</i> be loved, <i>for</i> ...! Man -<i>should</i> benefit himself and his neighbour, <i>for</i> ...! -And whatever all these <i>shoulds</i> and <i>fors</i> imply, -and may imply in future! In order that that -which necessarily and always happens of itself and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>without design, may henceforth appear to be done -by design, and may appeal to men as reason and -ultimate command,—for that purpose the ethiculturist -comes forward as the teacher of design in -existence; for that purpose he devises a second and -different existence, and by means of this new -mechanism he lifts the old common existence off -its old common hinges. No! he does not at all -want us to <i>laugh</i> at existence, nor even at ourselves—nor -at himself; to him an individual is always -an individual, something first and last and immense, -to him there are no species, no sums, no noughts. -However foolish and fanatical his inventions and -valuations may be, however much he may misunderstand -the course of nature and deny its conditions—and -all systems of ethics hitherto have -been foolish and anti-natural to such a degree that -mankind would have been ruined by any one of -them had it got the upper hand,—at any rate, every -time that "the hero" came upon the stage something -new was attained: the frightful counterpart -of laughter, the profound convulsion of many individuals -at the thought, "Yes, it is worth while to -live! yes, I am worthy to live!"—life, and thou, and -I, and all of us together became for a while <i>interesting</i> -to ourselves once more.—It is not to be denied -that hitherto laughter and reason and nature have -<i>in the long run</i> got the upper hand of all the great -teachers of design: in the end the short tragedy -always passed over once more into the eternal -comedy of existence; and the "waves of innumerable -laughters"—to use the expression of -Æschylus—must also in the end beat over the greatest -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>of these tragedies. But with all this corrective -laughter, human nature has on the whole been -changed by the ever new appearance of those -teachers of the design of existence,—human nature -has now an additional requirement, the very requirement -of the ever new appearance of such teachers -and doctrines of "design." Man has gradually become -a visionary animal, who has to fulfil one more -condition of existence than the other animals: man -<i>must</i> from time to time believe that he knows <i>why</i> -he exists; his species cannot flourish without periodically -confiding in life! Without the belief in -<i>reason in life</i>! And always from time to time -will the human race decree anew that "there is -something which really may not be laughed at." -And the most clairvoyant philanthropist will add -that "not only laughing and joyful wisdom, but also -the tragic, with all its sublime irrationality, counts -among the means and necessities for the conservation -of the race!"—And consequently! Consequently! -Consequently! Do you understand me, -oh my brothers? Do you understand this new -law of ebb and flow? We also shall have our time!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>2.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Intellectual Conscience.</i>—I have always the -same experience over again, and always make a -new effort against it; for although it is evident to -me I do not want to believe it: <i>in the greater number -of men the intellectual conscience is lacking</i>; indeed, -it would often seem to me that in demanding such -a thing, one is as solitary in the largest cities as in -the desert. Everyone looks at you with strange -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>eyes, and continues to make use of his scales, -calling this good and that bad; and no one blushes -for shame when you remark that these weights are -not the full amount,—there is also no indignation -against you; perhaps they laugh at your doubt. I -mean to say that <i>the greater number of people</i> do -not find it contemptible to believe this or that, and -live according to it, <i>without</i> having been previously -aware of the ultimate and surest reasons for and -against it, and without even giving themselves any -trouble about such reasons afterwards,—the most -gifted men and the noblest women still belong to -this "greater number." But what is kind-heartedness, -refinement and genius to me, if the man with -these virtues harbours indolent sentiments in belief -and judgment, if <i>the longing for certainty</i> does not -rule in him, as his innermost desire and profoundest -need—as that which separates higher from lower -men! In certain pious people I have found -a hatred of reason, and have been favourably -disposed to them for it: their bad, intellectual -conscience still betrayed itself, at least in this -manner! But to stand in the midst of this <i>rerum -concordia discors</i> and all the marvellous uncertainty -and ambiguity of existence, <i>and not to question</i>, not -to tremble with desire and delight in questioning, -not even to hate the questioner—perhaps even to -make merry over him to the extent of weariness—that -is what I regard as <i>contemptible</i>, and it is this -sentiment which I first of all search for in every -one:—some folly or other always persuades me -anew that every man has this sentiment, as man. -This is my special kind of unrighteousness.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span> - <h3 class='c009'>3.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Noble and Ignoble.</i>—To ignoble natures all noble, -magnanimous sentiments appear inexpedient, and -on that account first and foremost, as incredible: -they blink with their eyes when they hear of such -matters, and seem inclined to say, "there will, no -doubt, be some advantage therefrom, one cannot -see through all walls;"—they are jealous of the -noble person, as if he sought advantage by back-stair -methods. When they are all too plainly -convinced of the absence of selfish intentions and -emoluments, the noble person is regarded by them -as a kind of fool: they despise him in his gladness, -and laugh at the lustre of his eye. "How can a -person rejoice at being at a disadvantage, how can -a person with open eyes want to meet with disadvantage! -It must be a disease of the reason -with which the noble affection is associated,"—so -they think, and they look depreciatingly thereon; -just as they depreciate the joy which the lunatic -derives from his fixed idea. The ignoble nature -is distinguished by the fact that it keeps its -advantage steadily in view, and that this thought -of the end and advantage is even stronger than -its strongest impulse: not to be tempted to -inexpedient activities by its impulses—that is its -wisdom and inspiration. In comparison with -the ignoble nature the higher nature is <i>more -irrational</i>:—for the noble, magnanimous, and -self-sacrificing person succumbs in fact to his -impulses, and in his best moments his reason -<i>lapses</i> altogether. An animal, which at the risk -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>of life protects its young, or in the pairing season -follows the female where it meets with death, does -not think of the risk and the death; its reason -pauses likewise, because its delight in its young, -or in the female, and the fear of being deprived -of this delight, dominate it exclusively; it becomes -stupider than at other times, like the noble and -magnanimous person. He possesses feelings of -pleasure and pain of such intensity that the -intellect must either be silent before them, or -yield itself to their service: his heart then goes -into his head, and one henceforth speaks of -"passions." (Here and there to be sure, the -antithesis to this, and as it were the "reverse of -passion," presents itself; for example in Fontenelle, -to whom some one once laid the hand on the heart -with the words, "What you have there, my dearest -friend, is brain also.") It is the unreason, or perverse -reason of passion, which the ignoble man despises -in the noble individual, especially when it concentrates -upon objects whose value appears to him -to be altogether fantastic and arbitrary. He is -offended at him who succumbs to the passion -of the belly, but he understands the allurement which -here plays the tyrant; but he does not understand, -for example, how a person out of love of knowledge -can stake his health and honour on the game. -The taste of the higher nature devotes itself to -exceptional matters, to things which usually do -not affect people, and seem to have no sweetness; -the higher nature has a singular standard of value. -Besides, it is mostly of the belief that it has <i>not</i> -a singular standard of value in its idiosyncrasies -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>of taste; it rather sets up its values and non-values -as the generally valid values and non-values, and -thus becomes incomprehensible and impracticable. -It is very rarely that a higher nature has so much -reason over and above as to understand and deal -with everyday men as such; for the most part -it believes in its passion as if it were the concealed -passion of every one, and precisely in this belief -it is full of ardour and eloquence. If then such -exceptional men do not perceive themselves as -exceptions, how can they ever understand the -ignoble natures and estimate average men fairly! -Thus it is that they also speak of the folly, -inexpediency and fantasy of mankind, full of -astonishment at the madness of the world, and -that it will not recognise the "one thing needful -for it."—This is the eternal unrighteousness of -noble natures.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>4.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>That which Preserves the Species.</i>—The strongest -and most evil spirits have hitherto advanced mankind -the most: they always rekindled the sleeping -passions—all orderly arranged society lulls the -passions to sleep; they always reawakened the -sense of comparison, of contradiction, of delight -in the new, the adventurous, the untried; they -compelled men to set opinion against opinion, ideal -plan against ideal plan. By means of arms, by -upsetting boundary-stones, by violations of piety -most of all: but also by new religions and morals! -The same kind of "wickedness" is in every teacher -and preacher of the <i>new</i>—which makes a conqueror -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>infamous, although it expresses itself more refinedly, -and does not immediately set the muscles in motion -(and just on that account does not make so infamous!). -The new, however, is under all circumstances -the <i>evil</i>, as that which wants to conquer, -which tries to upset the old boundary-stones and -the old piety; only the old is the good! The -good men of every age are those who go to the -roots of the old thoughts and bear fruit with them, -the agriculturists of the spirit. But every soil becomes -finally exhausted, and the ploughshare of -evil must always come once more.—There is at -present a fundamentally erroneous theory of morals -which is much celebrated, especially in England: -according to it the judgments "good" and "evil" -are the accumulation of the experiences of that -which is "expedient" and "inexpedient"; according -to this theory, that which is called good is -conservative of the species, what is called evil, however, -is detrimental to it. But in reality the evil -impulses are just in as high a degree expedient, -indispensable, and conservative of the species as -the good:—only, their function is different.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>5.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Unconditional Duties.</i>—All men who feel that -they need the strongest words and intonations, the -most eloquent gestures and attitudes, in order to -operate <i>at all</i>—revolutionary politicians, socialists, -preachers of repentance with or without Christianity, -with all of whom there must be no mere half-success,—all -these speak of "duties," and indeed, always -of duties, which have the character of being unconditional—without -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>such they would have no right -to their excessive pathos: they know that right -well! They grasp, therefore, at philosophies of -morality which preach some kind of categorical -imperative, or they assimilate a good lump of -religion, as, for example, Mazzini did. Because -they want to be trusted unconditionally, it is first -of all necessary for them to trust themselves unconditionally, -on the basis of some ultimate, undebatable -command, sublime in itself, as the ministers -and instruments of which, they would fain feel and -announce themselves. Here we have the most -natural, and for the most part, very influential -opponents of moral enlightenment and scepticism: -but they are rare. On the other hand, there is -always a very numerous class of those opponents -wherever interest teaches subjection, while repute -and honour seem to forbid it. He who feels himself -dishonoured at the thought of being the <i>instrument</i> -of a prince, or of a party and sect, or even of -wealthy power (for example, as the descendant of -a proud, ancient family), but wishes just to be -this instrument, or must be so before himself and -before the public—such a person has need of -pathetic principles which can at all times be -appealed to:—principles of an unconditional <i>ought</i>, -to which a person can subject himself without -shame, and can show himself subjected. All more -refined servility holds fast to the categorical imperative, -and is the mortal enemy of those who want to -take away the unconditional character of duty: -propriety demands this from them, and not only -propriety.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span> - <h3 class='c009'>6.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Loss of Dignity.</i>—Meditation has lost all its -dignity of form; the ceremonial and solemn bearing -of the meditative person have been made a mockery, -and one would no longer endure a wise man of -the old style. We think too hastily and on the -way and while walking and in the midst of business -of all kinds, even when we think on the most -serious matters; we require little preparation, even -little quiet:—it is as if each of us carried about an -unceasingly revolving machine in his head, which -still works, even under the most unfavourable circumstances. -Formerly it was perceived in a person -that on some occasion he wanted to think—it was -perhaps the exception!—that he now wanted to -become wiser and collected his mind on a thought: -he put on a long face for it, as for a prayer, and -arrested his step—nay, stood still for hours on the -street when the thought "came"—on one or on -two legs. It was thus "worthy of the affair"!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>7.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Something for the Laborious.</i>—He who at present -wants to make moral questions a subject of study -has an immense field of labour before him. All -kinds of passions must be thought about singly, -and followed singly throughout periods, peoples, -great and insignificant individuals; all their rationality, -all their valuations and elucidations of things, -ought to come to light! Hitherto all that has -given colour to existence has lacked a history: -where would one find a history of love, of avarice, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>of envy, of conscience, of piety, of cruelty? Even -a comparative history of law, as also of punishment, -has hitherto been completely lacking. Have -the different divisions of the day, the consequences -of a regular appointment of the times for labour, -feast, and repose, ever been made the object of -investigation? Do we know the moral effects of -the alimentary substances? Is there a philosophy -of nutrition? (The ever-recurring outcry for and -against vegetarianism proves that as yet there -is no such philosophy!) Have the experiences -with regard to communal living, for example, in -monasteries, been collected? Has the dialectic -of marriage and friendship been set forth? The -customs of the learned, of trades-people, of artists, -and of mechanics—have they already found their -thinkers? There is so much to think of thereon! -All that up till now has been considered as the -"conditions of existence," of human beings, and all -reason, passion and superstition in this consideration—have -they been investigated to the end? -The observation alone of the different degrees of -development which the human impulses have -attained, and could yet attain, according to the -different moral climates, would furnish too much -work for the most laborious; whole generations, -and regular co-operating generations of the learned, -would be needed in order to exhaust the points -of view and the material here furnished. The -same is true of the determining of the reasons -for the differences of the moral climates ("<i>on what -account</i> does this sun of a fundamental moral judgment -and standard of highest value shine here—and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>that sun there?"). And there is again a new labour -which points out the erroneousness of all these -reasons, and determines the entire essence of the -moral judgments hitherto made. Supposing all these -labours to be accomplished, the most critical of all -questions would then come into the foreground: -whether science is in a position to <i>furnish</i> goals for -human action, after it has proved that it can take -them away and annihilate them—and then would be -the time for a process of experimenting in which -every kind of heroism could satisfy itself, an -experimenting for centuries, which would put into -the shade all the great labours and sacrifices of -previous history. Science has not hitherto built -its Cyclopic structures; for that also the time will -come.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>8.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Unconscious Virtues.</i>—All qualities in a man of -which he is conscious—and especially when he -presumes that they are visible and evident to his -environment also—are subject to quite other laws -of development than those qualities which are unknown -to him, or imperfectly known, which by -their subtlety can also conceal themselves from -the subtlest observer, and hide as it were behind -nothing,—as in the case of the delicate sculptures -on the scales of reptiles (it would be an error to -suppose them an adornment or a defence—for one -sees them only with the microscope; consequently, -with an eye artificially strengthened to an extent -of vision which similar animals, to which they -might perhaps have meant adornment or defence, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>do not possess!) Our visible moral qualities, and -especially our moral qualities <i>believed to be</i> visible, -follow their own course,—and our invisible qualities -of similar name, which in relation to others neither -serve for adornment nor defence, <i>also follow their -own course</i>: quite a different course probably, and -with lines and refinements, and sculptures, which -might perhaps give pleasure to a God with a divine -microscope. We have, for example, our diligence, -our ambition, our acuteness: all the world knows -about them,—and besides, we have probably once -more <i>our</i> diligence, <i>our</i> ambition, <i>our</i> acuteness; -but for these—our reptile scales—the microscope -has not yet been invented!—And here the adherents -of instinctive morality will say, "Bravo! He at -least regards unconscious virtues as possible—that -suffices us!"—Oh, ye unexacting creatures!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>9.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our Eruptions.</i>—Numberless things which -humanity acquired in its earlier stages, but so -weakly and embryonically that it could not be -noticed that they were acquired, are thrust suddenly -into light long afterwards, perhaps after the lapse of -centuries: they have in the interval become strong -and mature. In some ages this or that talent, this -or that virtue seems to be entirely lacking, as it -is in some men; but let us wait only for the -grandchildren and grandchildren's children, if we -have time to wait,—they bring the interior of their -grandfathers into the sun, that interior of which -the grandfathers themselves were unconscious. -The son, indeed, is often the betrayer of his father; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>the latter understands himself better since he has -got his son. We have all hidden gardens and -plantations in us; and by another simile, we are -all growing volcanoes, which will have their hours -of eruption:—how near or how distant this is, -nobody of course knows, not even the good God.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>10.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Species of Atavism.</i>—I like best to think of the -rare men of an age as suddenly emerging aftershoots -of past cultures, and of their persistent -strength: like the atavism of a people and its civilisation:—there -is thus still something in them to -<i>think of</i>! They now seem strange, rare, and extraordinary: -and he who feels these forces in himself -has to foster them in face of a different, opposing -world; he has to defend them, honour them, and rear -them to maturity: and he either becomes a great man -thereby, or a deranged and eccentric person, unless -he should altogether break down betimes. Formerly -these rare qualities were usual, and were consequently -regarded as common: they did not distinguish -people. Perhaps they were demanded and -presupposed; it was impossible to become great -with them, for indeed there was also no danger -of becoming insane and solitary with them.—It -is principally in the <i>old-established</i> families and -castes of a people that such after-effects of old -impulses present themselves, while there is no -probability of such atavism where races, habits, -and valuations change too rapidly. For the <i>tempo</i> -of the evolutional forces in peoples implies just -as much as in music; for our case an <i>andante</i> of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>evolution is absolutely necessary, as the <i>tempo</i> of a -passionate and slow spirit:—and the spirit of conserving -families is certainly of <i>that</i> sort.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>11.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Consciousness.</i>—Consciousness is the last and -latest development of the organic, and consequently -also the most unfinished and least powerful of these -developments. Innumerable mistakes originate out -of consciousness, which, "in spite of fate," as Homer -says, cause an animal or a man to break down -earlier than might be necessary. If the conserving -bond of the instincts were not very much -more powerful, it would not generally serve as a -regulator: by perverse judging and dreaming -with open eyes, by superficiality and credulity, -in short, just by consciousness, mankind would -necessarily have broken down: or rather, without -the former there would long ago have been nothing -more of the latter! Before a function is fully formed -and matured, it is a danger to the organism: -all the better if it be then thoroughly tyrannised -over! Consciousness is thus thoroughly tyrannised -over—and not least by the pride in it! It is -thought that here is <i>the quintessence</i> of man; that -which is enduring, eternal, ultimate, and most -original in him! Consciousness is regarded as a -fixed, given magnitude! Its growth and intermittences -are denied! It is accepted as the "unity of -the organism"!—This ludicrous overvaluation and -misconception of consciousness, has as its result the -great utility, that a too rapid maturing of it has -thereby been <i>hindered</i>. Because men believed that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>they already possessed consciousness, they gave -themselves very little trouble to acquire it—and -even now it is not otherwise! It is still an -entirely new <i>problem</i> just dawning on the human -eye and hardly yet plainly recognisable: <i>to embody -knowledge in ourselves</i> and make it instinctive,—a -problem which is only seen by those who have -grasped the fact that hitherto our <i>errors</i> alone have -been embodied in us, and that all our consciousness -is relative to errors!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>12.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Goal of Science.</i>—What? The ultimate goal -of science is to create the most pleasure possible to -man, and the least possible pain? But what if -pleasure and pain should be so closely connected -that he who <i>wants</i> the greatest possible amount of -the one <i>must</i> also have the greatest possible amount -of the other,—that he who wants to experience the -"heavenly high jubilation,"<a id='r7' /><a href='#f7' class='c011'><sup>[7]</sup></a> must also be ready to -be "sorrowful unto death"?<span class='small'>(ref. same footnote)</span> And it is so, perhaps! -The Stoics at least believed it was so, and they -were consistent when they wished to have the least -possible pleasure, in order to have the least possible -pain from life. (When one uses the expression: -"The virtuous man is the happiest," it is as much -the sign-board of the school for the masses, as -a casuistic subtlety for the subtle.) At present -also ye have still the choice: either the <i>least -possible pain</i>, in short painlessness—and after all, -socialists and politicians of all parties could not -honourably promise more to their people,—or the -<i>greatest possible amount of pain</i>, as the price of -the growth of a fullness of refined delights and -enjoyments rarely tasted hitherto! If ye decide -for the former, if ye therefore want to depress and -minimise man's capacity for pain, well, ye must -also depress and minimise his <i>capacity for enjoyment</i>. -In fact, one can further the one as well as -the other goal <i>by science</i>! Perhaps science is as -yet best known by its capacity for depriving man -of enjoyment, and making him colder, more -statuesque, and more Stoical. But it might also -turn out to be the <i>great pain-bringer</i>!—And then, -perhaps, its counteracting force would be discovered -simultaneously, its immense capacity for making -new sidereal worlds of enjoyment beam forth!</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span> - <h3 class='c009'>13.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Theory of the Sense of Power.</i>—We exercise -our power over others by doing them good or -by doing them ill—that is all we care for! -<i>Doing ill</i> to those on whom we have to make our -power felt; for pain is a far more sensitive means -for that purpose than pleasure:—pain always asks -concerning the cause, while pleasure is inclined -to keep within itself and not look backward. -<i>Doing good</i> and being kind to those who are in -any way already dependent on us (that is, who -are accustomed to think of us as their <i>raison -d'être</i>); we want to increase their power, because -we thus increase our own; or we want to show -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>them the advantage there is in being in our -power,—they thus become more contented with -their position, and more hostile to the enemies of -<i>our</i> power and readier to contend with them. -If we make sacrifices in doing good or in doing ill, -it does not alter the ultimate value of our actions; -even if we stake our life in the cause, as martyrs for -the sake of our church, it is a sacrifice to <i>our</i> -longing for power, or for the purpose of conserving -our sense of power. He who under these circumstances -feels that he "is in possession of truth," -how many possessions does he not let go, in order -to preserve this feeling! What does he not throw -overboard, in order to keep himself "up,"—that is -to say, <i>above</i> the others who lack the "truth"! -Certainly the condition we are in when we do ill -is seldom so pleasant, so purely pleasant, as that -in which we practise kindness,—it is an indication -that we still lack power, or it betrays ill-humour -at this defect in us; it brings with it new dangers -and uncertainties as to the power we already -possess, and clouds our horizon by the prospect of -revenge, scorn, punishment and failure. Perhaps -only those most susceptible to the sense of power, -and eager for it, will prefer to impress the seal of -power on the resisting individual,—those to whom -the sight of the already subjugated person as the -object of benevolence is a burden and a tedium. -It is a question how a person is accustomed to -<i>season</i> his life; it is a matter of taste whether a -person would rather have the slow or the sudden, -the safe or the dangerous and daring increase of -power,—he seeks this or that seasoning always -<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>according to his temperament. An easy booty -is something contemptible to proud natures; they -have an agreeable sensation only at the sight of -men of unbroken spirit who could be enemies to -them, and similarly, also, at the sight of all not easily -accessible possession; they are often hard toward -the sufferer, for he is not worthy of their effort or -their pride,—but they show themselves so much -the more courteous towards their <i>equals</i>, with whom -strife and struggle would in any case be full of -honour, <i>if</i> at any time an occasion for it should -present itself. It is under the agreeable feelings -of <i>this</i> perspective that the members of the -knightly caste have habituated themselves to exquisite -courtesy toward one another.—Pity is the -most pleasant feeling in those who have not much -pride, and have no prospect of great conquests: the -easy booty—and that is what every sufferer is—is -for them an enchanting thing. Pity is said to -be the virtue of the gay lady.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>14.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What is called Love.</i>—The lust of property and -love: what different associations each of these -ideas evoke!—and yet it might be the same impulse -twice named: on the one occasion disparaged -from the standpoint of those already possessing -(in whom the impulse has attained something of -repose, and who are now apprehensive for the -safety of their "possession"); on the other occasion -viewed from the standpoint of the unsatisfied -and thirsty, and therefore glorified as "good." Our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>love of our neighbour,—is it not a striving after new -<i>property</i>? And similarly our love of knowledge, of -truth; and in general all the striving after novelties? -We gradually become satiated with the old, the -securely possessed, and again stretch out our hands; -even the finest landscape in which we live for three -months is no longer certain of our love, and any -kind of more distant coast excites our covetousness: -the possession for the most part becomes smaller -through possessing. Our pleasure in ourselves -seeks to maintain itself, by always transforming -something new <i>into ourselves</i>,—that is just possessing. -To become satiated with a possession, that is -to become satiated with ourselves. (One can also -suffer from excess,—even the desire to cast away, -to share out, can assume the honourable name of -"love.") When we see any one suffering, we willingly -utilise the opportunity then afforded to take possession -of him; the beneficent and sympathetic man, -for example, does this; he also calls the desire for -new possession awakened in him, by the name of -"love," and has enjoyment in it, as in a new -acquisition suggesting itself to him. The love of -the sexes, however, betrays itself most plainly as -the striving after possession: the lover wants the -unconditioned, sole possession of the person longed -for by him; he wants just as absolute power over -her soul as over her body; he wants to be loved -solely, and to dwell and rule in the other soul as -what is highest and most to be desired. When -one considers that this means precisely to <i>exclude</i> -all the world from a precious possession, a -happiness, and an enjoyment; when one considers -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>that the lover has in view the impoverishment and -privation of all other rivals, and would like to -become the dragon of his golden hoard, as the -most inconsiderate and selfish of all "conquerors" -and exploiters; when one considers finally that to -the lover himself, the whole world besides appears -indifferent, colourless, and worthless, and that he -is ready to make every sacrifice, disturb every -arrangement, and put every other interest behind -his own,—one is verily surprised that this ferocious -lust of property and injustice of sexual love should -have been glorified and deified to such an extent at -all times; yea, that out of this love the conception -of love as the antithesis of egoism should have been -derived, when it is perhaps precisely the most unqualified -expression of egoism. Here, evidently, the -non-possessors and desirers have determined the -usage of language,—there were, of course, always -too many of them. Those who have been favoured -with much possession and satiety, have, to be sure, -dropped a word now and then about the "raging -demon," as, for instance, the most lovable and most -beloved of all the Athenians—Sophocles; but Eros -always laughed at such revilers,—they were -always his greatest favourites.—There is, of course, -here and there on this terrestrial sphere a kind of -sequel to love, in which that covetous longing of -two persons for one another has yielded to a new -desire and covetousness, to a <i>common</i>, higher thirst -for a superior ideal standing above them: but who -knows this love? Who has experienced it? Its -right name is <i>friendship</i>.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span> - <h3 class='c009'>15.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Out of the Distance.</i>—This mountain makes the -whole district which it dominates charming in -every way, and full of significance: after we have -said this to ourselves for the hundredth time, we -are so irrationally and so gratefully disposed towards -it, as the giver of this charm, that we -fancy it must itself be the most charming thing -in the district—and so we climb it, and are -undeceived. All of a sudden, it itself, and the -whole landscape around and under us, is as it were -disenchanted; we had forgotten that many a greatness, -like many a goodness, wants only to be seen -at a certain distance, and entirely from below, not -from above,—it is thus only that <i>it operates</i>. Perhaps -you know men in your neighbourhood who -can only look at themselves from a certain distance -to find themselves at all endurable, or attractive -and enlivening; they are to be dissuaded from self-knowledge.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>16.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Across the Plank.</i>—One must be able to dissimulate -in intercourse with persons who are -ashamed of their feelings; they experience a -sudden aversion towards anyone who surprises -them in a state of tender, or enthusiastic and high-running -feeling, as if he had seen their secrets. If -one wants to be kind to them in such moments -one should make them laugh, or say some kind of -cold, playful wickedness:—their feeling thereby -congeals, and they are again self-possessed. But -I give the moral before the story.—We were once -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>on a time so near one another in the course of our -lives, that nothing more seemed to hinder our -friendship and fraternity, and there was merely a -small plank between us. While you were just -about to step on it, I asked you: "Do you want -to come across the plank to me?" But then you -did not want to come any longer; and when I again -entreated, you were silent. Since then mountains -and torrents, and whatever separates and alienates, -have interposed between us, and even if we wanted -to come to one another, we could no longer do so! -When, however, you now remember that small -plank, you have no longer words,—but merely sobs -and amazement.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>17.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Motivation of Poverty.</i>—We cannot, to be sure, by -any artifice make a rich and richly-flowing virtue -out of a poor one, but we can gracefully enough -reinterpret its poverty into necessity, so that its -aspect no longer gives pain to us, and we do not -make any reproachful faces at fate on account of it. -It is thus that the wise gardener does, who puts the -tiny streamlet of his garden into the arms of a -fountain-nymph, and thus motivates the poverty:—and -who would not like him need the nymphs!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>18.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Ancient Pride.</i>—The ancient savour of nobility -is lacking in us, because the ancient slave is lacking -in our sentiment. A Greek of noble descent found -such immense intermediate stages, and such a -distance betwixt his elevation and that ultimate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>baseness, that he could hardly even see the slave -plainly: even Plato no longer saw him entirely. -It is otherwise with us, accustomed as we are to -the <i>doctrine</i> of the equality of men, although not -to the equality itself. A being who has not the -free disposal of himself and has not got leisure,—that -is not regarded by us as anything contemptible; -there is perhaps too much of this kind -of slavishness in each of us, in accordance with -the conditions of our social order and activity, -which are fundamentally different from those of -the ancients.—The Greek philosopher went through -life with the secret feeling that there were many -more slaves than people supposed—that is to -say, that every one was a slave who was not a -philosopher. His pride was puffed up when he -considered that even the mightiest of the earth -were thus to be looked upon as slaves. This -pride is also unfamiliar to us, and impossible; the -word "slave" has not its full force for us even in -simile.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>19.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Evil.</i>—Test the life of the best and most productive -men and nations, and ask yourselves -whether a tree which is to grow proudly heavenward -can dispense with bad weather and tempests: -whether disfavour and opposition from without, -whether every kind of hatred, jealousy, stubbornness, -distrust, severity, greed, and violence do not -belong to the <i>favouring</i> circumstances without -which a great growth even in virtue is hardly -possible? The poison by which the weaker nature -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>is destroyed is strengthening to the strong individual—and -he does not call it poison.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>20.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Dignity of Folly.</i>—Several millenniums further -on in the path of the last century!—and in everything -that man does the highest prudence will be -exhibited: but just thereby prudence will have -lost all its dignity. It will then, sure enough, be -necessary to be prudent, but it will also be so -usual and common, that a more fastidious taste -will feel this necessity as <i>vulgarity</i>. And just as a -tyranny of truth and science would be in a position -to raise the value of falsehood, a tyranny of prudence -could force into prominence a new species of nobleness. -To be noble—that might then mean, perhaps, -to be capable of follies.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>21.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>To the Teachers of Unselfishness.</i>—The virtues of -a man are called <i>good</i>, not in respect of the results -they have for himself, but in respect of the results -which we expect therefrom for ourselves and for -society:—we have all along had very little unselfishness, -very little "non-egoism" in our praise of the -virtues! For otherwise it could not but have been -seen that the virtues (such as diligence, obedience, -chastity, piety, justice) are mostly <i>injurious</i> to -their possessors, as impulses which rule in them -too vehemently and ardently, and do not want -to be kept in co-ordination with the other impulses -by the reason. If you have a virtue, an -actual, perfect virtue (and not merely a kind of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>impulse towards virtue!)—you are its <i>victim</i>! But -your neighbour praises your virtue precisely on -that account! One praises the diligent man though -he injures his sight, or the originality and freshness -of his spirit, by his diligence; the youth is -honoured and regretted who has "worn himself -out by work," because one passes the judgment -that "for society as a whole the loss of the best -individual is only a small sacrifice! A pity that -this sacrifice should be necessary! A much greater -pity, it is true, if the individual should think differently, -and regard his preservation and development -as more important than his work in the service of -society!" And so one regrets this youth, not on -his own account, but because a devoted <i>instrument</i>, -regardless of self—a so-called "good man," has -been lost to society by his death. Perhaps one -further considers the question, whether it would not -have been more advantageous for the interests of -society if he had laboured with less disregard of -himself, and had preserved himself longer,—indeed, -one readily admits an advantage therefrom, but -one esteems the other advantage, namely, that a -<i>sacrifice</i> has been made, and that the disposition -of the sacrificial animal has once more been <i>obviously</i> -endorsed—as higher and more enduring. It is -accordingly, on the one part, the instrumental -character in the virtues which is praised when -the virtues are praised, and on the other part, the -blind, ruling impulse in every virtue, which refuses -to let itself be kept within bounds by the general -advantage to the individual; in short, what is -praised is the unreason in the virtues, in consequence -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>of which the individual allows himself to -be transformed into a function of the whole. The -praise of the virtues is the praise of something -which is privately injurious to the individual; it is -praise of impulses which deprive man of his noblest -self-love, and the power to take the best care of -himself. To be sure, for the teaching and embodying -of virtuous habits a series of effects of virtue -are displayed, which make it appear that virtue -and private advantage are closely related,—and -there is in fact such a relationship! Blindly -furious diligence, for example, the typical virtue of -an instrument, is represented as the way to riches -and honour, and as the most beneficial antidote to -tedium and passion: but people are silent concerning -its danger, its greatest dangerousness. Education -proceeds in this manner throughout: it -endeavours, by a series of enticements and advantages, -to determine the individual to a certain mode -of thinking and acting, which, when it has become -habit, impulse and passion, rules in him and -over him, <i>in opposition to his ultimate advantage</i>, -but "for the general good." How often do I see -that blindly furious diligence does indeed create -riches and honours, but at the same time deprives -the organs of the refinement by virtue of which -alone an enjoyment of riches and honours is -possible; so that really the main expedient for -combating tedium and passion, simultaneously -blunts the senses and makes the spirit refractory -towards new stimuli! (The busiest of all ages—our -age—does not know how to make anything -out of its great diligence and wealth, except always -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>more and more wealth, and more and more -diligence; there is even more genius needed for -laying out wealth than for acquiring it!—Well, we -shall have our "grandchildren"!) If the education -succeeds, every virtue of the individual is a -public utility, and a private disadvantage in respect -to the highest private end,—probably some psycho-æsthetic -stunting, or even premature dissolution. -One should consider successively from the same -standpoint the virtues of obedience, chastity, piety, -and justice. The praise of the unselfish, self-sacrificing, -virtuous person—he, consequently, who -does not expend his whole energy and reason -for <i>his own</i> conservation, development, elevation, -furtherance and augmentation of power, but lives -as regards himself unassumingly and thoughtlessly, -perhaps even indifferently or ironically,—this praise -has in any case not originated out of the spirit of -unselfishness! The "neighbour" praises unselfishness -because <i>he profits by it</i>! If the neighbour -were "unselfishly" disposed himself, he would -reject that destruction of power, that injury for <i>his</i> -advantage, he would thwart such inclinations in -their origin, and above all he would manifest his -unselfishness just by <i>not giving it a good name</i>! -The fundamental contradiction in that morality -which at present stands in high honour is here -indicated: the <i>motives</i> to such a morality are in -antithesis to its <i>principle</i>! That with which this -morality wishes to prove itself, refutes it out of -its criterion of what is moral! The maxim, "Thou -shalt renounce thyself and offer thyself as a -sacrifice," in order not to be inconsistent with its -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>own morality, could only be decreed by a being -who himself renounced his own advantage thereby, -and who perhaps in the required self-sacrifice of -individuals brought about his own dissolution. -As soon, however, as the neighbour (or society) -recommended altruism <i>on account of its utility</i>, the -precisely antithetical proposition, "Thou shalt seek -thy advantage even at the expense of everybody -else," was brought into use: accordingly, "thou -shalt," and "thou shalt not," are preached in one -breath!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>22.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>L'Ordre du Jour pour le Roi.</i>—The day commences: -let us begin to arrange for this day the -business and fêtes of our most gracious lord, who -at present is still pleased to repose. His Majesty -has bad weather to-day: we shall be careful not -to call it bad; we shall not speak of the weather,—but -we shall go through to-day's business somewhat -more ceremoniously and make the fêtes somewhat -more festive than would otherwise be necessary. -His Majesty may perhaps even be sick: we shall -give the last good news of the evening at breakfast, -the arrival of M. Montaigne, who knows how to joke -so pleasantly about his sickness,—he suffers from -stone. We shall receive several persons (persons!—what -would that old inflated frog, who will be -among them, say, if he heard this word! "I am -no person," he would say, "but always the thing -itself")—and the reception will last longer than is -pleasant to anybody; a sufficient reason for telling -about the poet who wrote over his door, "He who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>enters here will do me an honour; he who does -not—a favour."—That is, forsooth, saying a discourteous -thing in a courteous manner! And perhaps -this poet is quite justified on his part in being -discourteous; they say that the rhymes are better -than the rhymester. Well, let him still make many -of them, and withdraw himself as much as possible -from the world: and that is doubtless the significance -of his well-bred rudeness! A prince, on -the other hand, is always of more value than his -"verse," even when—but what are we about? We -gossip, and the whole court believes that we have -already been at work and racked our brains: there -is no light to be seen earlier than that which burns -in our window.—Hark! Was that not the bell? -The devil! The day and the dance commence, -and we do not know our rounds! We must then -improvise,—all the world improvises its day. To-day, -let us for once do like all the world!—And -therewith vanished my wonderful morning dream, -probably owing to the violent strokes of the tower-clock, -which just then announced the fifth hour -with all the importance which is peculiar to it. It -seems to me that, on this occasion, the God of -dreams wanted to make merry over my habits,—it -is my habit to commence the day by arranging -it properly, to make it endurable <i>for myself</i>, and -it is possible that I may often have done this too -formally, and too much like a prince.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>23.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Characteristics of Corruption.</i>—Let us observe -the following characteristics in that condition of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>society from time to time necessary, which is designated -by the word "corruption." Immediately upon -the appearance of corruption anywhere, a motley -<i>superstition</i> gets the upper hand, and the hitherto -universal belief of a people becomes colourless and -impotent in comparison with it; for superstition is -freethinking of the second rank,—he who gives -himself over to it selects certain forms and formulæ -which appeal to him, and permits himself a right -of choice. The superstitious man is always much -more of a "person," in comparison with the religious -man, and a superstitious society will be one in -which there are many individuals, and a delight in -individuality. Seen from this standpoint superstition -always appears as a <i>progress</i> in comparison -with belief, and as a sign that the intellect becomes -more independent and claims to have its rights. -Those who reverence the old religion and the -religious disposition then complain of corruption,—they -have hitherto also determined the usage of -language, and have given a bad repute to superstition, -even among the freest spirits. Let us learn -that it is a symptom of <i>enlightenment</i>.—Secondly, -a society in which corruption takes a hold is blamed -for <i>effeminacy</i>: for the appreciation of war, and -the delight in war perceptibly diminish in such a -society, and the conveniences of life are now just -as eagerly sought after as were military and -gymnastic honours formerly. But one is accustomed -to overlook the fact that the old national -energy and national passion, which acquired a -magnificent splendour in war and in the tourney, -has now transferred itself into innumerable private -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>passions, and has merely become less visible; -indeed in periods of "corruption" the quantity and -quality of the expended energy of a people is probably -greater than ever, and the individual spends -it lavishly, to such an extent as could not be done -formerly—he was not then rich enough to do so! -And thus it is precisely in times of "effeminacy" -that tragedy runs at large in and out of doors, it -is then that ardent love and ardent hatred are -born, and the flame of knowledge flashes heavenward -in full blaze.—Thirdly, as if in amends for the -reproach of superstition and effeminacy, it is customary -to say of such periods of corruption that -they are milder, and that cruelty has then greatly -diminished in comparison with the older, more -credulous, and stronger period. But to this praise -I am just as little able to assent as to that reproach: -I only grant so much—namely, that cruelty now -becomes more refined, and its older forms are -henceforth counter to the taste; but the wounding -and torturing by word and look reaches its highest -development in times of corruption,—it is now only -that <i>wickedness</i> is created, and the delight in wickedness. -The men of the period of corruption are -witty and calumnious; they know that there are -yet other ways of murdering than by the dagger -and the ambush—they know also that all that is -<i>well said</i> is believed in.—Fourthly, it is when -"morals decay" that those beings whom one calls -tyrants first make their appearance; they are the -forerunners of the <i>individual</i>, and as it were early -matured <i>firstlings</i>. Yet a little while, and this -fruit of fruits hangs ripe and yellow on the tree of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>a people,—and only for the sake of such fruit did -this tree exist! When the decay has reached its -worst, and likewise the conflict of all sorts of tyrants, -there always arises the Cæsar, the final tyrant, who -puts an end to the exhausted struggle for sovereignty, -by making the exhaustedness work for him. -In his time the individual is usually most mature, -and consequently the "culture" is highest and -most fruitful, but not on his account nor through -him: although the men of highest culture love to -flatter their Cæsar by pretending that they are <i>his</i> -creation. The truth, however, is that they need -quietness externally, because internally they have -disquietude and labour. In these times bribery and -treason are at their height: for the love of the <i>ego</i>, -then first discovered, is much more powerful than -the love of the old, used-up, hackneyed "fatherland"; -and the need to be secure in one way or other -against the frightful fluctuations of fortune, opens -even the nobler hands, as soon as a richer and more -powerful person shows himself ready to put gold -into them. There is then so little certainty with -regard to the future; people live only for the day: -a condition of mind which enables every deceiver -to play an easy game,—people of course only let -themselves be misled and bribed "for the present," -and reserve for themselves futurity and virtue. -The individuals, as is well known, the men who -only live for themselves, provide for the moment -more than do their opposites, the gregarious men, -because they consider themselves just as incalculable -as the future; and similarly they attach themselves -willingly to despots, because they believe -<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>themselves capable of activities and expedients, -which can neither reckon on being understood by -the multitude, nor on finding favour with them,—but -the tyrant or the Cæsar understands the rights -of the Individual even in his excesses, and has an -interest in speaking on behalf of a bolder private -morality, and even in giving his hand to it. For -he thinks of himself, and wishes people to think of -him what Napoleon once uttered in his classical -style—"I have the right to answer by an eternal -'thus I am' to everything about which complaint -is brought against me. I am apart from all the -world, I accept conditions from nobody. I wish -people also to submit to my fancies, and to take -it quite as a simple matter, if I should indulge in -this or that diversion." Thus spoke Napoleon -once to his wife, when she had reasons for calling -in question the fidelity of her husband.—The times -of corruption are the seasons when the apples fall -from the tree: I mean the individuals, the seed-bearers -of the future, the pioneers of the spiritual -colonisation and of a new construction of national -and social unions. Corruption is only an abusive -term for the <i>harvest time</i> of a people.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>24.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Different Dissatisfactions.</i>—The feeble and as it -were feminine dissatisfied people have ingenuity -for beautifying and deepening life; the strong -dissatisfied people—the masculine persons among -them, to continue the metaphor—have the ingenuity -for improving and safeguarding life. The former -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>show their weakness and feminine character by -willingly letting themselves be temporarily deceived, -and perhaps even by putting up with a little -ecstasy and enthusiasm on a time, but on the whole -they are never to be satisfied, and suffer from the -incurability of their dissatisfaction; moreover they -are the patrons of all those who manage to concoct -opiate and narcotic comforts, and just on that -account averse to those who value the physician -higher than the priest,—they thereby encourage -the <i>continuance</i> of actual distress! If there had -not been a surplus of dissatisfied persons of this -kind in Europe since the time of the Middle Ages, -the remarkable capacity of Europeans for constant -<i>transformation</i> would perhaps not have originated -at all; for the claims of the strong dissatisfied -persons are too gross, and really too modest to -resist being finally quieted down. China is an -instance of a country in which dissatisfaction on a -grand scale and the capacity for transformation -have died out for many centuries; and the Socialists -and state-idolaters of Europe could easily bring -things to Chinese conditions and to a Chinese -"happiness," with their measures for the amelioration -and security of life, provided that they could -first of all root out the sicklier, tenderer, more -feminine dissatisfaction and Romanticism which -are still very abundant among us. Europe is an -invalid who owes her best thanks to her incurability -and the eternal transformations of her sufferings; -these constant new situations, these equally constant -new dangers, pains, and make-shifts, have at -last generated an intellectual sensitiveness which is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>almost equal to genius, and is in any case the -mother of all genius.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>25.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Not Pre-ordained to Knowledge.</i>—There is a purblind -humility not at all rare, and when a person -is afflicted with it, he is once for all unqualified -for being a disciple of knowledge. It is this in -fact: the moment a man of this kind perceives -anything striking, he turns as it were on his heel, -and says to himself: "You have deceived yourself! -Where have your wits been! This cannot be -the truth!"—and then, instead of looking at it and -listening to it with more attention, he runs out of -the way of the striking object as if intimidated, -and seeks to get it out of his head as quickly as -possible. For his fundamental rule runs thus: "I -want to see nothing that contradicts the usual -opinion concerning things! Am <i>I</i> created for the -purpose of discovering new truths? There are -already too many of the old ones."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>26.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What is Living?</i>—Living—that is to continually -eliminate from ourselves what is about to die; -Living—that is to be cruel and inexorable towards -all that becomes weak and old in ourselves, and -not only in ourselves. Living—that means, therefore, -to be without piety toward the dying, the -wretched and the old? To be continually a murderer?—And -yet old Moses said: "Thou shalt not -kill!"</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span> - <h3 class='c009'>27.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Self-Renouncer.</i>—What does the self-renouncer -do? He strives after a higher world, -he wants to fly longer and further and higher than -all men of affirmation—he <i>throws away many things</i> -that would burden his flight, and several things -among them that are not valueless, that are not -unpleasant to him: he sacrifices them to his desire -for elevation. Now this sacrificing, this casting -away, is the very thing which becomes visible in -him: on that account one calls him the self-renouncer, -and as such he stands before us, -enveloped in his cowl, and as the soul of a -hair-shirt. With this effect, however, which he -makes upon us he is well content: he wants to -keep concealed from us his desire, his pride, his -intention of flying <i>above</i> us.—Yes! He is wiser -than we thought, and so courteous towards us—this -affirmer! For that is what he is, like us, -even in his self-renunciation.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>28.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Injuring with one's best Qualities.</i>—Our strong -points sometimes drive us so far forward that we -cannot any longer endure our weaknesses, and we -perish by them: we also perhaps see this result -beforehand, but nevertheless do not want it to be -otherwise. We then become hard towards that -which would fain be spared in us, and our pitilessness -is also our greatness. Such an experience, -which must in the end cost us our life, is a symbol -<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>of the collective effect of great men upon others -and upon their epoch:—it is just with their best -abilities, with that which only <i>they</i> can do, that they -destroy much that is weak, uncertain, evolving, and -<i>willing</i>, and are thereby injurious. Indeed, the -case may happen in which, taken on the whole, -they only do injury, because their best is accepted -and drunk up as it were solely by those who lose -their understanding and their egoism by it, as by -too strong a beverage; they become so intoxicated -that they go breaking their limbs on all the wrong -roads where their drunkenness drives them.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>29.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Adventitious Liars.</i>—When people began to -combat the unity of Aristotle in France, and consequently -also to defend it, there was once more -to be seen that which has been seen so often, but -seen so unwillingly:—<i>people imposed false reasons -on themselves</i> on account of which those laws ought -to exist, merely for the sake of not acknowledging -to themselves that they had <i>accustomed</i> themselves -to the authority of those laws, and did not want -any longer to have things otherwise. And people -do so in every prevailing morality and religion, and -have always done so: the reasons and intentions -behind the habit, are only added surreptitiously -when people begin to combat the habit, and <i>ask</i> for -reasons and intentions. It is here that the great -dishonesty of the conservatives of all times hides:—they -are adventitious liars.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span> - <h3 class='c009'>30.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Comedy of Celebrated Men.</i>—Celebrated men -who <i>need</i> their fame, as, for instance, all politicians, -no longer select their associates and friends without -after-thoughts: from the one they want a portion -of the splendour and reflection of his virtues; from -the other they want the fear-inspiring power of -certain dubious qualities in him, of which everybody -is aware; from another they steal his reputation -for idleness and basking in the sun, because it -is advantageous for their own ends to be regarded -temporarily as heedless and lazy:—it conceals the -fact that they lie in ambush; they now use the -visionaries, now the experts, now the brooders, now -the pedants in their neighbourhood, as their actual -selves for the time, but very soon they do not -need them any longer! And thus while their environment -and outside die off continually, everything -seems to crowd into this environment, -and wants to become a "character" of it; they -are like great cities in this respect. Their repute -is continually in process of mutation, like their -character, for their changing methods require this -change, and they show and <i>exhibit</i> sometimes this -and sometimes that actual or fictitious quality on -the stage; their friends and associates, as we have -said, belong to these stage properties. On the other -hand, that which they aim at must remain so much -the more steadfast, and burnished and resplendent -in the distance,—and this also sometimes needs its -comedy and its stage-play.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span> - <h3 class='c009'>31.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Commerce and Nobility.</i>—Buying and selling is -now regarded as something ordinary, like the art -of reading and writing; everyone is now trained -to it even when he is not a tradesman, exercising -himself daily in the art; precisely as formerly in -the period of uncivilised humanity, everyone was a -hunter and exercised himself day by day in the -art of hunting. Hunting was then something -common: but just as this finally became a privilege -of the powerful and noble, and thereby lost the -character of the commonplace and the ordinary—by -ceasing to be necessary and by becoming an -affair of fancy and luxury:—so it might become the -same some day with buying and selling. Conditions -of society are imaginable in which there will -be no selling and buying, and in which the necessity -for this art will become quite lost; perhaps it may -then happen that individuals who are less subjected -to the law of the prevailing condition of things -will indulge in buying and selling as a <i>luxury of -sentiment</i>. It is then only that commerce would -acquire nobility, and the noble would then perhaps -occupy themselves just as readily with commerce -as they have done hitherto with war and politics: -while on the other hand the valuation of politics -might then have entirely altered. Already even -politics ceases to be the business of a gentleman; -and it is possible that one day it may be found -to be so vulgar as to be brought, like all party -literature and daily literature, under the rubric: -"Prostitution of the intellect."</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span> - <h3 class='c009'>32.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Undesirable Disciples.</i>—What shall I do with -these two youths! called out a philosopher -dejectedly, who "corrupted" youths, as Socrates -had once corrupted them,—they are unwelcome -disciples to me. One of them cannot say "Nay," -and the other says "Half and half" to everything. -Provided they grasped my doctrine, the former -would <i>suffer</i> too much, for my mode of thinking -requires a martial soul, willingness to cause pain, -delight in denying, and a hard skin,—he would -succumb by open wounds and internal injuries. -And the other will choose the mediocre in everything -he represents, and thus make a mediocrity -of the whole,—I should like my enemy to have such -a disciple.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>33.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Outside the Lecture-room.</i>—"In order to prove -that man after all belongs to the good-natured -animals, I would remind you how credulous he -has been for so long a time. It is now only, -quite late, and after an immense self-conquest, that -he has become a <i>distrustful</i> animal,—yes! man is -now more wicked than ever."—I do not understand -this; why should man now be more distrustful and -more wicked?—"Because he now has science,—because -he needs to have it!"—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>34.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Historia abscondita.</i>—Every great man has a -power which operates backward; all history is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>again placed on the scales on his account, and a -thousand secrets of the past crawl out of their -lurking-places—into <i>his</i> sunlight. There is absolutely -no knowing what history may be some -day. The past is still perhaps undiscovered in -its essence! There are yet so many retroactive -powers needed!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>35.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Heresy and Witchcraft.</i>—To think otherwise -than is customary—that is by no means so much -the activity of a better intellect, as the activity of -strong, wicked inclinations,—severing, isolating, -refractory, mischief-loving, malicious inclinations. -Heresy is the counterpart of witchcraft, and is -certainly just as little a merely harmless affair, -or a thing worthy of honour in itself. Heretics -and sorcerers are two kinds of bad men; they -have it in common that they also feel themselves -wicked; their unconquerable delight is to attack -and injure whatever rules,—whether it be men or -opinions. The Reformation, a kind of duplication -of the spirit of the Middle Ages at a time when -it had no longer a good conscience, produced both -of these kinds of people in the greatest profusion.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>36.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Last Words.</i>—It will be recollected that the -Emperor Augustus, that terrible man, who had -himself as much in his own power, and who could -be silent as well as any wise Socrates, became -indiscreet about himself in his last words; for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>the first time he let his mask fall, when he gave to -understand that he had carried a mask and played -a comedy,—he had played the father of his country -and wisdom on the throne well, even to the point -of illusion! <i>Plaudite amici, comoedia finita est!</i>—The -thought of the dying Nero: <i>qualis artifex pereo!</i> -was also the thought of the dying Augustus: -histrionic conceit! histrionic loquacity! And the -very counterpart to the dying Socrates!—But -Tiberius died silently, that most tortured of all -self-torturers,—<i>he</i> was <i>genuine</i> and not a stage-player! -What may have passed through his -head in the end! Perhaps this: "Life—that -is a long death. I am a fool, who shortened the -lives of so many! Was <i>I</i> created for the purpose -of being a benefactor? I should have given them -eternal life: and then I could have <i>seen them dying</i> -eternally. I had such good eyes <i>for that</i>: <i>qualis -spectator pereo!</i>" When he seemed once more -to regain his powers after a long death-struggle, -it was considered advisable to smother him with -pillows,—he died a double death.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>37.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Owing to three Errors.</i>—Science has been furthered -during recent centuries, partly because it was hoped -that God's goodness and wisdom would be best -understood therewith and thereby—the principal -motive in the soul of great Englishmen (like -Newton); partly because the absolute utility of -knowledge was believed in, and especially the most -intimate connection of morality, knowledge, and -happiness—the principal motive in the soul of great -<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>Frenchmen (like Voltaire); and partly because it -was thought that in science there was something -unselfish, harmless, self-sufficing, lovable, and truly -innocent to be had, in which the evil human -impulses did not at all participate—the principal -motive in the soul of Spinoza, who felt himself -divine, as a knowing being:—it is consequently -owing to three errors that science has been -furthered.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>38.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Explosive People.</i>—When one considers how -ready are the forces of young men for discharge, -one does not wonder at seeing them decide so -unfastidiously and with so little selection for this -or that cause: <i>that</i> which attracts them is the -sight of eagerness about any cause, as it were the -sight of the burning match—not the cause itself. -The more ingenious seducers on that account -operate by holding out the prospect of an explosion -to such persons, and do not urge their cause by -means of reasons; these powder-barrels are not -won over by means of reasons!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>39.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Altered Taste.</i>—The alteration of the general -taste is more important than the alteration of -opinions; opinions, with all their proving, refuting, -and intellectual masquerade, are merely symptoms -of altered taste, and are certainly <i>not</i> what they -are still so often claimed to be, the causes of -the altered taste. How does the general taste -alter? By the fact of individuals, the powerful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>and influential persons, expressing and tyrannically -enforcing without any feeling of shame, <i>their</i> <i>hoc -est ridiculum, hoc est absurdum</i>; the decisions, therefore, -of their taste and their disrelish:—they thereby -lay a constraint upon many people, out of which -there gradually grows a habituation for still more, -and finally a <i>necessity for all</i>. The fact, however, -that these individuals feel and "taste" differently, -has usually its origin in a peculiarity of their mode -of life, nourishment, or digestion, perhaps in a -surplus or deficiency of the inorganic salts in their -blood and brain, in short in their <i>physis</i>; they -have, however, the courage to avow their physical -constitution, and to lend an ear even to the most -delicate tones of its requirements: their æsthetic -and moral judgments are those "most delicate -tones" of their <i>physis</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>40.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Lack of a noble Presence.</i>—Soldiers and their -leaders have always a much higher mode of comportment -toward one another than workmen and -their employers. At present at least, all militarily -established civilisation still stands high above all -so-called industrial civilisation; the latter, in its -present form, is in general the meanest mode of -existence that has ever been. It is simply the -law of necessity that operates here: people want -to live, and have to sell themselves; but they -despise him who exploits their necessity, and -<i>purchases</i> the workman. It is curious that the -subjection to powerful, fear-inspiring, and even -dreadful individuals, to tyrants and leaders of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>armies, is not at all felt so painfully as the subjection -to such undistinguished and uninteresting -persons as the captains of industry; in the employer -the workman usually sees merely a crafty, -blood-sucking dog of a man, speculating on every -necessity, whose name, form, character, and reputation -are altogether indifferent to him. It is probable -that the manufacturers and great magnates -of commerce have hitherto lacked too much all -those forms and attributes of a <i>superior race</i>, which -alone make persons interesting; if they had had -the nobility of the nobly-born in their looks and -bearing, there would perhaps have been no socialism -in the masses of the people. For these are really -ready for <i>slavery</i> of every kind, provided that the -superior class above them constantly shows itself -legitimately superior, and <i>born</i> to command—by its -noble presence! The commonest man feels that -nobility is not to be improvised, and that it is -his part to honour it as the fruit of protracted race-culture,—but -the absence of superior presence, and -the notorious vulgarity of manufacturers with red, -fat hands, brings up the thought to him that it is -only chance and fortune that has here elevated the -one above the other; well then—so he reasons -with himself—let <i>us</i> in our turn tempt chance and -fortune! Let us in our turn throw the dice!—and -socialism commences.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>41.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against Remorse.</i>—The thinker sees in his -own actions attempts and questionings to obtain -information about something or other; success -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>and failure are <i>answers</i> to him first and foremost. -To vex himself, however, because something does -not succeed, or to feel remorse at all—he leaves -that to those who act because they are commanded -to do so, and expect to get a beating when their -gracious master is not satisfied with the result.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>42.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Work and Ennui.</i>—In respect to seeking work -for the sake of the pay, almost all men are alike -at present in civilised countries; to all of them -work is a means, and not itself the end; on which -account they are not very select in the choice of the -work, provided it yields an abundant profit. But -still there are rarer men who would rather perish -than work without <i>delight</i> in their labour: the -fastidious people, difficult to satisfy, whose object -is not served by an abundant profit, unless the work -itself be the reward of all rewards. Artists and -contemplative men of all kinds belong to this rare -species of human beings; and also the idlers who -spend their life in hunting and travelling, or in -love affairs and adventures. They all seek toil -and trouble in so far as these are associated with -pleasure, and they want the severest and hardest -labour, if it be necessary. In other respects, however, -they have a resolute indolence, even should -impoverishment, dishonour, and danger to health -and life be associated therewith. They are not so -much afraid of ennui as of labour without pleasure; -indeed they require much ennui, if <i>their</i> work is to -succeed with them. For the thinker and for all -inventive spirits ennui is the unpleasant "calm" -<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>of the soul which precedes the happy voyage and -the dancing breezes; he must endure it, he must -<i>await</i> the effect it has on him:—it is precisely <i>this</i> -which lesser natures cannot at all experience! It -is common to scare away ennui in every way, just -as it is common to labour without pleasure. It -perhaps distinguishes the Asiatics above the Europeans, -that they are capable of a longer and profounder -repose; even their narcotics operate slowly -and require patience, in contrast to the obnoxious -suddenness of the European poison, alcohol.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>43.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What the Laws Betray.</i>—One makes a great mistake -when one studies the penal laws of a people, -as if they were an expression of its character; the -laws do not betray what a people is, but what -appears to them foreign, strange, monstrous, and -outlandish. The laws concern themselves with the -exceptions to the morality of custom; and the -severest punishments fall on acts which conform to -the customs of the neighbouring peoples. Thus -among the Wahabites, there are only two mortal sins: -having another God than the Wahabite God, and—smoking -(it is designated by them as "the disgraceful -kind of drinking"). "And how is it with regard -to murder and adultery?"—asked the Englishman -with astonishment on learning these things. "Well, -God is gracious and pitiful!" answered the old -chief.—Thus among the ancient Romans there was -the idea that a woman could only sin mortally in -two ways: by adultery on the one hand, and—by -wine-drinking on the other. Old Cato pretended -<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>that kissing among relatives had only been made -a custom in order to keep women in control on this -point; a kiss meant: did her breath smell of wine? -Wives had actually been punished by death who -were surprised taking wine: and certainly not -merely because women under the influence of wine -sometimes unlearn altogether the art of saying No; -the Romans were afraid above all things of the orgiastic -and Dionysian spirit with which the women -of Southern Europe at that time (when wine -was still new in Europe) were sometimes visited, -as by a monstrous foreignness which subverted -the basis of Roman sentiments; it seemed to -them treason against Rome, as the embodiment -of foreignness.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>44.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Believed Motive.</i>—However important it may -be to know the motives according to which mankind -has really acted hitherto, perhaps the <i>belief</i> -in this or that motive, and therefore that which -mankind has assumed and imagined to be the -actual mainspring of its activity hitherto, is something -still more essential for the thinker to know. -For the internal happiness and misery of men -have always come to them through their belief in -this or that motive,—<i>not</i> however, through that -which was actually the motive! All about the -latter has an interest of secondary rank.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>45.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Epicurus.</i>—Yes, I am proud of perceiving the -character of Epicurus differently from anyone else -<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>perhaps, and of enjoying the happiness of the -afternoon of antiquity in all that I hear and read -of him:—I see his eye gazing out on a broad -whitish sea, over the shore-rocks on which the -sunshine rests, while great and small creatures play -in its light, secure and calm like this light and that -eye itself. Such happiness could only have been -devised by a chronic sufferer, the happiness of an -eye before which the sea of existence has become -calm, and which can no longer tire of gazing at the -surface and at the variegated, tender, tremulous -skin of this sea. Never previously was there such a -moderation of voluptuousness.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>46.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our Astonishment.</i>—There is a profound and -fundamental satisfaction in the fact that science -ascertains things that <i>hold their ground</i>, and again -furnish the basis for new researches:—it could -certainly be otherwise. Indeed, we are so much -convinced of all the uncertainty and caprice of our -judgments, and of the everlasting change of all -human laws and conceptions, that we are really -astonished <i>how persistently</i> the results of science -hold their ground! In earlier times people knew -nothing of this changeability of all human things; -the custom of morality maintained the belief that -the whole inner life of man was bound to iron -necessity by eternal fetters:—perhaps people then -felt a similar voluptuousness of astonishment when -they listened to tales and fairy stories. The -wonderful did so much good to those men, who -might well get tired sometimes of the regular and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>the eternal. To leave the ground for once! To -soar! To stray! To be mad!—that belonged to -the paradise and the revelry of earlier times; while -our felicity is like that of the shipwrecked man -who has gone ashore, and places himself with both -feet on the old, firm ground—in astonishment that -it does not rock.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>47.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Suppression of the Passions.</i>—When one -continually prohibits the expression of the passions -as something to be left to the "vulgar," to coarser, -bourgeois, and peasant natures—that is, when one -does not want to suppress the passions themselves, -but only their language and demeanour, one nevertheless -realises <i>therewith</i> just what one does not -want: the suppression of the passions themselves, -or at least their weakening and alteration,—as the -court of Louis XIV. (to cite the most instructive -instance), and all that was dependent on it, experienced. -The generation <i>that followed</i>, trained -in suppressing their expression, no longer possessed -the passions themselves, but had a pleasant, -superficial, playful disposition in their place,—a -generation which was so permeated with the -incapacity to be ill-mannered, that even an injury -was not taken and retaliated, except with courteous -words. Perhaps our own time furnishes -the most remarkable counterpart to this period: -I see everywhere (in life, in the theatre, and not -least in all that is written) satisfaction at all the -<i>coarser</i> outbursts and gestures of passion; a certain -convention of passionateness is now desired,—only -not the passion itself! Nevertheless <i>it</i> will -thereby be at last reached, and our posterity will -have a <i>genuine savagery</i>, and not merely a formal -savagery and unmannerliness.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span> - <h3 class='c009'>48.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Knowledge of Distress.</i>—Perhaps there is nothing -by which men and periods are so much separated -from one another, as by the different degrees of -knowledge of distress which they possess; distress -of the soul as well as of the body. With respect -to the latter, owing to lack of sufficient self-experience, -we men of the present day (in spite -of our deficiencies and infirmities), are perhaps all -of us blunderers and visionaries in comparison -with the men of the age of fear—the longest -of all ages,—when the individual had to protect -himself against violence, and for that purpose -had to be a man of violence himself. At that time -a man went through a long schooling of corporeal -tortures and privations, and found even in a certain -kind of cruelty toward himself, in a voluntary use -of pain, a necessary means for his preservation; -at that time a person trained his environment to -the endurance of pain; at that time a person -willingly inflicted pain, and saw the most frightful -things of this kind happen to others, without -having any other feeling than for his own -security. As regards the distress of the soul, -however, I now look at every man with respect -to whether he knows it by experience or by -description; whether he still regards it as necessary -to simulate this knowledge, perhaps as an indication -<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>of more refined culture; or whether, at the -bottom of his heart, he does not at all believe in -great sorrows of soul, and at the naming of them -has in his mind a similar experience as at the -naming of great corporeal sufferings, such as tooth-aches, -and stomach-aches. It is thus, however, -that it seems to be with most people at present. -Owing to the universal inexperience of both kinds -of pain, and the comparative rarity of the spectacle -of a sufferer, an important consequence results: -people now hate pain far more than earlier man -did, and calumniate it worse than ever; indeed -people nowadays can hardly endure the <i>thought</i> -of pain, and make out of it an affair of conscience -and a reproach to collective existence. -The appearance of pessimistic philosophies is -not at all the sign of great and dreadful miseries; -for these interrogative marks regarding the worth -of life appear in periods when the refinement -and alleviation of existence already deem the -unavoidable gnat-stings of the soul and body -as altogether too bloody and wicked; and in the -poverty of actual experiences of pain, would now -like to make <i>painful general ideas</i> appear as -suffering of the worst kind.—There might indeed -be a remedy for pessimistic philosophies and -the excessive sensibility which seems to me the -real "distress of the present":—but perhaps this -remedy already sounds too cruel, and would itself -be reckoned among the symptoms owing to which -people at present conclude that "existence is something -evil." Well! the remedy for "the distress" -is <i>distress</i>.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span> - <h3 class='c009'>49.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Magnanimity and allied Qualities.</i>—Those paradoxical -phenomena, such as the sudden coldness -in the demeanour of good-natured men, the humour -of the melancholy, and above all <i>magnanimity</i>, as -a sudden renunciation of revenge or of the gratification -of envy—appear in men in whom there is -a powerful inner impulsiveness, in men of sudden -satiety and sudden disgust. Their satisfactions are -so rapid and violent that satiety, aversion, and -flight into the antithetical taste, immediately follow -upon them: in this contrast the convulsion of -feeling liberates itself, in one person by sudden -coldness, in another by laughter, and in a third -by tears and self-sacrifice. The magnanimous -person appears to me—at least that kind of -magnanimous person who has always made most -impression—as a man with the strongest thirst for -vengeance, to whom a gratification presents itself -close at hand, and who <i>already</i> drinks it off <i>in -imagination</i> so copiously, thoroughly, and to the -last drop, that an excessive, rapid disgust follows -this rapid licentiousness;—he now elevates himself -"above himself," as one says, and forgives his -enemy, yea, blesses and honours him. With this -violence done to himself, however, with this mockery -of his impulse to revenge, even still so powerful, -he merely yields to the new impulse, the disgust -which has become powerful, and does this just -as impatiently and licentiously, as a short time -previously he <i>forestalled</i>, and as it were exhausted, -the joy of revenge with his fantasy. In magnanimity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>there is the same amount of egoism as in revenge, -but a different quality of egoism.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>50.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Argument of Isolation.</i>—The reproach of -conscience, even in the most conscientious, is weak -against the feeling: "This and that are contrary -to the good morals of <i>your</i> society." A cold glance -or a wry mouth, on the part of those among whom -and for whom one has been educated, is still <i>feared</i> -even by the strongest. What is really feared there? -Isolation! as the argument which demolishes even -the best arguments for a person or cause!—It is -thus that the gregarious instinct speaks in us.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>51.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Sense for Truth.</i>—Commend me to all scepticism -where I am permitted to answer: "Let us put it to -the test!" But I don't wish to hear anything more -of things and questions which do not admit of being -tested. That is the limit of my "sense for truth": -for bravery has there lost its right.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>52.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What others Know of us.</i>—That which we know -of ourselves and have in our memory is not so -decisive for the happiness of our life as is generally -believed. One day it flashes upon our mind what -<i>others</i> know of us (or think they know)—and then -we acknowledge that it is the more powerful. We -get on with our bad conscience more easily than -with our bad reputation.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span> - <h3 class='c009'>53.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Where Goodness Begins.</i>—Where bad eyesight can -no longer see the evil impulse as such, on account -of its refinement,—there man sets up the kingdom -of goodness; and the feeling of having now gone -over into the kingdom of goodness brings all those -impulses (such as the feelings of security, of comfortableness, -of benevolence) into simultaneous -activity, which were threatened and confined by -the evil impulses. Consequently, the duller the eye -so much the further does goodness extend! Hence -the eternal cheerfulness of the populace and of -children! Hence the gloominess and grief (allied -to the bad conscience) of great thinkers.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>54.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Consciousness of Appearance.</i>—How wonderfully -and novelly, and at the same time how -awfully and ironically, do I feel myself situated -with respect to collective existence, with my knowledge! -I have <i>discovered</i> for myself that the old -humanity and animality, yea, the collective primeval -age, and the past of all sentient being, continues to -meditate, love, hate, and reason in me,—I have -suddenly awoke in the midst of this dream, but -merely to the consciousness that I just dream, and -that I <i>must</i> dream on in order not to perish; just -as the sleep-walker must dream on in order not to -tumble down. What is it that is now "appearance" -to me! Verily, not the antithesis of any -kind of essence,—what knowledge can I assert of -any kind of essence whatsoever, except merely the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>predicates of its appearance! Verily not a dead -mask which one could put upon an unknown X, -and which to be sure one could also remove! -Appearance is for me the operating and living -thing itself; which goes so far in its self-mockery -as to make me feel that here there is appearance, -and Will o' the Wisp, and spirit-dance, and nothing -more,—that among all these dreamers, I also, the -"thinker," dance my dance, that the thinker -is a means of prolonging further the terrestrial -dance, and in so far is one of the masters of -ceremony of existence, and that the sublime consistency -and connectedness of all branches of -knowledge is perhaps, and will perhaps, be the -best means for <i>maintaining</i> the universality of the -dreaming, the complete, mutual understandability -of all those dreamers, and thereby <i>the duration of -the dream</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>55.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Ultimate Nobility of Character.</i>—What then -makes a person "noble"? Certainly not that he -makes sacrifices; even the frantic libertine makes -sacrifices. Certainly not that he generally follows -his passions; there are contemptible passions. -Certainly not that he does something for others -and without selfishness; perhaps the effect of -selfishness is precisely at its greatest in the -noblest persons.—But that the passion which -seizes the noble man is a peculiarity, without his -knowing that it is so: the use of a rare and -singular measuring-rod, almost a frenzy: the feeling -of heat in things which feel cold to all other -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>persons: a divining of values for which scales have -not yet been invented: a sacrificing on altars which -are consecrated to an unknown God: a bravery -without the desire for honour: a self-sufficiency -which has superabundance, and imparts to men and -things. Hitherto, therefore, it has been the rare -in man, and the unconsciousness of this rareness, -that has made men noble. Here, however, let us -consider that everything ordinary, immediate, and -indispensable, in short, what has been most preservative -of the species, and generally the <i>rule</i> in -mankind hitherto, has been judged unreasonable -and calumniated in its entirety by this standard, -in favour of the exceptions. To become the -advocate of the rule—that may perhaps be the -ultimate form and refinement in which nobility of -character will reveal itself on earth.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>56.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Desire for Suffering.</i>—When I think of the -desire to do something, how it continually tickles -and stimulates millions of young Europeans, who -cannot endure themselves and all their ennui,—I -conceive that there must be a desire in them to -suffer something, in order to derive from their -suffering a worthy motive for acting, for doing -something. Distress is necessary! Hence the cry -of the politicians, hence the many false, trumped-up, -exaggerated "states of distress" of all possible -kinds, and the blind readiness to believe in them. -This young world desires that there should arrive -or appear <i>from the outside</i>—not happiness—but -misfortune; and their imagination is already -<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>busy beforehand to form a monster out of it, so -that they may afterwards be able to fight with a -monster. If these distress-seekers felt the power -to benefit themselves, to do something for themselves -from internal sources, they would also understand -how to create a distress of their own, specially their -own, from internal sources. Their inventions might -then be more refined, and their gratifications might -sound like good music: while at present they fill -the world with their cries of distress, and consequently -too often with the <i>feeling of distress</i> in -the first place! They do not know what to make -of themselves—and so they paint the misfortune of -others on the wall; they always need others! -And always again other others!—Pardon me, my -friends, I have ventured to paint my <i>happiness</i> on -the wall.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span> - <h2 class='c004'>BOOK SECOND</h2> -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span> - <h3 class='c009'>57.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>To the Realists.</i>—Ye sober beings, who feel yourselves -armed against passion and fantasy, and -would gladly make a pride and an ornament out -of your emptiness, ye call yourselves realists and -give to understand that the world is actually -constituted as it appears to you; before you alone -reality stands unveiled, and ye yourselves would -perhaps be the best part of it,—oh, ye dear images -of Sais! But are not ye also in your unveiled -condition still extremely passionate and dusky -beings compared with the fish, and still all too like -an enamoured artist?<a id='r8' /><a href='#f8' class='c011'><sup>[8]</sup></a>—and what is "reality" to -an enamoured artist! Ye still carry about with -you the valuations of things which had their origin -in the passions and infatuations of earlier centuries! -There is still a secret and ineffaceable drunkenness -embodied in your sobriety! Your love of -"reality," for example—oh, that is an old, primitive -"love"! In every feeling, in every sense-impression, -there is a portion of this old love: and -similarly also some kind of fantasy, prejudice, -irrationality, ignorance, fear, and whatever else -has become mingled and woven into it. There -is that mountain! There is that cloud! What -is "real" in them? Remove the phantasm and -the whole human <i>element</i> therefrom, ye sober -ones! Yes, if ye could do <i>that</i>! If ye could -forget your origin, your past, your preparatory -schooling,—your whole history as man and beast! -There is no "reality" for us—nor for you either, ye -sober ones,—we are far from being so alien to one -another as ye suppose, and perhaps our good-will -to get beyond drunkenness is just as respectable -as your belief that ye are altogether <i>incapable</i> of -drunkenness.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span> - <h3 class='c009'>58.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Only as Creators!</i>—It has caused me the greatest -trouble, and for ever causes me the greatest trouble, -to perceive that unspeakably more depends upon -<i>what things are called</i>, than on what they are. -The reputation, the name and appearance, the -importance, the usual measure and weight of -things—each being in origin most frequently -an error and arbitrariness thrown over the things -like a garment, and quite alien to their essence and -even to their exterior—have gradually, by the -belief therein and its continuous growth from -generation to generation, grown as it were on-and-into -things and become their very body; the -appearance at the very beginning becomes almost -always the essence in the end, and <i>operates</i> -as the essence! What a fool he would be who -would think it enough to refer here to this -origin and this nebulous veil of illusion, in order -to <i>annihilate</i> that which virtually passes for the -world—namely, so-called "reality"! It is only as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>creators that we can annihilate!—But let us not -forget this: it suffices to create new names and -valuations and probabilities, in order in the long -run to create new "things."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>59.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>We Artists!</i>—When we love a woman we have -readily a hatred against nature, on recollecting all -the disagreeable natural functions to which every -woman is subject; we prefer not to think of -them at all, but if once our soul touches on -these things it twitches impatiently, and glances, -as we have said, contemptuously at nature:—we -are hurt; nature seems to encroach upon -our possessions, and with the profanest hands. -We then shut our ears against all physiology, and -we decree in secret that "we will hear nothing -of the fact that man is something else than -<i>soul and form</i>!" "The man under the skin" is -an abomination and monstrosity, a blasphemy of -God and of love to all lovers.—Well, just as the -lover still feels with respect to nature and natural -functions, so did every worshipper of God and his -"holy omnipotence" formerly feel: in all that was -said of nature by astronomers, geologists, physiologists, -and physicians, he saw an encroachment on -his most precious possession, and consequently an -attack,—and moreover also an impertinence of -the assailant! The "law of nature" sounded to -him as blasphemy against God; in truth he would -too willingly have seen the whole of mechanics -traced back to moral acts of volition and arbitrariness:—but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>because nobody could render him this -service, he <i>concealed</i> nature and mechanism from -himself as best he could, and lived in a dream. -Oh, those men of former times understood how to -<i>dream</i>, and did not need first to go to sleep!—and -we men of the present day also still understand -it too well, with all our good-will for wakefulness -and daylight! It suffices to love, to hate, to -desire, and in general to feel,—<i>immediately</i> the -spirit and the power of the dream come over us, -and we ascend, with open eyes and indifferent -to all danger, the most dangerous paths, to the -roofs and towers of fantasy, and without any -giddiness, as persons born for climbing—we the -night-walkers by day! We artists! We concealers -of naturalness! We moon-struck and God-struck -ones! We dead-silent, untiring wanderers -on heights which we do not see as heights, but as -our plains, as our places of safety!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>60.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Women and their Effect in the Distance.</i>—Have -I still ears? Am I only ear, and nothing else -besides? Here I stand in the midst of the -surging of the breakers, whose white flames fork -up to my feet;—from all sides there is howling, -threatening, crying, and screaming at me, while in -the lowest depths the old earth-shaker sings his aria, -hollow like a roaring bull; he beats such an earth-shaker's -measure thereto, that even the hearts of -these weathered rock-monsters tremble at the -sound. Then, suddenly, as if born out of nothingness, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>there appears before the portal of this hellish -labyrinth, only a few fathoms distant,—a great -sailing-ship gliding silently along like a ghost. -Oh, this ghostly beauty! With what enchantment -it seizes me! What? Has all the repose and -silence in the world embarked here? Does my -happiness itself sit in this quiet place, my happier -ego, my second immortalised self? Still not -dead, yet also no longer living? As a ghost-like, -calm, gazing, gliding, sweeping, neutral being? -Similar to the ship, which, with its white sails, like -an immense butterfly, passes over the dark sea! -Yes! Passing <i>over</i> existence! That is it! That -would be it!——It seems that the noise here has -made me a visionary? All great noise causes one -to place happiness in the calm and the distance. -When a man is in the midst of <i>his</i> hubbub, in the -midst of the breakers of his plots and plans, -he there sees perhaps calm, enchanting beings -glide past him, for whose happiness and retirement -he longs—<i>they are women</i>. He almost thinks that -there with the women dwells his better self; that -in these calm places even the loudest breakers -become still as death, and life itself a dream of life. -But still! But still! My noble enthusiast, there -is also in the most beautiful sailing-ship so much -noise and bustling, and alas, so much petty, pitiable -bustling! The enchantment and the most -powerful effect of women is, to use the language -of philosophers, an effect at a distance, an <i>actio in -distans</i>; there belongs thereto, however, primarily -and above all,—<i>distance</i>!</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span> - <h3 class='c009'>61.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Honour of Friendship.</i>—That the sentiment -of friendship was regarded by antiquity as the -highest sentiment, higher even than the most -vaunted pride of the self-sufficient and wise, yea as -it were its sole and still holier brotherhood, is -very well expressed by the story of the Macedonian -king who made the present of a talent to a cynical -Athenian philosopher from whom he received it -back again. "What?" said the king, "has he then -no friend?" He therewith meant to say, "I honour -this pride of the wise and independent man, but -I should have honoured his humanity still higher -if the friend in him had gained the victory over his -pride. The philosopher has lowered himself in my -estimation, for he showed that he did not know -one of the two highest sentiments—and in fact the -higher of them!"</p> -<h3 class='c009'>62.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Love.</i>—Love pardons even the passion of the -beloved.</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>63.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Woman in Music.</i>—How does it happen that -warm and rainy winds bring the musical mood -and the inventive delight in melody with them? -Are they not the same winds that fill the churches -and give women amorous thoughts?</p> -<h3 class='c009'>64.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Sceptics.</i>—I fear women who have become old -are more sceptical in the secret recesses of their -<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>hearts than any of the men are; they believe in -the superficiality of existence as in its essence, and -all virtue and profundity is to them only the disguising -of this "truth," the very desirable disguising -of a <i>pudendum</i>,—an affair, therefore, of decency -and of modesty, and nothing more!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>65.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Devotedness.</i>—There are noble women with a -certain poverty of spirit, who, in order to <i>express</i> -their profoundest devotedness, have no other alternative -but to offer their virtue and modesty: it is -the highest thing they have. And this present -is often accepted without putting the recipient -under such deep obligation as the giver supposed,—a -very melancholy story!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>66.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Strength of the Weak.</i>—Women are all skilful -in exaggerating their weaknesses, indeed they are -inventive in weaknesses, so as to seem quite fragile -ornaments to which even a grain of dust does -harm; their existence is meant to bring home to -man's mind his coarseness, and to appeal to his -conscience. They thus defend themselves against -the strong and all "rights of might."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>67.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Self-dissembling.</i>—She loves him now and has -since been looking forth with as quiet confidence -as a cow; but alas! It was precisely his delight -that she seemed so fitful and absolutely incomprehensible! -He had rather too much steady weather -<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>in himself already! Would she not do well to -feign her old character? to feign indifference? -Does not—love itself advise her <i>to do so</i>? <i>Vivat -comœdia!</i></p> -<h3 class='c009'>68.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Will and Willingness.</i>—Some one brought a -youth to a wise man and said, "See, this is one -who is being corrupted by women!" The wise -man shook his head and smiled. "It is men," he -called out, "who corrupt women; and everything -that women lack should be atoned for and improved -in men,—for man creates for himself the ideal of -woman, and woman moulds herself according to -this ideal."—"You are too tender-hearted towards -women," said one of the bystanders, "you do not -know them!" The wise man answered: "Man's -attribute is will, woman's attribute is willingness,—such -is the law of the sexes, verily! a hard law for -woman! All human beings are innocent of their -existence, women, however, are doubly innocent; -who could have enough of salve and gentleness for -them!"—"What about salve! What about gentleness!" -called out another person in the crowd, "we -must educate women better!"—"We must educate -men better," said the wise man, and made a sign -to the youth to follow him.—The youth, however, -did not follow him.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>69.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Capacity for Revenge.</i>—That a person cannot -and consequently will not defend himself, does -not yet cast disgrace upon him in our eyes; but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>we despise the person who has neither the ability -nor the good-will for revenge—whether it be -a man or a woman. Would a woman be able -to captivate us (or, as people say, to "fetter" -us) whom we did not credit with knowing how -to employ the dagger (any kind of dagger) -skilfully <i>against us</i> under certain circumstances? -Or against herself; which in a certain case might -be the severest revenge (the Chinese revenge).</p> -<h3 class='c009'>70.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Mistresses of the Masters.</i>—A powerful contralto -voice, as we occasionally hear it in the -theatre, raises suddenly for us the curtain on -possibilities in which we usually do not believe; -all at once we are convinced that somewhere in the -world there may be women with high, heroic, royal -souls, capable and prepared for magnificent remonstrances, -resolutions, and self-sacrifices, capable and -prepared for domination over men, because in -them the best in man, superior to sex, has become -a corporeal ideal. To be sure, it is not the intention -of the theatre that such voices should give -such a conception of women; they are usually -intended to represent the ideal male lover, -for example, a Romeo; but, to judge by my -experience, the theatre regularly miscalculates here, -and the musician also, who expects such effects -from such a voice. People do not believe in <i>these</i> -lovers; these voices still contain a tinge of the -motherly and housewifely character, and most of -all when love is in their tone.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span> - <h3 class='c009'>71.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>On Female Chastity.</i>—There is something quite -astonishing and extraordinary in the education of -women of the higher class; indeed, there is perhaps -nothing more paradoxical. All the world is agreed -to educate them with as much ignorance as possible -<i>in eroticis</i>, and to inspire their soul with a profound -shame of such things, and the extremest impatience -and horror at the suggestion of them. It is really -here only that all the "honour" of woman is at -stake; what would one not forgive them in other -respects! But here they are intended to remain -ignorant to the very backbone:—they are intended -to have neither eyes, ears, words, nor thoughts for -this, their "wickedness"; indeed knowledge here is -already evil. And then! To be hurled as with -an awful thunderbolt into reality and knowledge -with marriage—and indeed by him whom they -most love and esteem: to have to encounter love -and shame in contradiction, yea, to have to feel -rapture, abandonment, duty, sympathy, and fright -at the unexpected proximity of God and animal, -and whatever else besides! all at once!—There, -in fact, a psychic entanglement has been effected -which is quite unequalled! Even the sympathetic -curiosity of the wisest discerner of men does not -suffice to divine how this or that woman gets along -with the solution of this enigma and the enigma -of this solution; what dreadful, far-reaching suspicions -must awaken thereby in the poor unhinged -soul; and forsooth, how the ultimate philosophy -and scepticism of the woman casts anchor at this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>point!—Afterwards the same profound silence as before: -and often even a silence to herself, a shutting -of her eyes to herself.—Young wives on that account -make great efforts to appear superficial and thoughtless; -the most ingenious of them simulate a kind -of impudence.—Wives easily feel their husbands as -a question-mark to their honour, and their children -as an apology or atonement,—they require children, -and wish for them in quite another spirit than a -husband wishes for them.—In short, one cannot -be gentle enough towards women!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>72.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Mothers.</i>—Animals think differently from men -with respect to females; with them the female is -regarded as the productive being. There is no -paternal love among them, but there is such a -thing as love of the children of a beloved, and -habituation to them. In the young, the females -find gratification for their lust of dominion; the -young are a property, an occupation, something -quite comprehensible to them, with which they -can chatter: all this conjointly is maternal love,—it -is to be compared to the love of the artist for -his work. Pregnancy has made the females gentler, -more expectant, more timid, more submissively -inclined; and similarly intellectual pregnancy engenders -the character of the contemplative, who -are allied to women in character:—they are the -masculine mothers.—Among animals the masculine -sex is regarded as the beautiful sex.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span> - <h3 class='c009'>73.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Saintly Cruelty.</i>—A man holding a newly born -child in his hands came to a saint. "What should -I do with the child," he asked, "it is wretched, -deformed, and has not even enough of life to -die." "Kill it," cried the saint with a dreadful -voice, "kill it, and then hold it in thy arms for -three days and three nights to brand it on thy -memory:—thus wilt thou never again beget a child -when it is not the time for thee to beget."—When -the man had heard this he went away disappointed; -and many found fault with the saint because he -had advised cruelty, for he had advised to kill the -child. "But is it not more cruel to let it live?" -asked the saint.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>74.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Unsuccessful.</i>—Those poor women always fail -of success who become agitated and uncertain, and -talk too much in presence of him whom they love; -for men are most successfully seduced by a -certain subtle and phlegmatic tenderness.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>75.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Third Sex.</i>—"A small man is a paradox, -but still a man,—but the small woman seems to -me to be of another sex in comparison with well-grown -ones"—said an old dancing-master. A -small woman is never beautiful—said old Aristotle.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>76.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The greatest Danger.</i>—Had there not at all times -been a larger number of men who regarded the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>cultivation of their mind—their "rationality"—as -their pride, their obligation, their virtue, and -were injured or shamed by all play of fancy and -extravagance of thinking—as lovers of "sound -common sense":—mankind would long ago have -perished! Incipient <i>insanity</i> has hovered, and -hovers continually over mankind as its greatest -danger: that is precisely the breaking out of inclination -in feeling, seeing, and hearing; the enjoyment -of the unruliness of the mind; the delight in -human unreason. It is not truth and certainty -that is the antithesis of the world of the insane, -but the universality and all-obligatoriness of a -belief, in short, non-voluntariness in forming -opinions. And the greatest labour of human beings -hitherto has been to agree with one another -regarding a great many things, and to impose -upon themselves a <i>law of agreement</i>—indifferent -whether these things are true or false. This is -the discipline of the mind which has preserved -mankind;—but the counter-impulses are still so -powerful that one can really speak of the future of -mankind with little confidence. The ideas of -things still continually shift and move, and will -perhaps alter more than ever in the future; it is -continually the most select spirits themselves who -strive against universal obligatoriness—the investigators -of <i>truth</i> above all! The accepted belief, as -the belief of all the world, continually engenders a -disgust and a new longing in the more ingenious -minds; and already the slow <i>tempo</i> which it demands -for all intellectual processes (the imitation -of the tortoise, which is here recognised as the rule) -<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>makes the artists and poets runaways:—it is in -these impatient spirits that a downright delight in -delirium breaks out, because delirium has such a -joyful <i>tempo</i>! Virtuous intellects, therefore, are -needed—ah! I want to use the least ambiguous -word,—<i>virtuous stupidity</i> is needed, imperturbable -conductors of the <i>slow</i> spirits are needed, in order -that the faithful of the great collective belief may -remain with one another and dance their dance -further: it is a necessity of the first importance -that here enjoins and demands. <i>We others are the -exceptions and the danger</i>,—we eternally need protection!—Well, -there can actually be something -said in favour of the exceptions <i>provided that they -never want to become the rule</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>77.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Animal with good Conscience.</i>—It is not -unknown to me that there is vulgarity in everything -that pleases Southern Europe—whether it -be Italian opera (for example, Rossini's and -Bellini's), or the Spanish adventure-romance (most -readily accessible to us in the French garb of Gil -Blas)—but it does not offend me, any more than -the vulgarity which one encounters in a walk -through Pompeii, or even in the reading of every -ancient book: what is the reason of this? Is -it because shame is lacking here, and because the -vulgar always comes forward just as sure and -certain of itself as anything noble, lovely, and -passionate in the same kind of music or romance? -"The animal has its rights like man, so let it -run about freely; and you, my dear fellow-man, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>are still this animal, in spite of all!"—that -seems to me the moral of the case, and the -peculiarity of southern humanity. Bad taste has -its rights like good taste, and even a prerogative -over the latter when it is the great requisite, the -sure satisfaction, and as it were a universal language, -an immediately intelligible mask and attitude; -the excellent, select taste on the other hand has -always something of a seeking, tentative character, -not fully certain that it understands,—it is never, -and has never been popular! The <i>masque</i> is and -remains popular! So let all this masquerade -run along in the melodies and cadences, in the -leaps and merriment of the rhythm of these operas! -Quite the ancient life! What does one understand -of it, if one does not understand the delight in the -masque, the good conscience of all masquerade! -Here is the bath and the refreshment of the ancient -spirit:—and perhaps this bath was still more -necessary for the rare and sublime natures of the -ancient world than for the vulgar.—On the other -hand, a vulgar turn in northern works, for example -in German music, offends me unutterably. There -is <i>shame</i> in it, the artist has lowered himself in -his own sight, and could not even avoid blushing: -we are ashamed with him, and are so hurt because -we surmise that he believed he had to lower himself -on our account.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>78.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What we should be Grateful for.</i>—It is only the -artists, and especially the theatrical artists who -have furnished men with eyes and ears to hear and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>see with some pleasure what everyone is in himself, -what he experiences and aims at: it is only -<i>they</i> who have taught us how to estimate the hero -that is concealed in each of these common-place -men, and the art of looking at ourselves from a -distance as heroes, and as it were simplified and -transfigured,—the art of "putting ourselves on the -stage" before ourselves. It is thus only that we -get beyond some of the paltry details in ourselves! -Without that art we should be nothing but fore-ground, -and would live absolutely under the spell -of the perspective which makes the closest and the -commonest seem immensely large and like reality -in itself.—Perhaps there is merit of a similar kind -in the religion which commanded us to look at the -sinfulness of every individual man with a magnifying-glass, -and to make a great, immortal criminal -out of the sinner; in that it put eternal perspectives -around man, it taught him to see himself -from a distance, and as something past, something -entire.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>79.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Charm of Imperfection.</i>—I see here a poet, -who, like so many men, exercises a higher charm -by his imperfections than by all that is rounded off -and takes perfect shape under his hands,—indeed, -he derives his advantage and reputation far more -from his actual limitations than from his abundant -powers. His work never expresses altogether -what he would really like to express, what he -<i>would like to have seen</i>: he appears to have had -the foretaste of a vision and never the vision -<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>itself:—but an extraordinary longing for this vision -has remained in his soul; and from this he -derives his equally extraordinary eloquence of -longing and craving. With this he raises those -who listen to him above his work and above all -"works," and gives them wings to rise higher than -hearers have ever risen before, thus making them -poets and seers themselves; they then show an admiration -for the originator of their happiness, as if -he had led them immediately to the vision of his -holiest and ultimate verities, as if he had reached -his goal, and had actually <i>seen</i> and communicated -his vision. It is to the advantage of his reputation -that he has not really arrived at his goal.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>80.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Art and Nature.</i>—The Greeks (or at least the -Athenians) liked to hear good talking: indeed -they had an eager inclination for it, which distinguished -them more than anything else from -non-Greeks. And so they required good talking -even from passion on the stage, and submitted to -the unnaturalness of dramatic verse with delight:—in -nature, forsooth, passion is so sparing of words! -so dumb and confused! Or if it finds words, so -embarrassed and irrational and a shame to itself! -We have now, all of us, thanks to the Greeks, -accustomed ourselves to this unnaturalness on the -stage, as we endure that other unnaturalness, the -<i>singing</i> passion, and willingly endure it, thanks to -the Italians.—It has become a necessity to us, which -we cannot satisfy out of the resources of actuality, -to hear men talk well and in full detail in the most -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>trying situations: it enraptures us at present when -the tragic hero still finds words, reasons, eloquent -gestures, and on the whole a bright spirituality, -where life approaches the abysses, and where the -actual man mostly loses his head, and certainly -his fine language. This kind of <i>deviation from -nature</i> is perhaps the most agreeable repast for -man's pride: he loves art generally on account of -it, as the expression of high, heroic unnaturalness -and convention. One rightly objects to the -dramatic poet when he does not transform everything -into reason and speech, but always retains a -remnant of <i>silence</i>:—just as one is dissatisfied with -an operatic musician who cannot find a melody -for the highest emotion, but only an emotional, -"natural" stammering and crying. Here nature -<i>has to</i> be contradicted! Here the common -charm of illusion <i>has to</i> give place to a higher -charm! The Greeks go far, far in this direction—frightfully -far! As they constructed the stage -as narrow as possible and dispensed with all the -effect of deep backgrounds, as they made pantomime -and easy motion impossible to the actor, and -transformed him into a solemn, stiff, masked bogey, -so they have also deprived passion itself of its deep -background, and have dictated to it a law of fine -talk; indeed, they have really done everything to -counteract the elementary effect of representations -that inspire pity and terror: <i>they did not -want pity and terror</i>,—with due deference, with -the highest deference to Aristotle! but he -certainly did not hit the nail, to say nothing -of the head of the nail, when he spoke about the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>final aim of Greek tragedy! Let us but look at -the Grecian tragic poets with respect to <i>what</i> most -excited their diligence, their inventiveness, and their -emulation,—certainly it was not the intention of -subjugating the spectators by emotion! The -Athenian went to the theatre <i>to hear fine talking</i>! -And fine talking was arrived at by Sophocles!—pardon -me this heresy!—It is very different with -<i>serious opera</i>: all its masters make it their business -to prevent their personages being understood. -"An occasional word picked up may come to the -assistance of the inattentive listener; but on the -whole the situation must be self-explanatory,—the -<i>talking</i> is of no account!"—so they all think, -and so they have all made fun of the words. -Perhaps they have only lacked courage to express -fully their extreme contempt for words: a little -additional insolence in Rossini, and he would have -allowed la-la-la-la to be sung throughout—and it -might have been the rational course! The personages -of the opera are <i>not</i> meant to be believed -"in their words," but in their tones! That is the -difference, that is the fine <i>unnaturalness</i> on account -of which people go to the opera! Even the <i>recitativo -secco</i> is not really intended to be heard as -words and text: this kind of half-music is meant -rather in the first place to give the musical ear a -little repose (the repose from <i>melody</i>, as from the -sublimest, and on that account the most straining -enjoyment of this art),—but very soon something -different results, namely, an increasing impatience, -an increasing resistance, a new longing for <i>entire</i> -music, for melody.—How is it with the art of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>Richard Wagner as seen from this standpoint? Is -it perhaps the same? Perhaps otherwise? It would -often seem to me as if one needed to have learned -by heart both the words <i>and</i> the music of his -creations before the performances; for without -that—so it seemed to me—one <i>may hear</i> neither -the words, nor even the music.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>81.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Grecian Taste.</i>—"What is beautiful in it?"—asked -a certain geometrician, after a performance -of the <i>Iphigenia</i>—"there is nothing proved in it!" -Could the Greeks have been so far from this taste? -In Sophocles at least "everything is proved."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>82.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Esprit Un-Grecian.</i>—The Greeks were exceedingly -logical and plain in all their thinking; they -did not get tired of it, at least during their long -flourishing period, as is so often the case with the -French; who too willingly made a little excursion -into the opposite, and in fact endure the spirit of -logic only when it betrays its <i>sociable</i> courtesy, -its sociable self-renunciation, by a multitude of -such little excursions into its opposite. Logic -appears to them as necessary as bread and water, -but also like these as a kind of prison-fare, as soon -as it is to be taken pure and by itself. In good -society one must never want to be in the right -absolutely and solely, as all pure logic requires; -hence, the little dose of irrationality in all French -<i>esprit</i>.—The social sense of the Greeks was far -less developed than that of the French in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>present and the past; hence, so little <i>esprit</i> in their -cleverest men, hence, so little wit, even in their wags, -hence—alas! But people will not readily believe -these tenets of mine, and how much of the kind -I have still on my soul!—<i>Est res magna tacere</i>—says -Martial, like all garrulous people.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>83.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Translations.</i>—One can estimate the amount of -the historical sense which an age possesses by the -way in which it makes <i>translations</i> and seeks to -embody in itself past periods and literatures. -The French of Corneille, and even the French of -the Revolution, appropriated Roman antiquity in a -manner for which we would no longer have the -courage—owing to our superior historical sense. -And Roman antiquity itself: how violently, and -at the same time how naïvely, did it lay its hand -on everything excellent and elevated belonging to -the older Grecian antiquity! How they translated -these writings into the Roman present! -How they wiped away intentionally and unconcernedly -the wing-dust of the butterfly moment! -It is thus that Horace now and then translated -Alcæus or Archilochus, it is thus that Propertius -translated Callimachus and Philetas (poets of -equal rank with Theocritus, if we <i>be allowed</i> to -judge): of what consequence was it to them that -the actual creator experienced this and that, and -had inscribed the indication thereof in his poem!—as -poets they were averse to the antiquarian, -inquisitive spirit which precedes the historical -sense; as poets they did not respect those essentially -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>personal traits and names, nor anything -peculiar to city, coast, or century, such as its -costume and mask, but at once put the present -and the Roman in its place. They seem to us to -ask: "Should we not make the old new for ourselves, -and adjust <i>ourselves</i> to it? Should we not -be allowed to inspire this dead body with our soul? -for it is dead indeed: how loathsome is everything -dead!"—They did not know the pleasure of the -historical sense; the past and the alien was painful -to them, and as Romans it was an incitement to -a Roman conquest. In fact, they conquered -when they translated,—not only in that they -omitted the historical: no, they added also allusions -to the present; above all, they struck out the -name of the poet and put their own in its place—not -with the feeling of theft, but with the very -best conscience of the <i>imperium Romanum</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>84.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Origin of Poetry.</i>—The lovers of the fantastic -in man, who at the same time represent the doctrine -of instinctive morality, draw this conclusion: -"Granted that utility has been honoured at all times -as the highest divinity, where then in all the world -has poetry come from?—this rhythmising of speech -which thwarts rather than furthers plainness of -communication, and which, nevertheless, has sprung -up everywhere on the earth, and still springs up, -as a mockery of all useful purpose! The wildly -beautiful irrationality of poetry refutes you, ye -utilitarians! The wish <i>to get rid of</i> utility in -some way—that is precisely what has elevated -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>man, that is what has inspired him to morality and -art!" Well, I must here speak for once to please -the utilitarians,—they are so seldom in the right -that it is pitiful! In the old times which called -poetry into being, people had still utility in view -with respect to it, and a very important utility—at -the time when rhythm was introduced into -speech, the force which arranges all the particles -of the sentence anew, commands the choosing of -the words, recolours the thought, and makes it more -obscure, more foreign, and more distant: to be sure -a <i>superstitious utility</i>! It was intended that a -human entreaty should be more profoundly impressed -upon the Gods by virtue of rhythm, after -it had been observed that men could remember -a verse better than an unmetrical speech. It was -likewise thought that people could make themselves -audible at greater distances by the rhythmical -beat; the rhythmical prayer seemed to come -nearer to the ear of the Gods. Above all, however, -people wanted to have the advantage of the -elementary conquest which man experiences in -himself when he hears music: rhythm is a constraint; -it produces an unconquerable desire to -yield, to join in; not only the step of the foot, -but also the soul itself follows the measure,—probably -the soul of the Gods also, as people -thought! They attempted, therefore, to <i>constrain</i> -the Gods by rhythm and to exercise a power over -them; they threw poetry around the Gods like a -magic noose. There was a still more wonderful -idea, and it has perhaps operated most powerfully -of all in the originating of poetry. Among the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>Pythagoreans it made its appearance as a philosophical -doctrine and as an artifice of teaching: but -long before there were philosophers music was -acknowledged to possess the power of unburdening -the emotions, of purifying the soul, of soothing -the <i>ferocia animi</i>—and this was owing to the -rhythmical element in music. When the proper -tension and harmony of the soul were lost a person -had to <i>dance</i> to the measure of the singer,—that -was the recipe of this medical art. By means of it -Terpander quieted a tumult, Empedocles calmed a -maniac, Damon purged a love-sick youth; by -means of it even the maddened, revengeful Gods -were treated for the purpose of a cure. First of -all, it was by driving the frenzy and wantonness -of their emotions to the highest pitch, by making -the furious mad, and the revengeful intoxicated -with vengeance:—all the orgiastic cults seek to -discharge the <i>ferocia</i> of a deity all at once and -thus make an orgy, so that the deity may feel freer -and quieter afterwards, and leave man in peace. -<i>Melos</i>, according to its root, signifies a soothing -means, not because the song is gentle itself, but -because its after-effect makes gentle.—And not -only in the religious song, but also in the secular -song of the most ancient times the prerequisite is -that the rhythm should exercise a magical influence; -for example, in drawing water, or in rowing: the -song is for the enchanting of the spirits supposed to -be active thereby; it makes them obliging, involuntary, -and the instruments of man. And as often -as a person acts he has occasion to sing, <i>every</i> -action is dependent on the assistance of spirits: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>magic song and incantation appear to be the -original form of poetry. When verse also came to -be used in oracles—the Greeks said that the -hexameter was invented at Delphi,—the rhythm -was here also intended to exercise a compulsory -influence. To make a prophecy—that means -originally (according to what seems to me the -probable derivation of the Greek word) to determine -something; people thought they could determine -the future by winning Apollo over to their -side: he who, according to the most ancient idea, is -far more than a foreseeing deity. According as the -formula is pronounced with literal and rhythmical -correctness, it determines the future: the formula, -however, is the invention of Apollo, who as the -God of rhythm, can also determine the goddesses -of fate.—Looked at and investigated as a whole, -was there ever anything <i>more serviceable</i> to the -ancient superstitious species of human being than -rhythm? People could do everything with it: -they could make labour go on magically; they -could compel a God to appear, to be near at hand, -and listen to them; they could arrange the future -for themselves according to their will; they could -unburden their own souls of any kind of excess (of -anxiety, of mania, of sympathy, of revenge), and -not only their own soul, but the souls of the most -evil spirits,—without verse a person was nothing, -by means of verse a person became almost a God. -Such a fundamental feeling no longer allows itself -to be fully eradicated,—and even now, after millenniums -of long labour in combating such superstition, -the very wisest of us occasionally becomes the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>fool of rhythm, be it only that one <i>perceives</i> a -thought to be <i>truer</i> when it has a metrical form -and approaches with a divine hopping. Is it not -a very funny thing that the most serious philosophers, -however anxious they are in other respects -for strict certainty, still appeal to <i>poetical sayings</i> in -order to give their thoughts force and credibility?—and -yet it is more dangerous to a truth when the -poet assents to it than when he contradicts it! -For, as Homer says, "The singers speak much -falsehood!"—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>85.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Good and the Beautiful.</i>—Artists <i>glorify</i> -continually—they do nothing else,—and indeed -they glorify all those conditions and things that -have a reputation, so that man may feel himself -good or great, or intoxicated, or merry, or pleased -and wise by it. Those <i>select</i> things and conditions -whose value for human <i>happiness</i> is regarded -as secure and determined, are the objects of -artists: they are ever lying in wait to discover -such things, to transfer them into the domain of -art. I mean to say that they are not themselves -the valuers of happiness and of the happy ones, -but they always press close to these valuers with -the greatest curiosity and longing, in order -immediately to use their valuations advantageously. -As besides their impatience, they have also the -big lungs of heralds and the feet of runners, they -are likewise always among the first to glorify the -<i>new</i> excellency, and often <i>seem</i> to be those who -first of all called it good and valued it as good. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>This, however, as we have said, is an error; they are -only faster and louder than the actual valuers:—And -who then are these?—They are the rich and -the leisurely.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>86.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Theatre.</i>—This day has given me once more -strong and elevated sentiments, and if I could -have music and art in the evening, I know well -what music and art I should <i>not</i> like to have; -namely, none of that which would fain intoxicate -its hearers and <i>excite</i> them to a crisis of strong and -high feeling,—those men with commonplace souls, -who in the evening are not like victors on triumphal -cars, but like tired mules to whom life has rather -too often applied the whip. What would those -men at all know of "higher moods," unless there -were expedients for causing ecstasy and idealistic -strokes of the whip!—and thus they have their -inspirers as they have their wines. But what is -their drink and their drunkenness to <i>me</i>! Does -the inspired one need wine? He rather looks with -a kind of disgust at the agency and the agent which -are here intended to produce an effect without -sufficient reason,—an imitation of the high tide of -the soul! What? One gives the mole wings and -proud fancies—before going to sleep, before he -creeps into his hole? One sends him into the -theatre and puts great magnifying-glasses to his -blind and tired eyes? Men, whose life is not -"action" but business, sit in front of the stage -and look at strange beings to whom life is more -than business? "This is proper," you say, "this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>is entertaining, this is what culture wants!"—Well -then! culture is too often lacking in me, for this -sight is too often disgusting to me. He who -has enough of tragedy and comedy in himself -surely prefers to remain away from the theatre; -or, as the exception, the whole procedure—theatre -and public and poet included—becomes for him a -truly tragic and comic play, so that the performed -piece counts for little in comparison. He who is -something like Faust and Manfred, what does it -matter to him about the Fausts and Manfreds of -the theatre!—while it certainly gives him something -to think about <i>that</i> such figures are brought -into the theatre at all. The <i>strongest</i> thoughts and -passions before those who are not capable of thought -and passion—but of <i>intoxication</i> only! And <i>those</i> -as a means to this end! And theatre and music the -hashish-smoking and betel-chewing of Europeans! -Oh, who will narrate to us the whole history of -narcotics!—It is almost the history of "culture," -the so-called higher culture!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>87.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Conceit of Artists.</i>—I think artists often do -not know what they can do best, because they are -too conceited, and have set their minds on something -loftier than those little plants appear to be, -which can grow up to perfection on their soil, -fresh, rare, and beautiful. The final value of their -own garden and vineyard is superciliously underestimated -by them, and their love and their insight -are not of the same quality. Here is a musician, -who, more than any one else, has the genius for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>discovering the tones peculiar to suffering, oppressed, -tortured souls, and who can endow even dumb -animals with speech. No one equals him in the -colours of the late autumn, in the indescribably -touching happiness of a last, a final, and all too -short enjoyment; he knows a chord for those secret -and weird midnights of the soul when cause and -effect seem out of joint, and when every instant -something may originate "out of nothing." He -draws his resources best of all out of the lower -depths of human happiness, and so to speak, out of -its drained goblet, where the bitterest and most -nauseous drops have ultimately, for good or for -ill, commingled with the sweetest. He knows the -weary shuffling along of the soul which can no -longer leap or fly, yea, not even walk; he has the -shy glance of concealed pain, of understanding -without comfort, of leave-taking without avowal; -yea, as the Orpheus of all secret misery, he is greater -than anyone; and in fact much has been added -to art by him which was hitherto inexpressible -and not even thought worthy of art, and which was -only to be scared away, by words, and not grasped—many -small and quite microscopic features of -the soul: yes, he is the master of miniature. But -he does not <i>wish</i> to be so! His <i>character</i> is more -in love with large walls and daring frescoes! He -fails to see that his <i>spirit</i> has a different taste and -inclination, and prefers to sit quietly in the corners -of ruined houses:—concealed in this way, concealed -even from himself, he there paints his proper masterpieces, -all of which are very short, often only one -bar in length,—there only does he become quite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>good, great, and perfect, perhaps there only.—But -he does not know it! He is too conceited to -know it.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>88.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Earnestness for the Truth.</i>—Earnest for the truth! -What different things men understand by these -words! Just the same opinions, and modes of -demonstration and testing which a thinker regards -as a frivolity in himself, to which he has succumbed -with shame at one time or other,—just the same -opinions may give to an artist, who comes in -contact with them and accepts them temporarily, -the consciousness that the profoundest earnestness -for the truth has now taken hold of him, and that -it is worthy of admiration that, although an artist, -he at the same time exhibits the most ardent -desire for the antithesis of the apparent. It is thus -possible that a person may, just by his pathos of -earnestness, betray how superficially and sparingly -his intellect has hitherto operated in the domain of -knowledge.—And is not everything that we consider -<i>important</i> our betrayer? It shows where our -motives lie, and where our motives are altogether -lacking.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>89.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Now and Formerly.</i>—Of what consequence is all -our art in artistic products, if that higher art, the -art of the festival, be lost by us? Formerly all -artistic products were exhibited on the great -festive path of humanity, as tokens of remembrance, -and monuments of high and happy moments. -One now seeks to allure the exhausted and sickly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>from the great suffering path of humanity for a -wanton moment by means of works of art; one -furnishes them with a little ecstasy and insanity.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>90.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Lights and Shades.</i>—Books and writings are -different with different thinkers. One writer has -collected together in his book all the rays of light -which he could quickly plunder and carry home -from an illuminating experience; while another -gives only the shadows, and the grey and black -replicas of that which on the previous day had -towered up in his soul.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>91.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Precaution.</i>—Alfieri, as is well known, told a -great many falsehoods when he narrated the -history of his life to his astonished contemporaries. -He told falsehoods owing to the despotism toward -himself which he exhibited, for example, in the -way in which he created his own language, and -tyrannised himself into a poet:—he finally found -a rigid form of sublimity into which he <i>forced</i> his -life and his memory; he must have suffered much -in the process.—I would also give no credit to a -history of Plato's life written by himself, as little as -to Rousseau's, or to the <i>Vita nuova</i> of Dante.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>92.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Prose and Poetry.</i>—Let it be observed that the -great masters of prose have almost always been -poets as well, whether openly, or only in secret and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>for the "closet"; and in truth one only writes good -prose <i>in view of poetry</i>! For prose is an uninterrupted, -polite warfare with poetry; all its charm -consists in the fact that poetry is constantly avoided, -and contradicted; every abstraction wants to have -a gibe at poetry, and wishes to be uttered with a -mocking voice; all dryness and coolness is meant -to bring the amiable goddess into an amiable -despair; there are often approximations and reconciliations -for the moment, and then a sudden recoil -and a burst of laughter; the curtain is often drawn -up and dazzling light let in just while the goddess -is enjoying her twilights and dull colours; the -word is often taken out of her mouth and chanted -to a melody while she holds her fine hands before -her delicate little ears—and so there are a -thousand enjoyments of the warfare, the defeats -included, of which the unpoetic, the so-called -prose-men know nothing at all:—they consequently -write and speak only bad prose! <i>Warfare -is the father of all good things</i>, it is also the father -of good prose!—There have been four very singular -and truly poetical men in this century who have -arrived at mastership in prose, for which otherwise -this century is not suited, owing to lack of -poetry, as we have indicated. Not to take Goethe -into account, for he is reasonably claimed by the -century that produced him, I look only on Giacomo -Leopardi, Prosper Mérimée, Ralph Waldo Emerson, -and Walter Savage Landor, the author of <i>Imaginary -Conversations</i>, as worthy to be called masters of -prose.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span> - <h3 class='c009'>93.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>But why, then, do you Write?</i>—A: I do not -belong to those who <i>think</i> with the wet pen in -hand; and still less to those who yield themselves -entirely to their passions before the open ink-bottle, -sitting on their chair and staring at the paper. I -am always vexed and abashed by writing; writing -is a necessity for me,—even to speak of it in a -simile is disagreeable. B: But why, then, do you -write? A: Well, my dear Sir, to tell you in confidence, -I have hitherto found no other means of -<i>getting rid of</i> my thoughts. B: And why do you -wish to get rid of them? A: Why I wish? Do -I really wish! I must.—B: Enough! Enough!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>94.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Growth after Death.</i>—Those few daring words -about moral matters which Fontenelle threw -into his immortal <i>Dialogues of the Dead</i>, were -regarded by his age as paradoxes and amusements -of a not unscrupulous wit; even the highest judges -of taste and intellect saw nothing more in them,—indeed, -Fontenelle himself perhaps saw nothing -more. Then something incredible takes place: -these thoughts become truths! Science proves -them! The game becomes serious! And we read -those dialogues with a feeling different from that -with which Voltaire and Helvetius read them, and -we involuntarily raise their originator into another -and <i>much higher</i> class of intellects than they did.—Rightly? -Wrongly?</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span> - <h3 class='c009'>95.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Chamfort.</i>—That such a judge of men and -of the multitude as Chamfort should side with -the multitude, instead of standing apart in philosophical -resignation and defence—I am at a loss -to explain, except as follows:—There was an -instinct in him stronger than his wisdom, and -it had never been gratified: the hatred against all -<i>noblesse</i> of blood; perhaps his mother's old and -only too explicable hatred, which was consecrated -in him by love of her,—an instinct of revenge from -his boyhood, which waited for the hour to avenge -his mother. But then the course of his life, his -genius, and alas! most of all, perhaps, the paternal -blood in his veins, had seduced him to rank -and consider himself equal to the <i>noblesse</i>—for -many, many years! In the end, however, he -could not endure the sight of himself, the "old -man" under the old <i>régime</i>, any longer; he got -into a violent, penitential passion, and <i>in this state</i> -he put on the raiment of the populace as <i>his</i> special -kind of hair-shirt! His bad conscience was the -neglect of revenge.—If Chamfort had then been -a little more of the philosopher, the Revolution -would not have had its tragic wit and its sharpest -sting; it would have been regarded as a much -more stupid affair, and would have had no such -seductive influence on men's minds. But Chamfort's -hatred and revenge educated an entire generation; -and the most illustrious men passed through his -school. Let us but consider that Mirabeau looked -up to Chamfort as to his higher and older self, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>from whom he expected (and endured) impulses, -warnings, and condemnations,—Mirabeau, who as -a man belongs to an entirely different order of -greatness, as the very foremost among the statesman-geniuses -of yesterday and to-day.—Strange, -that in spite of such a friend and advocate—we -possess Mirabeau's letters to Chamfort—this -wittiest of all moralists has remained unfamiliar -to the French, quite the same as Stendhal, who -has perhaps had the most penetrating eyes and -ears of any Frenchman of <i>this</i> century. Is it -because the latter had really too much of the -German and the Englishman in his nature for -the Parisians to endure him?—while Chamfort, -a man with ample knowledge of the profundities -and secret motives of the soul, gloomy, suffering, -ardent—a thinker who found laughter necessary -as the remedy of life, and who almost gave himself -up as lost every day that he had not laughed,—seems -much more like an Italian, and related by -blood to Dante and Leopardi, than like a Frenchman. -One knows Chamfort's last words: "<i>Ah! -mon ami</i>," he said to Sieyès, "<i>je m'en vais enfin -de ce monde, où il faut que le cœur se brise ou se -bronze</i>—." These were certainly not the words of -a dying Frenchman.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>96.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Two Orators.</i>—Of these two orators the one -arrives at a full understanding of his case only -when he yields himself to emotion; it is only this -that pumps sufficient blood and heat into his brain -to compel his high intellectuality to reveal itself. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>The other attempts, indeed, now and then to do -the same: to state his case sonorously, vehemently, -and spiritedly with the aid of emotion,—but -usually with bad success. He then very -soon speaks obscurely and confusedly; he exaggerates, -makes omissions, and excites suspicion of the -justice of his case: indeed, he himself feels this -suspicion, and the sudden changes into the coldest -and most repulsive tones (which raise a doubt in -the hearer as to his passionateness being genuine) -are thereby explicable. With him emotion always -drowns the spirit; perhaps because it is stronger -than in the former. But he is at the height of his -power when he resists the impetuous storm of his -feeling, and as it were scorns it; it is then only -that his spirit emerges fully from its concealment, -a spirit logical, mocking, and playful, but nevertheless -awe-inspiring.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>97.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Loquacity of Authors.</i>—There is a loquacity -of anger—frequent in Luther, also in Schopenhauer. -A loquacity which comes from too great a store -of conceptual formulæ, as in Kant. A loquacity -which comes from delight in ever new modifications -of the same idea: one finds it in Montaigne. A -loquacity of malicious natures: whoever reads -writings of our period will recollect two authors in -this connection. A loquacity which comes from -delight in fine words and forms of speech: by no -means rare in Goethe's prose. A loquacity which -comes from pure satisfaction in noise and confusion -of feelings: for example in Carlyle.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span> - <h3 class='c009'>98.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Honour of Shakespeare.</i>—The best thing I -could say in honour of Shakespeare, <i>the man</i>, is -that he believed in Brutus and cast not a shadow -of suspicion on the kind of virtue which Brutus -represents! It is to him that Shakespeare consecrated -his best tragedy—it is at present still called -by a wrong name,—to him and to the most terrible -essence of lofty morality. Independence of soul!—that -is the question at issue! No sacrifice can -be too great there: one must be able to sacrifice -to it even one's dearest friend, though he be also -the grandest of men, the ornament of the world, the -genius without peer,—if one really loves freedom -as the freedom of great souls, and if <i>this</i> freedom -be threatened by him:—it is thus that Shakespeare -must have felt! The elevation in which he places -Cæsar is the most exquisite honour he could confer -upon Brutus; it is thus only that he lifts into -vastness the inner problem of his hero, and similarly -the strength of soul which could cut <i>this knot</i>!—And -was it actually political freedom that impelled -the poet to sympathy with Brutus,—and made him -the accomplice of Brutus? Or was political freedom -merely a symbol for something inexpressible? Do -we perhaps stand before some sombre event or -adventure of the poet's own soul, which has remained -unknown, and of which he only cared to speak -symbolically? What is all Hamlet-melancholy -in comparison with the melancholy of Brutus!—and -perhaps Shakespeare also knew this, as he -knew the other, by experience! Perhaps he also had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>his dark hour and his bad angel, just as Brutus had -them!—But whatever similarities and secret relationships -of that kind there may have been, -Shakespeare cast himself on the ground and felt -unworthy and alien in presence of the aspect and -virtue of Brutus:—he has inscribed the testimony -thereof in the tragedy itself. He has twice brought -in a poet in it, and twice heaped upon him such -an impatient and extreme contempt, that it sounds -like a cry,—like the cry of self-contempt. Brutus, -even Brutus loses patience when the poet appears, -self-important, pathetic, and obtrusive, as poets -usually are,—persons who seem to abound in the -possibilities of greatness, even moral greatness, -and nevertheless rarely attain even to ordinary -uprightness in the philosophy of practice and of -life. "He may know the times, <i>but I know his -temper</i>,—away with the jigging fool!"—shouts -Brutus. We may translate this back into the soul -of the poet that composed it.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>99.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Followers of Schopenhauer.</i>—What one sees -at the contact of civilized peoples with barbarians,—namely, -that the lower civilization regularly -accepts in the first place the vices, weaknesses, -and excesses of the higher; then, from that point -onward, feels the influence of a charm; and finally, -by means of the appropriated vices and weaknesses, -also allows something of the valuable influence of -the higher culture to leaven it:—one can also see -this close at hand and without journeys to barbarian -peoples, to be sure, somewhat refined and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>spiritualised, and not so readily palpable. What -are the German followers of <i>Schopenhauer</i> still -accustomed to receive first of all from their master:—those -who, when placed beside his superior culture, -must deem themselves sufficiently barbarous to be -first of all barbarously fascinated and seduced -by him. Is it his hard matter-of-fact sense, his -inclination to clearness and rationality, which often -makes him appear so English, and so unlike -Germans? Or the strength of his intellectual -conscience, which <i>endured</i> a life-long contradiction -of "being" and "willing," and compelled him to -contradict himself constantly even in his writings -on almost every point? Or his purity in matters -relating to the Church and the Christian God?—for -here he was pure as no German philosopher -had been hitherto, so that he lived and died "as -a Voltairian." Or his immortal doctrines of the -intellectuality of intuition, the apriority of the law -of causality, the instrumental nature of the intellect, -and the non-freedom of the will? No, nothing of -this enchants, nor is felt as enchanting; but -Schopenhauer's mystical embarrassments and -shufflings in those passages where the matter-of-fact -thinker allowed himself to be seduced and -corrupted by the vain impulse to be the unraveller -of the world's riddle: his undemonstrable doctrine -of <i>one will</i> ("all causes are merely occasional causes -of the phenomenon of the will at such a time and -at such a place," "the will to live, whole and -undivided, is present in every being, even in the -smallest, as perfectly as in the sum of all that -was, is, and will be"); his <i>denial of the individual</i> -<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>("all lions are really only one lion," -"plurality of individuals is an appearance," as -also <i>development</i> is only an appearance: he calls -the opinion of Lamarck "an ingenious, absurd -error"); his fantasy about <i>genius</i> ("in æsthetic -contemplation the individual is no longer an -individual, but a pure, will-less, painless, timeless -subject of knowledge," "the subject, in that it -entirely merges in the contemplated object, has -become this object itself"); his nonsense about -<i>sympathy</i>, and about the outburst of the <i>principium -individuationis</i> thus rendered possible, as the source -of all morality; including also such assertions as, -"dying is really the design of existence," "the -possibility should not be absolutely denied that -a magical effect could proceed from a person -already dead":—these, and similar <i>extravagances</i> -and vices of the philosopher, are always first -accepted and made articles of faith; for vices -and extravagances are always easiest to imitate, -and do not require a long preliminary practice. -But let us speak of the most celebrated of the -living Schopenhauerians, Richard Wagner.—It -has happened to him as it has already happened -to many an artist: he made a mistake in the -interpretation of the characters he created, and -misunderstood the unexpressed philosophy of -the art peculiarly his own. Richard Wagner -allowed himself to be misled by Hegel's influence -till the middle of his life; and he did the same -again when later on he read Schopenhauer's -doctrine between the lines of his characters, and -began to express himself with such terms as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>"will," "genius," and "sympathy." Nevertheless -it will remain true that nothing is more counter -to Schopenhauer's spirit than the essentially -Wagnerian element in Wagner's heroes: I mean -the innocence of the supremest selfishness, the -belief in strong passion as the good in itself, in a -word, the Siegfried trait in the countenances of -his heroes. "All that still smacks more of Spinoza -than of me,"—Schopenhauer would probably have -said. Whatever good reasons, therefore, Wagner -might have had to be on the outlook for other -philosophers than Schopenhauer, the enchantment -to which he succumbed in respect to this thinker, -not only made him blind towards all other philosophers, -but even towards science itself; his entire -art is more and more inclined to become the -counterpart and complement of the Schopenhauerian -philosophy, and it always renounces more -emphatically the higher ambition to become the -counterpart and complement of human knowledge -and science. And not only is he allured thereto -by the whole mystic pomp of this philosophy -(which would also have allured a Cagliostro), the -peculiar airs and emotions of the philosopher have -all along been seducing him as well! For example, -Wagner's indignation about the corruption of the -German language is Schopenhauerian; and if one -should commend his imitation in this respect, it -is nevertheless not to be denied that Wagner's -style itself suffers in no small degree from all the -tumours and turgidities, the sight of which made -Schopenhauer so furious; and that, in respect to -the German-writing Wagnerians, Wagneromania -<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>is beginning to be as dangerous as only some kinds -of Hegelomania have been. Schopenhauerian is -Wagner's hatred of the Jews, to whom he -is unable to do justice, even in their greatest -exploit: are not the Jews the inventors of -Christianity! The attempt of Wagner to construe -Christianity as a seed blown away from Buddhism, -and his endeavour to initiate a Buddhistic era in -Europe, under a temporary approximation to -Catholic-Christian formulas and sentiments, are -both Schopenhauerian. Wagner's preaching in -favour of pity in dealing with animals is Schopenhauerian; -Schopenhauer's predecessor here, as is -well known, was Voltaire, who already perhaps, like -his successors, knew how to disguise his hatred of -certain men and things as pity towards animals. -At least Wagner's hatred of science, which manifests -itself in his preaching, has certainly not -been inspired by the spirit of charitableness and -kindness—nor by the <i>spirit</i> at all, as is sufficiently -obvious.—Finally, it is of little importance what -the philosophy of an artist is, provided it is only a -supplementary philosophy, and does not do any -injury to his art itself. We cannot be sufficiently on -our guard against taking a dislike to an artist on -account of an occasional, perhaps very unfortunate -and presumptuous masquerade; let us not forget -that the dear artists are all of them something of -actors—and must be so; it would be difficult for -them to hold out in the long run without stage-playing. -Let us be loyal to Wagner in that -which is <i>true</i> and original in him,—and especially -in this point, that we, his disciples, remain loyal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>to ourselves in that which is true and original in us. -Let us allow him his intellectual humours and -spasms, let us in fairness rather consider what -strange nutriments and necessaries an art like his -<i>is entitled to</i>, in order to be able to live and grow! -It is of no account that he is often wrong as a -thinker; justice and patience are not <i>his</i> affair. It -is sufficient that his life is right in his own eyes, -and maintains its right,—the life which calls to -each of us: "Be a man, and do not follow me—but -thyself! thyself!" <i>Our</i> life, also ought to maintain -its right in our own eyes! We also are to -grow and blossom out of ourselves, free and fearless, -in innocent selfishness! And so, on the contemplation -of such a man, these thoughts still ring in -my ears to-day, as formerly: "That passion is -better than stoicism or hypocrisy; that straightforwardness, -even in evil, is better than losing -oneself in trying to observe traditional morality; -that the free man is just as able to be good as -evil, but that the unemancipated man is a disgrace -to nature, and has no share in heavenly or earthly -bliss; finally, that <i>all who wish to be free must -become so through themselves</i>, and that freedom falls -to nobody's lot as a gift from Heaven." (<i>Richard -Wagner in Bayreuth</i>, Vol. I. of this Translation, -pp. 199-200).</p> -<h3 class='c009'>100.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Learning to do Homage.</i>—One must learn the -art of homage, as well as the art of contempt. -Whoever goes in new paths and has led many -persons therein, discovers with astonishment how -<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>awkward and incompetent all of them are in the -expression of their gratitude, and indeed how -rarely gratitude <i>is able</i> even to express itself. It -is always as if something comes into people's -throats when their gratitude wants to speak, so -that it only hems and haws, and becomes silent -again. The way in which a thinker succeeds in -tracing the effect of his thoughts, and their transforming -and convulsing power, is almost a comedy: -it sometimes seems as if those who have been -operated upon felt profoundly injured thereby, and -could only assert their independence, which they -suspect to be threatened, by all kinds of improprieties. -It needs whole generations in order merely -to devise a courteous convention of gratefulness; -it is only very late that the period arrives when -something of spirit and genius enters into gratitude. -Then there is usually some one who is the great -receiver of thanks, not only for the good he himself -has done, but mostly for that which has been -gradually accumulated by his predecessors, as a -treasure of what is highest and best.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>101.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Voltaire.</i>—Wherever there has been a court, it -has furnished the standard of good-speaking, and -with this also the standard of style for writers. -The court language, however, is the language of -the courtier who <i>has no profession</i>, and who even in -conversations on scientific subjects avoids all convenient, -technical expressions, because they smack -of the profession; on that account the technical -expression, and everything that betrays the specialist, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>is a <i>blemish of style</i> in countries which have a -court culture. At present, when all courts have -become caricatures of past and present times, one -is astonished to find even Voltaire unspeakably -reserved and scrupulous on this point (for example, -in his judgments concerning such stylists as Fontenelle -and Montesquieu),—we are now, all of us, -emancipated from court taste, while Voltaire was -its <i>perfecter</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>102.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Word for Philologists.</i>—It is thought that -there are books so valuable and royal that whole -generations of scholars are well employed when -through their efforts these books are kept genuine -and intelligible,—to confirm this belief again and -again is the purpose of philology. It presupposes -that the rare men are not lacking (though they may -not be visible), who actually know how to use such -valuable books:—those men perhaps who write such -books themselves, or could write them. I mean -to say that philology presupposes a noble belief,—that -for the benefit of some few who are always -"to come," and are not there, a very great amount -of painful, and even dirty labour has to be done -beforehand: it is all labour <i>in usum Delphinorum</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>103.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>German Music.</i>—German music, more than any -other, has now become European music; because -the changes which Europe experienced through -the Revolution have therein alone found expression: -it is only German music that knows how to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>express the agitation of popular masses, the tremendous -artificial uproar, which does not even -need to be very noisy,—while Italian opera, for -example, knows only the choruses of domestics -or soldiers, but not "the people." There is -the additional fact that in all German music a -profound <i>bourgeois</i> jealousy of the <i>noblesse</i> can be -traced, especially a jealousy of <i>esprit</i> and <i>élégance</i>, -as the expressions of a courtly, chivalrous, ancient, -and self-confident society. It is not music like -that of Goethe's musician at the gate, which was -pleasing also "in the hall," and to the king as -well; it is not here said: "The knights looked -on with martial air; with bashful eyes the -ladies." Even the Graces are not allowed in -German music without a touch of remorse; it is -only with Pleasantness, the country sister of the -Graces that the German begins to feel morally -at ease—and from this point up to his enthusiastic, -learned, and often gruff "sublimity" (the Beethoven-like -sublimity), he feels more and more so. If we -want to imagine the man of <i>this</i> music,—well, let -us just imagine Beethoven as he appeared beside -Goethe, say, at their meeting at Teplitz: as semi-barbarism -beside culture, as the masses beside -the nobility, as the good-natured man beside the -good and more than "good" man, as the visionary -beside the artist, as the man needing comfort beside -the comforted, as the man given to exaggeration -and distrust beside the man of reason, as the -crank and self-tormenter, as the foolish, enraptured, -blessedly unfortunate, sincerely immoderate man, -as the pretentious and awkward man,—and altogether -<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>as the "untamed man": it was thus that -Goethe conceived and characterised him, Goethe, -the exceptional German, for whom a music of -equal rank has not yet been found!—Finally, -let us consider whether the present, continually -extending contempt of melody and the stunting of -the sense for melody among Germans should not -be understood as a democratic impropriety and an -after-effect of the Revolution? For melody has -such an obvious delight in conformity to law, and -such an aversion to everything evolving, unformed -and arbitrary, that it sounds like a note out of the -<i>ancient</i> European regime, and as a seduction and -re-duction back to it.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>104.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Tone of the German Language.</i>—We know -whence the German originated which for several -centuries has been the universal, literary language -of Germany. The Germans, with their reverence for -everything that came from the <i>court</i>, intentionally -took the chancery style as their pattern in all that -they had to <i>write</i>, especially in their letters, records, -wills, &c. To write in the chancery style, that was -to write in court and government style,—that was -regarded as something select compared with the -language of the city in which a person lived. -People gradually drew this inference, and spoke -also as they wrote,—they thus became still more -select in the forms of their words, in the choice of -their terms and modes of expression, and finally -also in their tones: they affected a court tone when -they spoke, and the affectation at last became -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>natural. Perhaps nothing quite similar has ever -happened elsewhere:—the predominance of the -literary style over the talk, and the formality and -affectation of an entire people, becoming the basis -of a common and no longer dialectical language. -I believe that the sound of the German language -in the Middle Ages, and especially after the Middle -Ages, was extremely rustic and vulgar; it has -ennobled itself somewhat during the last centuries, -principally because it was found necessary to -imitate so many French, Italian, and Spanish -sounds, and particularly on the part of the German -(and Austrian) nobility, who could not at all -content themselves with their mother-tongue. But -notwithstanding this practice, German must have -sounded intolerably vulgar to Montaigne, and even -to Racine: even at present, in the mouths of -travellers among the Italian populace, it still sounds -very coarse, sylvan, and hoarse, as if it had originated -in smoky rooms and outlandish districts.—Now -I notice that at present a similar striving -after selectness of tone is spreading among -the former admirers of the chancery style, and -that the Germans are beginning to accommodate -themselves to a peculiar "witchery of sound," which -might in the long run become an actual danger to -the German language,—for one may seek in vain -for more execrable sounds in Europe. Something -mocking, cold, indifferent, and careless in the -voice: that is what at present sounds "noble" -to the Germans—and I hear the approval of -this nobleness in the voices of young officials, -teachers, women, and trades-people; indeed, even -<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>the little girls already imitate this German of the -officers. For the officer, and in fact the Prussian -officer is the inventor of these tones: this same -officer, who, as soldier and professional man possesses -that admirable tact for modesty which the -Germans as a whole might well imitate (German -professors and musicians included!). But as soon -as he speaks and moves he is the most immodest -and inelegant figure in old Europe—no doubt -unconsciously to himself! And unconsciously also -to the good Germans, who gaze at him as the man -of the foremost and most select society, and -willingly let him "give them his tone." And indeed -he gives it to them!—in the first place it is the -sergeant-majors and non-commissioned officers that -imitate his tone and coarsen it. One should note -the roars of command, with which the German -cities are absolutely surrounded at present, when -there is drilling at all the gates: what presumption, -furious imperiousness, and mocking coldness -speaks in this uproar! Could the Germans -actually be a musical people?—It is certain that -the Germans martialise themselves at present in -the tone of their language: it is probable that, being -exercised to speak martially, they will finally write -martially also. For habituation to definite tones -extends deeply into the character:—people soon -have the words and modes of expression, and finally -also the thoughts which just suit these tones! -Perhaps they already write in the officers' style; -perhaps I only read too little of what is at present -written in Germany to know this. But one thing -I know all the surer: the German public declarations -<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>which also reach places abroad, are not -inspired by German music, but just by that new -tone of tasteless arrogance. Almost in every -speech of the foremost German statesman, and -even when he makes himself heard through his -imperial mouth-piece, there is an accent which the -ear of a foreigner repudiates with aversion: but -the Germans endure it,—they endure themselves.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>105.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Germans as Artists.</i>—When once a German -actually experiences passion (and not only, as is -usual, the mere inclination to it), he then behaves -just as he must do in passion, and does not think -further of his behaviour. The truth is, however, -that he then behaves very awkwardly and uglily, -and as if destitute of rhythm and melody; so -that onlookers are pained or moved thereby, but -nothing more—<i>unless</i> he elevate himself to the -sublimity and enrapturedness of which certain -passions are capable. Then even the German -becomes <i>beautiful</i>. The perception of the <i>height -at which</i> beauty begins to shed its charm even -over Germans, raises German artists to the height, -to the supreme height, and to the extravagances of -passion: they have an actual, profound longing, -therefore, to get beyond, or at least to look beyond -the ugliness and awkwardness—into a better, -easier, more southern, more sunny world. And -thus their convulsions are often merely indications -that they would like to <i>dance</i>: these poor bears in -whom hidden nymphs and satyrs, and sometimes -still higher divinities, carry on their game!</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span> - <h3 class='c009'>106.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Music as Advocate.</i>—"I have a longing for a -master of the musical art," said an innovator to -his disciple, "that he may learn from me my ideas -and speak them more widely in his language: I -shall thus be better able to reach men's ears and -hearts. For by means of tones one can seduce -men to every error and every truth: who could -<i>refute</i> a tone?"—"You would, therefore, like to be -regarded as irrefutable?" said his disciple. The -innovator answered: "I should like the germ to -become a tree. In order that a doctrine may -become a tree, it must be believed in for a considerable -period; in order that it may be believed -in it must be regarded as irrefutable. Storms and -doubts and worms and wickedness are necessary -to the tree, that it may manifest its species and -the strength of its germ; let it perish if it is not -strong enough! But a germ is always merely -annihilated,—not refuted!"—When he had said -this, his disciple called out impetuously: "But I -believe in your cause, and regard it as so strong -that I will say everything against it, everything -that I still have in my heart."—The innovator -laughed to himself and threatened the disciple with -his finger. "This kind of discipleship," said he -then, "is the best, but it is dangerous, and not -every kind of doctrine can stand it."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>107.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our Ultimate Gratitude to Art.</i>—If we had not -approved of the Arts and invented this sort of cult -<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>of the untrue, the insight into the general untruth -and falsity of things now given us by science—an -insight into delusion and error as conditions -of intelligent and sentient existence—would be -quite unendurable. <i>Honesty</i> would have disgust -and suicide in its train. Now, however, our -honesty has a counterpoise which helps us to -escape such consequences;—namely, Art, as the -<i>good-will</i> to illusion. We do not always restrain -our eyes from rounding off and perfecting in -imagination: and then it is no longer the eternal -imperfection that we carry over the river of -Becoming—for we think we carry a <i>goddess</i>, and -are proud and artless in rendering this service. As -an æsthetic phenomenon existence is still <i>endurable</i> -to us; and by Art, eye and hand and above all the -good conscience are given to us, <i>to be able</i> to make -such a phenomenon out of ourselves. We must -rest from ourselves occasionally by contemplating -and looking down upon ourselves, and by laughing -or weeping <i>over</i> ourselves from an artistic remoteness: -we must discover the <i>hero</i>, and likewise the -<i>fool</i>, that is hidden in our passion for knowledge; -we must now and then be joyful in our folly, that -we may continue to be joyful in our wisdom! -And just because we are heavy and serious men -in our ultimate depth, and are rather weights than -men, there is nothing that does us so much good -as the <i>fool's cap and bells</i>: we need them in presence -of ourselves—we need all arrogant, soaring, -dancing, mocking, childish and blessed Art, in order -not to lose the <i>free dominion over things</i> which our -ideal demands of us. It would be <i>backsliding</i> for us, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>with our susceptible integrity, to lapse entirely into -morality, and actually become virtuous monsters -and scarecrows, on account of the over-strict -requirements which we here lay down for ourselves. -We ought also to <i>be able</i> to stand <i>above</i> -morality, and not only stand with the painful -stiffness of one who every moment fears to slip and -fall, but we should also be able to soar and play -above it! How could we dispense with Art for -that purpose, how could we dispense with the fool?—And -as long as you are still <i>ashamed</i> of yourselves -in any way, you still do not belong to us!</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span> - <h2 class='c004'>BOOK THIRD</h2> -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span> - <h3 class='c009'>108.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>New Struggles.</i>—After Buddha was dead people -showed his shadow for centuries afterwards in a -cave,—an immense frightful shadow. God is dead: -but as the human race is constituted, there will -perhaps be caves for millenniums yet, in which -people will show his shadow,—And we—we have -still to overcome his shadow!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>109.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Let us be on our Guard.</i>—Let us be on our guard -against thinking that the world is a living being. -Where could it extend itself? What could it -nourish itself with? How could it grow and -increase? We know tolerably well what the -organic is; and we are to reinterpret the emphatically -derivative, tardy, rare and accidental, which -we only perceive on the crust of the earth, into the -essential, universal and eternal, as those do who -call the universe an organism? That disgusts me. -Let us now be on our guard against believing that -the universe is a machine; it is assuredly not constructed -with a view to <i>one</i> end; we invest it with -far too high an honour with the word "machine." -Let us be on our guard against supposing that -anything so methodical as the cyclic motions of -our neighbouring stars obtains generally and -throughout the universe; indeed a glance at the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>Milky Way induces doubt as to whether there are -not many cruder and more contradictory motions -there, and even stars with continuous, rectilinearly -gravitating orbits, and the like. The astral arrangement -in which we live is an exception; this -arrangement, and the relatively long durability -which is determined by it, has again made possible -the exception of exceptions, the formation of -organic life. The general character of the world, -on the other hand, is to all eternity chaos; not by -the absence of necessity, but in the sense of the -absence of order, structure, form, beauty, wisdom, -and whatever else our æsthetic humanities are -called. Judged by our reason, the unlucky casts -are far oftenest the rule, the exceptions are not the -secret purpose; and the whole musical box repeats -eternally its air, which can never be called a melody,—and -finally the very expression, "unlucky cast" -is already an anthropomorphising which involves -blame. But how could we presume to blame or -praise the universe! Let us be on our guard -against ascribing to it heartlessness and unreason, -or their opposites; it is neither perfect, nor beautiful, -nor noble; nor does it seek to be anything of -the kind, it does not at all attempt to imitate -man! It is altogether unaffected by our æsthetic -and moral judgments! Neither has it any self-preservative -instinct, nor instinct at all; it also -knows no law. Let us be on our guard against -saying that there are laws in nature. There are -only necessities: there is no one who commands, -no one who obeys, no one who transgresses. -When you know that there is no design, you know -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>also that there is no chance: for it is only -where there is a world of design that the word -"chance" has a meaning. Let us be on our guard -against saying that death is contrary to life. The -living being is only a species of dead being, and -a very rare species.—Let us be on our guard -against thinking that the world eternally creates -the new. There are no eternally enduring -substances; matter is just another such error as -the God of the Eleatics. But when shall we be at -an end with our foresight and precaution! When -will all these shadows of God cease to obscure us? -When shall we have nature entirely undeified! -When shall we be permitted to <i>naturalise</i> ourselves -by means of the pure, newly discovered, -newly redeemed nature?</p> -<h3 class='c009'>110.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Origin of Knowledge.</i>—Throughout immense -stretches of time the intellect has produced nothing -but errors; some of them proved to be useful and -preservative of the species: he who fell in with -them, or inherited them, waged the battle for himself -and his offspring with better success. Those -erroneous articles of faith which were successively -transmitted by inheritance, and have finally become -almost the property and stock of the human -species, are, for example, the following:—that there -are enduring things, that there are equal things, -that there are things, substances, and bodies, that -a thing is what it appears, that our will is free, -that what is good for me is also good absolutely. -It was only very late that the deniers and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>doubters of such propositions came forward,—it -was only very late that truth made its appearance -as the most impotent form of knowledge. It -seemed as if it were impossible to get along with -truth, our organism was adapted for the very -opposite; all its higher functions, the perceptions -of the senses, and in general every kind of sensation -co-operated with those primevally embodied, fundamental -errors. Moreover, those propositions became -the very standards of knowledge according to which -the "true" and the "false" were determined—throughout -the whole domain of pure logic. The -<i>strength</i> of conceptions does not, therefore, depend -on their degree of truth, but on their antiquity, -their embodiment, their character as conditions of -life. Where life and knowledge seemed to conflict, -there has never been serious contention; -denial and doubt have there been regarded -as madness. The exceptional thinkers like the -Eleatics, who, in spite of this, advanced and maintained -the antitheses of the natural errors, believed -that it was possible also <i>to live</i> these counterparts: -it was they who devised the sage as the man -of immutability, impersonality and universality of -intuition, as one and all at the same time, with -a special faculty for that reverse kind of knowledge; -they were of the belief that their knowledge was -at the same time the principle of <i>life</i>. To be able -to affirm all this, however, they had to <i>deceive</i> themselves -concerning their own condition: they had -to attribute to themselves impersonality and unchanging -permanence, they had to mistake the -nature of the philosophic individual, deny the force -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>of the impulses in cognition, and conceive of reason -generally as an entirely free and self-originating -activity; they kept their eyes shut to the fact that -they also had reached their doctrines in contradiction -to valid methods, or through their longing for repose -or for exclusive possession or for domination. The -subtler development of sincerity and of scepticism -finally made these men impossible; their life also -and their judgments turned out to be dependent -on the primeval impulses and fundamental errors -of all sentient being.—The subtler sincerity and -scepticism arose whenever two antithetical maxims -appeared to be <i>applicable</i> to life, because both of -them were compatible with the fundamental errors; -where, therefore, there could be contention concerning -a higher or lower degree of <i>utility</i> for life; -and likewise where new maxims proved to be, not -in fact useful, but at least not injurious, as expressions -of an intellectual impulse to play a game -that was, like all games, innocent and happy. -The human brain was gradually filled with such -judgments and convictions; and in this tangled -skein there arose ferment, strife and lust for power. -Not only utility and delight, but every kind of -impulse took part in the struggle for "truths": the -intellectual struggle became a business, an attraction, -a calling, a duty, an honour—: cognizing and -striving for the true finally arranged themselves as -needs among other needs. From that moment, -not only belief and conviction, but also examination, -denial, distrust and contradiction became <i>forces</i>; -all "evil" instincts were subordinated to knowledge, -were placed in its service, and acquired the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>prestige of the permitted, the honoured, the useful, -and finally the appearance and innocence of the -<i>good</i>. Knowledge, thus became a portion of life -itself, and as life it became a continually growing -power: until finally the cognitions and those -primeval, fundamental, errors clashed with each -other, both as life, both as power, both in the -same man. The thinker is now the being in -whom the impulse to truth and those life-preserving -errors wage their first conflict, now -that the impulse to truth has also <i>proved</i> itself -to be a life-preserving power. In comparison with -the importance of this conflict everything else is -indifferent; the final question concerning the conditions -of life is here raised, and the first attempt -is here made to answer it by experiment. How -far is truth susceptible of embodiment?—that is -the question, that is the experiment.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>111.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Origin of the Logical.</i>—Where has logic originated -in men's heads? Undoubtedly out of the -illogical, the domain of which must originally -have been immense. But numberless beings who -reasoned otherwise than we do at present, perished; -albeit that they may have come nearer to truth -than we! Whoever, for example, could not discern -the "like" often enough with regard to food, and -with regard to animals dangerous to him, whoever, -therefore, deduced too slowly, or was too circumspect -in his deductions, had smaller probability of -survival than he who in all similar things immediately -divined the equality. The preponderating -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>inclination, however, to deal with the similar as -the equal—an illogical inclination, for there is nothing -equal in itself—first created the whole basis -of logic. It was just so (in order that the conception -of substance might originate, this being -indispensable to logic, although in the strictest -sense nothing actual corresponds to it) that for a -long period the changing process in things had to -be overlooked, and remain unperceived; the beings -not seeing correctly had an advantage over those -who saw everything "in flux." In itself every -high degree of circumspection in conclusions, every -sceptical inclination, is a great danger to life. No -living being would have been preserved unless the -contrary inclination—to affirm rather than suspend -judgment, to mistake and fabricate rather than wait, -to assent rather than deny, to decide rather than -be in the right—had been cultivated with extraordinary -assiduity.—The course of logical thought -and reasoning in our modern brain corresponds to -a process and struggle of impulses, which singly -and in themselves are all very illogical and unjust; -we experience usually only the result of the -struggle, so rapidly and secretly does this primitive -mechanism now operate in us.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>112.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Cause and Effect.</i>—We say it is "explanation"; -but it is only in "description" that we are in -advance of the older stages of knowledge and -science. We describe better,—we explain just as -little as our predecessors. We have discovered a -manifold succession where the naïve man and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>investigator of older cultures saw only two things, -"cause" and "effect," as it was said; we have perfected -the conception of becoming, but have not -got a knowledge of what is above and behind the -conception. The series of "causes" stands before -us much more complete in every case; we conclude -that this and that must first precede in order that -that other may follow—but we have not <i>grasped</i> -anything thereby. The peculiarity, for example, in -every chemical process seems a "miracle," the same -as before, just like all locomotion; nobody has -"explained" impulse. How could we ever explain! -We operate only with things which do not exist, -with lines, surfaces, bodies, atoms, divisible times, -divisible spaces—how can explanation ever be -possible when we first make everything a <i>conception</i>, -our conception! It is sufficient to regard science -as the exactest humanising of things that is -possible; we always learn to describe ourselves -more accurately by describing things and their -successions. Cause and effect: there is probably -never any such duality; in fact there is a <i>continuum</i> -before us, from which we isolate a few portions;—just -as we always observe a motion as isolated -points, and therefore do not properly see it, but -infer it. The abruptness with which many effects -take place leads us into error; it is however only -an abruptness for us. There is an infinite multitude -of processes in that abrupt moment which escape -us. An intellect which could see cause and effect -as a <i>continuum</i>, which could see the flux of events -not according to our mode of perception, as things -arbitrarily separated and broken—would throw aside -<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>the conception of cause and effect, and would deny -all conditionality.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>113.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Theory of Poisons.</i>—So many things have -to be united in order that scientific thinking may -arise, and all the necessary powers must have -been devised, exercised, and fostered singly! In -their isolation, however, they have very often had -quite a different effect than at present, when they -are confined within the limits of scientific thinking -and kept mutually in check:—they have operated -as poisons; for example, the doubting impulse, the -denying impulse, the waiting impulse, the collecting -impulse, the disintegrating impulse. Many -hecatombs of men were sacrificed ere these impulses -learned to understand their juxtaposition and -regard themselves as functions of one organising -force in one man! And how far are we still from -the point at which the artistic powers and the practical -wisdom of life shall co-operate with scientific -thinking, so that a higher organic system may be -formed, in relation to which the scholar, the physician, -the artist, and the lawgiver, as we know them -at present, will seem sorry antiquities!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>114.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Extent of the Moral.</i>—We construct a new -picture, which we see immediately with the aid -of all the old experiences which we have had, -<i>always according to the degree</i> of our honesty and -justice. The only events are moral events, even in -the domain of sense-perception.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span> - <h3 class='c009'>115.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Four Errors.</i>—Man has been reared by his -errors: firstly, he saw himself always imperfect; -secondly, he attributed to himself imaginary -qualities; thirdly, he felt himself in a false position -in relation to the animals and nature; fourthly, he -always devised new tables of values, and accepted -them for a time as eternal and unconditioned, so -that at one time this, and at another time that -human impulse or state stood first, and was ennobled -in consequence. When one has deducted -the effect of these four errors, one has also deducted -humanity, humaneness, and "human dignity."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>116.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Herd-Instinct.</i>—Wherever we meet with a -morality we find a valuation and order of rank -of the human impulses and activities. These -valuations and orders of rank are always the -expression of the needs of a community or herd: -that which is in the first place to <i>its</i> advantage—and -in the second place and third place—is also -the authoritative standard for the worth of every -individual. By morality the individual is taught -to become a function of the herd, and to ascribe to -himself value only as a function. As the conditions -for the maintenance of one community have -been very different from those of another community, -there have been very different moralities; -and in respect to the future essential transformations -of herds and communities, states and societies, -one can prophesy that there will still be very divergent -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>moralities. Morality is the herd-instinct in -the individual.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>117.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Herd's Sting of Conscience.</i>—In the longest -and remotest ages of the human race there was -quite a different sting of conscience from that of -the present day. At present one only feels responsible -for what one intends and for what one does, -and we have our pride in ourselves. All our professors -of jurisprudence start with this sentiment -of individual independence and pleasure, as if the -source of right had taken its rise here from the -beginning. But throughout the longest period in -the life of mankind there was nothing more terrible -to a person than to feel himself independent. To -be alone, to feel independent, neither to obey nor -to rule, to represent an individual—that was no -pleasure to a person then, but a punishment; he -was condemned "to be an individual." Freedom -of thought was regarded as discomfort personified. -While we feel law and regulation as constraint and -loss, people formerly regarded egoism as a painful -thing, and a veritable evil. For a person to -be himself, to value himself according to his own -measure and weight—that was then quite distasteful. -The inclination to such a thing would have -been regarded as madness; for all miseries and -terrors were associated with being alone. At that -time the "free will" had bad conscience in close -proximity to it; and the less independently a -person acted, the more the herd-instinct, and not -his personal character, expressed itself in his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>conduct, so much the more moral did he esteem -himself. All that did injury to the herd, whether -the individual had intended it or not, then caused -him a sting of conscience—and his neighbour likewise, -indeed the whole herd!—It is in this respect -that we have most changed our mode of thinking.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>118.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Benevolence.</i>—Is it virtuous when a cell transforms -itself into the function of a stronger cell? It -must do so. And is it wicked when the stronger one -assimilates the other? It must do so likewise: it -is necessary, for it has to have abundant indemnity -and seeks to regenerate itself. One has therefore -to distinguish the instinct of appropriation, -and the instinct of submission, in benevolence, -according as the stronger or the weaker feels -benevolent. Gladness and covetousness are united -in the stronger person, who wants to transform -something to his function: gladness and -desire-to-be-coveted in the weaker person, who -would like to become a function.—The former -case is essentially pity, a pleasant excitation of -the instinct of appropriation at the sight of the -weaker: it is to be remembered, however, that -"strong" and "weak" are relative conceptions.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>119.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>No Altruism!</i>—I see in many men an excessive -impulse and delight in wanting to be a function; -they strive after it, and have the keenest scent -for all those positions in which precisely <i>they</i> -themselves can be functions. Among such persons -<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>are those women who transform themselves into -just that function of a man that is but weakly -developed in him, and then become his purse, or -his politics, or his social intercourse. Such beings -maintain themselves best when they insert themselves -in an alien organism; if they do not -succeed they become vexed, irritated, and eat -themselves up.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>120.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Health of the Soul.</i>—The favourite medico-moral -formula (whose originator was Ariston of Chios), -"Virtue is the health of the soul," would, at least -in order to be used, have to be altered to this: -"Thy virtue is the health of thy soul." For there -is no such thing as health in itself, and all attempts -to define a thing in that way have lamentably -failed. It is necessary to know thy aim, thy -horizon, thy powers, thy impulses, thy errors, and -especially the ideals and fantasies of thy soul, in -order to determine <i>what</i> health implies even for thy -<i>body</i>. There are consequently innumerable kinds of -physical health; and the more one again permits -the unique and unparalleled to raise its head, the -more one unlearns the dogma of the "Equality of -men," so much the more also must the conception -of a normal health, together with a normal diet and -a normal course of disease, be abrogated by our -physicians. And then only would it be time to -turn our thoughts to the health and disease of -the <i>soul</i> and make the special virtue of everyone -consist in its health; but, to be sure, what appeared -as health in one person might appear as the contrary -<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>of health in another. In the end the great -question might still remain open: whether we could -<i>do without</i> sickness, even for the development of -our virtue, and whether our thirst for knowledge -and self-knowledge would not especially need the -sickly soul as well as the sound one; in short, -whether the mere will to health is not a prejudice, -a cowardice, and perhaps an instance of the subtlest -barbarism and unprogressiveness.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>121.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Life no Argument.</i>—We have arranged for ourselves -a world in which we can live—by the -postulating of bodies, lines, surfaces, causes and -effects, motion and rest, form and content: without -these articles of faith no one could manage to live -at present! But for all that they are still unproved. -Life is no argument; error might be among the -conditions of life.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>122.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Element of Moral Scepticism in Christianity.</i>—Christianity -also has made a great contribution -to enlightenment, and has taught moral scepticism -in a very impressive and effective manner—accusing -and embittering, but with untiring -patience and subtlety; it annihilated in every -individual the belief in his virtues: it made the -great virtuous ones, of whom antiquity had no lack, -vanish for ever from the earth, those popular men, -who, in the belief in their perfection, walked about -with the dignity of a hero of the bull-fight. When, -trained in this Christian school of scepticism, we -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>now read the moral books of the ancients, for -example those of Seneca and Epictetus, we feel -a pleasurable superiority, and are full of secret -insight and penetration,—it seems to us as if a child -talked before an old man, or a pretty, gushing girl -before La Rochefoucauld:—we know better what -virtue is! After all, however, we have applied the -same scepticism to all <i>religious</i> states and processes, -such as sin, repentance, grace, sanctification, &c., and -have allowed the worm to burrow so well, that we -have now the same feeling of subtle superiority and -insight even in reading all Christian books:—we -know also the religious feelings better! And it is -time to know them well and describe them well, -for the pious ones of the old belief die out also; -let us save their likeness and type, at least for the -sake of knowledge.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>123.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Knowledge more than a Means.</i>—Also <i>without</i> -this passion—I refer to the passion for knowledge—science -would be furthered: science has hitherto -increased and grown up without it. The good -faith in science, the prejudice in its favour, by -which States are at present dominated (it was even -the Church formerly), rests fundamentally on the -fact that the absolute inclination and impulse has -so rarely revealed itself in it, and that science -is regarded <i>not</i> as a passion, but as a condition -and an "ethos." Indeed, <i>amour-plaisir</i> of knowledge -(curiosity) often enough suffices, <i>amour-vanité</i> -suffices, and habituation to it, with the afterthought -of obtaining honour and bread; it even suffices -<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>for many that they do not know what to do with -a surplus of leisure, except to continue reading, -collecting, arranging, observing and narrating; their -"scientific impulse" is their ennui. Pope Leo X. -once (in the brief to Beroaldus) sang the praise of -science; he designated it as the finest ornament -and the greatest pride of our life, a noble employment -in happiness and in misfortune; "without it," -he says finally, "all human undertakings would be -without a firm basis,—even with it they are still -sufficiently mutable and insecure!" But this rather -sceptical Pope, like all other ecclesiastical panegyrists -of science, suppressed his ultimate judgment -concerning it. If one may deduce from his -words what is remarkable enough for such a lover -of art, that he places science above art, it is after -all, however, only from politeness that he omits to -speak of that which he places high above all science: -the "revealed truth," and the "eternal salvation of -the soul,"—what are ornament, pride, entertainment -and security of life to him, in comparison thereto? -"Science is something of secondary rank, nothing -ultimate or unconditioned, no object of passion"—this -judgment was kept back in Leo's soul: the -truly Christian judgment concerning science! In -antiquity its dignity and appreciation were lessened -by the fact that, even among its most eager -disciples, the striving after <i>virtue</i> stood foremost, -and that people thought they had given the highest -praise to knowledge when they celebrated it as the -best means to virtue. It is something new in -history that knowledge claims to be more than -a means.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span> - <h3 class='c009'>124.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>In the Horizon of the Infinite.</i>—We have left the -land and have gone aboard ship! We have broken -down the bridge behind us,—nay, more, the land -behind us! Well, little ship! look out! Beside -thee is the ocean; it is true it does not always -roar, and sometimes it spreads out like silk and -gold and a gentle reverie. But times will come -when thou wilt feel that it is infinite, and that -there is nothing more frightful than infinity. Oh, -the poor bird that felt itself free, and now strikes -against the walls of this cage! Alas, if homesickness -for the land should attack thee, as if there -had been more <i>freedom</i> there,—and there is no -"land" any longer!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>125.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Madman.</i>—Have you ever heard of the -madman who on a bright morning lighted a lantern -and ran to the market-place calling out unceasingly: -"I seek God! I seek God!"—As there were many -people standing about who did not believe in God, -he caused a great deal of amusement. Why! is -he lost? said one. Has he strayed away like a -child? said another. Or does he keep himself -hidden? Is he afraid of us? Has he taken a sea-voyage? -Has he emigrated?—the people cried -out laughingly, all in a hubbub. The insane man -jumped into their midst and transfixed them with -his glances. "Where is God gone?" he called out. -"I mean to tell you! <i>We have killed him</i>,—you -and I! We are all his murderers! But how have -we done it? How were we able to drink up the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the -whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened -this earth from its sun? Whither does it now -move? Whither do we move? Away from all -suns? Do we not dash on unceasingly? Backwards, -sideways, forwards, in all directions? Is -there still an above and below? Do we not stray, -as through infinite nothingness? Does not empty -space breathe upon us? Has it not become colder? -Does not night come on continually, darker and -darker? Shall we not have to light lanterns in -the morning? Do we not hear the noise of the -grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we not -smell the divine putrefaction?—for even Gods -putrefy! God is dead! God remains dead! And -we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves, -the most murderous of all murderers? The -holiest and the mightiest that the world has hitherto -possessed, has bled to death under our knife,—who -will wipe the blood from us? With what water -could we cleanse ourselves? What lustrums, what -sacred games shall we have to devise? Is not the -magnitude of this deed too great for us? Shall we -not ourselves have to become Gods, merely to seem -worthy of it? There never was a greater event,—and -on account of it, all who are born after us -belong to a higher history than any history -hitherto!"—Here the madman was silent and -looked again at his hearers; they also were silent -and looked at him in surprise. At last he threw -his lantern on the ground, so that it broke in -pieces and was extinguished. "I come too early," -he then said, "I am not yet at the right time. This -<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>prodigious event is still on its way, and is travelling,—it -has not yet reached men's ears. Lightning -and thunder need time, the light of the stars needs -time, deeds need time, even after they are done, to -be seen and heard. This deed is as yet further -from them than the furthest star,—<i>and yet they have -done it!</i>"—It is further stated that the madman -made his way into different churches on the same -day, and there intoned his <i>Requiem aeternam deo</i>. -When led out and called to account, he always gave -the reply: "What are these churches now, if they -are not the tombs and monuments of God?"—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>126.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Mystical Explanations.</i>—Mystical explanations -are regarded as profound; the truth is that they do -not even go the length of being superficial.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>127.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>After-Effect of the most Ancient Religiousness.</i>—The -thoughtless man thinks that the Will is the -only thing that operates, that willing is something -simple, manifestly given, underived, and comprehensible -in itself. He is convinced that when he does -anything, for example, when he delivers a blow, -it is <i>he</i> who strikes, and he has struck because -he <i>willed</i> to strike. He does not notice anything -of a problem therein, but the feeling of -<i>willing</i> suffices to him, not only for the acceptance -of cause and effect, but also for the belief that he -<i>understands</i> their relationship. Of the mechanism -of the occurrence and of the manifold subtle operations -<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>that must be performed in order that the -blow may result, and likewise of the incapacity -of the Will in itself to effect even the smallest part -of those operations—he knows nothing. The Will -is to him a magically operating force; the belief -in the Will as the cause of effects is the belief in -magically operating forces. In fact, whenever he saw -anything happen, man originally believed in a Will -as cause, and in personally <i>willing</i> beings operating -in the background,—the conception of mechanism -was very remote from him. Because, however, man -for immense periods of time believed only in -persons (and not in matter, forces, things, &c.), -the belief in cause and effect has become a fundamental -belief with him, which he applies everywhere -when anything happens,—and even still uses -instinctively as a piece of atavism of remotest origin. -The propositions, "No effect without a cause," and -"Every effect again implies a cause," appear as -generalisations of several less general propositions:—"Where -there is operation there has been <i>willing</i>," -"Operating is only possible on <i>willing</i> beings." -"There is never a pure, resultless experience of -activity, but every experience involves stimulation -of the Will" (to activity, defence, revenge or retaliation). -But in the primitive period of the human -race, the latter and the former propositions were -identical, the first were not generalisations of the -second, but the second were explanations of the -first.—Schopenhauer, with his assumption that all -that exists is something <i>volitional</i>, has set a primitive -mythology on the throne; he seems never to -have attempted an analysis of the Will, because -<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>he <i>believed</i> like everybody in the simplicity and -immediateness of all volition:—while volition is -in fact such a cleverly practised mechanical process -that it almost escapes the observing eye. I set the -following propositions against those of Schopenhauer:—Firstly, -in order that Will may arise, an -idea of pleasure and pain is necessary. Secondly, -that a vigorous excitation may be felt as pleasure -or pain, is the affair of the <i>interpreting</i> intellect, -which, to be sure, operates thereby for the most part -unconsciously to us, and one and the same excitation -<i>may</i> be interpreted as pleasure or pain. Thirdly, -it is only in an intellectual being that there is -pleasure, displeasure and Will; the immense -majority of organisms have nothing of the kind.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>128.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Value of Prayer.</i>—Prayer has been devised -for such men as have never any thoughts of their -own, and to whom an elevation of the soul is unknown, -or passes unnoticed; what shall these -people do in holy places and in all important situations -in life which require repose and some kind of -dignity? In order at least that they may not <i>disturb</i>, -the wisdom of all the founders of religions, the -small as well as the great, has commended to them -the formula of prayer, as a long mechanical labour -of the lips, united with an effort of the memory, -and with a uniform, prescribed attitude of hands -and feet—<i>and</i> eyes! They may then, like the -Tibetans, chew the cud of their "<i>om mane padme -hum</i>," innumerable times, or, as in Benares, count the -name of God Ram-Ram-Ram (and so on, with or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>without grace) on their fingers; or honour Vishnu -with his thousand names of invocation, Allah with -his ninety-nine; or they may make use of the -prayer-wheels and the rosary: the main thing is -that they are settled down for a time at this -work, and present a tolerable appearance; their -mode of prayer is devised for the advantage of -the pious who have thought and elevation of their -own. But even these have their weary hours when -a series of venerable words and sounds and a -mechanical, pious ritual does them good. But supposing -that these rare men—in every religion the -religious man is an exception—know how to help -themselves, the poor in spirit do not know, and -to forbid them the prayer-babbling would mean -to take their religion from them, a fact which -Protestantism brings more and more to light. All -that religion wants with such persons is that they -should <i>keep still</i> with their eyes, hands, legs, and -all their organs: they thereby become temporarily -beautified and—more human-looking!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>129.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Conditions for God.</i>—"God himself cannot -subsist without wise men," said Luther, and with -good reason; but "God can still less subsist without -unwise men,"—good Luther did not say that!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>130.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Dangerous Resolution.</i>—The Christian resolution -to find the world ugly and bad has made the -world ugly and bad.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span> - <h3 class='c009'>131.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Christianity and Suicide.</i>—Christianity made use -of the excessive longing for suicide at the time of -its origin as a lever for its power: it left only two -forms of suicide, invested them with the highest -dignity and the highest hopes, and forbade all -others in a dreadful manner. But martyrdom and -the slow self-annihilation of the ascetic were -permitted.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>132.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against Christianity.</i>—It is now no longer our -reason, but our taste that decides against -Christianity.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>133.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Axioms.</i>—An unavoidable hypothesis on which -mankind must always fall back again, is, in the -long run, <i>more powerful</i> than the most firmly -believed belief in something untrue (like the -Christian belief). In the long run: that means -a hundred thousand years from now.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>134.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Pessimists as Victims.</i>—When a profound dislike -of existence gets the upper hand, the after-effect -of a great error in diet of which a people has been -long guilty comes to light. The spread of Buddhism -(<i>not</i> its origin) is thus to a considerable extent -dependent on the excessive and almost exclusive -rice-fare of the Indians, and on the universal -enervation that results therefrom. Perhaps the -modern, European discontentedness is to be looked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>upon as caused by the fact that the world of our -forefathers, the whole Middle Ages, was given to -drink, owing to the influence of German tastes in -Europe: the Middle Ages, that means the alcoholic -poisoning of Europe.—The German dislike of life -(including the influence of the cellar-air and stove-poison -in German dwellings), is essentially a cold-weather -complaint.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>135.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Origin of Sin.</i>—Sin, as it is at present felt -wherever Christianity prevails or has prevailed, is -a Jewish feeling and a Jewish invention; and in -respect to this background of all Christian morality, -Christianity has in fact aimed at "Judaising" the -whole world. To what an extent this has succeeded -in Europe is traced most accurately in the -extent of our alienness to Greek antiquity—a world -without the feeling of sin—in our sentiments even -at present; in spite of all the good will to approximation -and assimilation, which whole generations -and many distinguished individuals have not -failed to display. "Only when thou <i>repentest</i> is -God gracious to thee"—that would arouse the -laughter or the wrath of a Greek: he would say, -"Slaves may have such sentiments." Here a -mighty being, an almighty being, and yet a revengeful -being, is presupposed; his power is so -great that no injury whatever can be done to him, -except in the point of honour. Every sin is an -infringement of respect, a <i>crimen læsæ majestatis -divinæ</i>—and nothing more! Contrition, degradation, -rolling-in-the-dust,—these are the first and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>last conditions on which his favour depends: the -restoration, therefore, of his divine honour! If -injury be caused otherwise by sin, if a profound, -spreading evil be propagated by it, an evil which, -like a disease, attacks and strangles one man after -another—that does not trouble this honour-craving -Oriental in heaven; sin is an offence against him, -not against mankind!—to him on whom he has -bestowed his favour he bestows also this indifference -to the natural consequences of sin. God -and mankind are here thought of as separated, -as so antithetical that sin against the latter cannot -be at all possible,—all deeds are to be looked upon -<i>solely with respect to their supernatural consequences</i>, -and not with respect to their natural results: it is -thus that the Jewish feeling, to which all that is -natural seems unworthy in itself, would have things. -The <i>Greeks</i>, on the other hand, were more familiar -with the thought that transgression also may have -dignity,—even theft, as in the case of Prometheus, -even the slaughtering of cattle as the expression of -frantic jealousy, as in the case of Ajax; in their -need to attribute dignity to transgression and -embody it therein, they invented <i>tragedy</i>,—an art -and a delight, which in its profoundest essence -has remained alien to the Jew, in spite of all his -poetic endowment and taste for the sublime.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>136.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Chosen People.</i>—The Jews, who regard themselves -as the chosen people among the nations, and -that too because they are the moral genius among -the nations (in virtue of their capacity for <i>despising</i> -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>the human in themselves <i>more</i> than any other -people)—the Jews have a pleasure in their divine -monarch and saint similar to that which the French -nobility had in Louis XIV. This nobility had -allowed its power and autocracy to be taken from -it, and had become contemptible: in order not to -feel this, in order to be able to forget it, an <i>unequalled</i> -royal magnificence, royal authority and -plenitude of power was needed, to which there was -access only for the nobility. As in accordance -with this privilege they raised themselves to the -elevation of the court, and from that elevation saw -everything under them,—saw everything contemptible,—they -got beyond all uneasiness of conscience. -They thus elevated intentionally the -tower of the royal power more and more into the -clouds, and set the final coping-stone of their own -power thereon.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>137.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Spoken in Parable.</i>—A Jesus Christ was only -possible in a Jewish landscape—I mean in one -over which the gloomy and sublime thunder-cloud -of the angry Jehovah hung continually. Here only -was the rare, sudden flashing of a single sunbeam -through the dreadful, universal and continuous -nocturnal-day regarded as a miracle of "love," -as a beam of the most unmerited "grace." Here -only could Christ dream of his rainbow and -celestial ladder on which God descended to man; -everywhere else the clear weather and the sun -were considered the rule and the commonplace.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span> - <h3 class='c009'>138.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Error of Christ.</i>—The founder of Christianity -thought there was nothing from which men suffered -so much as from their sins:—it was his error, the -error of him who felt himself without sin, to whom -experience was lacking in this respect! It was -thus that his soul filled with that marvellous, -fantastic pity which had reference to a trouble that -even among his own people, the inventors of sin, -was rarely a great trouble! But Christians understood -subsequently how to do justice to their master, -and to sanctify his error into a "truth."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>139.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Colour of the Passions.</i>—Natures such as the -apostle Paul, have an evil eye for the passions; -they learn to know only the filthy, the distorting, -and the heart-breaking in them,—their ideal aim, -therefore, is the annihilation of the passions; in the -divine they see complete purification from passion. -The Greeks, quite otherwise than Paul and the -Jews, directed their ideal aim precisely to the -passions, and loved, elevated, embellished and deified -them: in passion they evidently not only felt themselves -happier, but also purer and diviner than -otherwise.—And now the Christians? Have they -wished to become Jews in this respect? Have -they perhaps become Jews!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>140.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Too Jewish.</i>—If God had wanted to become an -object of love, he would first of all have had to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>forgo judging and justice:—a judge, and even a -gracious judge, is no object of love. The founder -of Christianity showed too little of the finer feelings -in this respect—being a Jew.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>141.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Too Oriental.</i>—What? A God who loves men, -provided that they believe in him, and who hurls -frightful glances and threatenings at him who does -not believe in this love! What? A conditioned -love as the feeling of an almighty God! A love -which has not even become master of the sentiment -of honour and of the irritable desire for vengeance! -How Oriental is all that! "If I love thee, what does -it concern thee?"<a id='r9' /><a href='#f9' class='c011'><sup>[9]</sup></a> is already a sufficient criticism -of the whole of Christianity.</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>142.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Frankincense.</i>—Buddha says: "Do not flatter -thy benefactor!" Let one repeat this saying in a -Christian church:—it immediately purifies the air -of all Christianity.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>143.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Greatest Utility of Polytheism.</i>—For the -individual to set up his <i>own</i> ideal and derive from -it his laws, his pleasures and his rights—<i>that</i> has -perhaps been hitherto regarded as the most monstrous -of all human aberrations, and as idolatry in -itself; in fact, the few who have ventured to do this -have always needed to apologise to themselves, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>usually in this wise: "Not I! not I! but <i>a God</i>, -through my instrumentality!" It was in the marvellous -art and capacity for creating Gods—in polytheism—that -this impulse was permitted to discharge -itself, it was here that it became purified, perfected, -and ennobled; for it was originally a commonplace -and unimportant impulse, akin to stubbornness, disobedience -and envy. To be <i>hostile</i> to this impulse -towards the individual ideal,—that was formerly the -law of every morality. There was then only one -norm, "the man"—and every people believed that -it <i>had</i> this one and ultimate norm. But above -himself, and outside of himself, in a distant over-world, -a person could see a <i>multitude of norms</i>: the -one God was not the denial or blasphemy of the -other Gods! It was here that individuals were first -permitted, it was here that the right of individuals -was first respected. The inventing of Gods, heroes -and supermen of all kinds, as well as co-ordinate -men and undermen—dwarfs, fairies, centaurs, -satyrs, demons, devils—was the inestimable preliminary -to the justification of the selfishness -and sovereignty of the individual: the freedom -which was granted to one God in respect to other -Gods, was at last given to the individual himself -in respect to laws, customs and neighbours. -Monotheism, on the contrary, the rigid consequence -of the doctrine of one normal human being—consequently -the belief in a normal God, beside whom -there are only false, spurious Gods—has perhaps -been the greatest danger of mankind in the past: -man was then threatened by that premature state -of inertia, which, so far as we can see, most of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>other species of animals reached long ago, as -creatures who all believe in one normal animal -and ideal in their species, and definitely translated -their morality of custom into flesh and blood. -In polytheism man's free-thinking and many-sided -thinking had a prototype set up: the power to -create for himself new and individual eyes, always -newer and more individualised: so that it is for -man alone, of all the animals, that there are no -<i>eternal</i> horizons and perspectives.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>144.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Religious Wars.</i>—The greatest advance of the -masses hitherto has been religious war, for it proves -that the masses have begun to deal reverently with -conceptions of things. Religious wars only result, -when human reason generally has been refined by -the subtle disputes of sects; so that even the populace -becomes punctilious and regards trifles as -important, actually thinking it possible that the -"eternal salvation of the soul" may depend upon -minute distinctions of concepts.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>145.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Danger of Vegetarians.</i>—The immense prevalence -of rice-eating impels to the use of opium -and narcotics, in like manner as the immense -prevalence of potato-eating impels to the use -of brandy:—it also impels, however, in its more -subtle after-effects to modes of thought and feeling -which operate narcotically. This is in accord with -the fact that those who promote narcotic modes of -thought and feeling, like those Indian teachers, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>praise a purely vegetable diet, and would like to -make it a law for the masses: they want thereby -to call forth and augment the need which <i>they</i> are -in a position to satisfy.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>146.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>German Hopes.</i>—Do not let us forget that -the names of peoples are generally names of -reproach. The Tartars, for example, according -to their name, are "the dogs"; they were -so christened by the Chinese. "<i>Deutschen</i>" -(Germans) means originally "heathen": it is thus -that the Goths after their conversion named -the great mass of their unbaptized fellow-tribes, -according to the indication in their translation -of the Septuagint, in which the heathen are -designated by the word which in Greek signifies -"the nations." (See Ulfilas.)—It might still be possible -for the Germans to make an honourable name -ultimately out of their old name of reproach, by -becoming the first <i>non-Christian</i> nation of Europe; -for which purpose Schopenhauer, to their honour, -regarded them as highly qualified. The work of -<i>Luther</i> would thus be consummated,—he who -taught them to be anti-Roman and to say: "Here -<i>I</i> stand! <i>I</i> cannot do otherwise!"—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>147.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Question and Answer.</i>—What do savage tribes -at present accept first of all from Europeans? -Brandy and Christianity, the European narcotics.—And -by what means are they fastest ruined?—By -the European narcotics.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span> - <h3 class='c009'>148.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Where Reformations Originate.</i>—At the time of -the great corruption of the church it was least of -all corrupt in Germany: it was on that account -that the Reformation originated <i>here</i>, as a sign -that even the beginnings of corruption were felt to -be unendurable. For, comparatively speaking, no -people was ever more Christian than the Germans -at the time of Luther; their Christian culture was -just about to burst into bloom with a hundred-fold -splendour,—one night only was still lacking; but -that night brought the storm which put an end -to all.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>149.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Failure of Reformations.</i>—It testifies to the -higher culture of the Greeks, even in rather early -ages, that attempts to establish new Grecian -religions frequently failed; it testifies that quite -early there must have been a multitude of dissimilar -individuals in Greece, whose dissimilar -troubles were not cured by a single recipe of faith -and hope. Pythagoras and Plato, perhaps also -Empedocles, and already much earlier the Orphic -enthusiasts, aimed at founding new religions; and -the two first-named were so endowed with the -qualifications for founding religions, that one cannot -be sufficiently astonished at their failure: they -just reached the point of founding sects. Every -time that the Reformation of an entire people -fails and only sects raise their heads, one may -conclude that the people already contains many -types, and has begun to free itself from the gross -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>herding instincts and the morality of custom,—a -momentous state of suspense, which one is accustomed -to disparage as decay of morals and -corruption, while it announces the maturing of -the egg and the early rupture of the shell. That -Luther's Reformation succeeded in the north, is a -sign that the north had remained backward in comparison -with the south of Europe, and still had -requirements tolerably uniform in colour and kind; -and there would have been no Christianising of -Europe at all, if the culture of the old world of the -south had not been gradually barbarized by an -excessive admixture of the blood of German -barbarians, and thus lost its ascendency. The -more universally and unconditionally an individual, -or the thought of an individual, can operate, so -much more homogeneous and so much lower must -be the mass that is there operated upon; while -counter-strivings betray internal counter-requirements, -which also want to gratify and realise themselves. -Reversely, one may always conclude with -regard to an actual elevation of culture, when -powerful and ambitious natures only produce a -limited and sectarian effect: this is true also for the -separate arts, and for the provinces of knowledge. -Where there is ruling there are masses: where -there are masses there is need of slavery. Where -there is slavery the individuals are but few, and -have the instincts and conscience of the herd -opposed to them.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>150.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Criticism of Saints.</i>—Must one then, in order to -have a virtue, be desirous of having it precisely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>in its most brutal form?—as the Christian saints -desired and needed;—those who only <i>endured</i> life -with the thought that at the sight of their virtue -self-contempt might seize every man. A virtue -with such an effect I call brutal.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>151.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Origin of Religion.</i>—The metaphysical -requirement is not the origin of religions, as -Schopenhauer claims, but only a <i>later sprout</i> from -them. Under the dominance of religious thoughts -we have accustomed ourselves to the idea of -"another (back, under, or upper) world," and feel -an uncomfortable void and privation through the -annihilation of the religious illusion;—and then -"another world" grows out of this feeling once -more, but now it is only a metaphysical world, and -no longer a religious one. That however which in -general led to the assumption of "another world" -in primitive times, was <i>not</i> an impulse or requirement, -but an <i>error</i> in the interpretation of certain -natural phenomena, a difficulty of the intellect.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>152.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The greatest Change.</i>—The lustre and the hues -of all things have changed! We no longer quite -understand how earlier men conceived of the most -familiar and frequent things,—for example, of the -day, and the awakening in the morning: owing to -their belief in dreams the waking state seemed to -them differently illuminated. And similarly of the -whole of life, with its reflection of death and its -significance: our "death" is an entirely different -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>death. All events were of a different lustre, for -a God shone forth in them; and similarly of all -resolutions and peeps into the distant future: -for people had oracles, and secret hints, and believed -in prognostication. "Truth" was conceived -in quite a different manner, for the insane could -formerly be regarded as its mouthpiece—a thing -which makes <i>us</i> shudder, or laugh. Injustice made -a different impression on the feelings: for people -were afraid of divine retribution, and not only of -legal punishment and disgrace. What joy was -there in an age when men believed in the devil -and tempter! What passion was there when -people saw demons lurking close at hand! What -philosophy was there when doubt was regarded as -sinfulness of the most dangerous kind, and in fact -as an outrage on eternal love, as distrust of everything -good, high, pure, and compassionate!—We -have coloured things anew, we paint them over -continually,—but what have we been able to do -hitherto in comparison with the <i>splendid colouring</i> -of that old master!—I mean ancient humanity.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>153.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Homo poeta.</i>—"I myself who have made this -tragedy of tragedies altogether independently, in -so far as it is completed; I who have first entwined -the perplexities of morality about existence, and -have tightened them so that only a God could -unravel them—so Horace demands!—I have -already in the fourth act killed all the Gods—for -the sake of morality! What is now to be -done about the fifth act? Where shall I get the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>tragic <i>dénouement</i>! Must I now think about -a comic <i>dénouement</i>?"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>154.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Differences in the Dangerousness of Life.</i>—You -don't know at all what you experience; you run -through life as if intoxicated, and now and then -fall down a stair. Thanks however to your intoxication -you still do not break your limbs: your -muscles are too languid and your head too confused -to find the stones of the staircase as hard as we -others do! For us life is a greater danger: we are -made of glass—alas, if we should <i>strike against</i> -anything! And all is lost if we should <i>fall</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>155.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What we Lack.</i>—We love the <i>grandeur</i> of Nature -and have discovered it; that is because human -grandeur is lacking in our minds. It was the -reverse with the Greeks: their feeling towards -Nature was quite different from ours.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>156.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The most Influential Person.</i>—The fact that a -person resists the whole spirit of his age, stops it -at the door, and calls it to account, <i>must</i> exert an -influence! It is indifferent whether he wishes to -exert an influence; the point is that he <i>can</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>157.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Mentiri.</i>—Take care!—he reflects: he will -have a lie ready immediately. This is a stage in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>the civilisation of whole nations. Consider only -what the Romans expressed by <i>mentiri</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>158.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>An Inconvenient Peculiarity.</i>—To find everything -deep is an inconvenient peculiarity: it makes one -constantly strain one's eyes, so that in the end -one always finds more than one wishes.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>159.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Every Virtue has its Time.</i>—The honesty of -him who is at present inflexible often causes -him remorse; for inflexibility is the virtue of a time -different from that in which honesty prevails.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>160.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Intercourse with Virtues.</i>—One can also be -undignified and flattering towards a virtue.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>161.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>To the Admirers of the Age.</i>—The runaway priest -and the liberated criminal are continually making -grimaces; what they want is a look without a past.—But -have you ever seen men who know that their -looks reflect the future, and who are so courteous to -you, the admirers of the "age," that they assume a -look without a future.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>162.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Egoism.</i>—Egoism is the <i>perspective</i> law of our -sentiment, according to which the near appears -large and momentous, while in the distance the -magnitude and importance of all things diminish.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span> - <h3 class='c009'>163.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>After a Great Victory.</i>—The best thing in a great -victory is that it deprives the conqueror of the fear -of defeat. "Why should I not be worsted for -once?" he says to himself, "I am now rich enough -to stand it."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>164.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Those who Seek Repose.</i>—I recognise the minds -that seek repose by the many <i>dark</i> objects with -which they surround themselves: those who want -to sleep darken their chambers, or creep into -caverns. A hint to those who do not know what -they really seek most, and would like to know!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>165.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Happiness of Renunciation.</i>—He who has -absolutely dispensed with something for a long -time will almost imagine, when he accidentally -meets with it again, that he has discovered it,—and -what happiness every discoverer has! Let us be -wiser than the serpents that lie too long in the -same sunshine.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>166.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Always in our own Society.</i>—All that is akin to -me in nature and history speaks to me, praises me, -urges me forward and comforts me—: other things -are unheard by me, or immediately forgotten. We -are only in our own society always.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>167.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Misanthropy and Philanthropy.</i>—We only speak -about being sick of men when we can no longer -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>digest them, and yet have the stomach full of -them. Misanthropy is the result of a far too eager -philanthropy and "cannibalism,"—but who ever -bade you swallow men like oysters, my Prince -Hamlet!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>168.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Concerning an Invalid.</i>—"Things go badly with -him!"—What is wrong?—"He suffers from the -longing to be praised, and finds no sustenance for -it."—Inconceivable! All the world does honour -to him, and he is reverenced not only in deed but -in word!—"Certainly, but he is dull of hearing for -the praise. When a friend praises him it sounds to -him as if the friend praised himself; when an enemy -praises him, it sounds to him as if the enemy wanted -to be praised for it; when, finally, some one else -praises him—there are by no means so many of -these, he is so famous!—he is offended because -they neither want him for a friend nor for an enemy; -he is accustomed to say: 'What do I care for those -who can still pose as the all-righteous towards -me!'"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>169.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Avowed Enemies.</i>—Bravery in presence of an -enemy is a thing by itself: a person may possess -it and still be a coward and an irresolute numskull. -That was Napoleon's opinion concerning -the "bravest man" he knew, Murat:—whence it -follows that avowed enemies are indispensable to -some men, if they are to attain to <i>their</i> virtue, to -their manliness, to their cheerfulness.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span> - <h3 class='c009'>170.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>With the Multitude.</i>—He has hitherto gone with -the multitude and is its panegyrist; but one day he -will be its opponent! For he follows it in the -belief that his laziness will find its advantage -thereby; he has not yet learned that the multitude -is not lazy enough for him! that it always presses -forward! that it does not allow any one to stand -still!—And he likes so well to stand still!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>171.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Fame.</i>—When the gratitude of many to one -casts aside all shame, then fame originates.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>172.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Perverter of Taste.</i>—A: "You are a perverter -of taste—they say so everywhere!" B: "Certainly! -I pervert every one's taste for his party:—no party -forgives me for that."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>173.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>To be Profound and to Appear Profound.</i>—He -who knows that he is profound strives for clearness; -he who would like to appear profound to the multitude -strives for obscurity. The multitude thinks -everything profound of which it cannot see the -bottom; it is so timid and goes so unwillingly into -the water.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>174.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Apart.</i>—Parliamentarism, that is to say, the public -permission to choose between five main political -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>opinions, insinuates itself into the favour of the -numerous class who would fain <i>appear</i> independent -and individual, and like to fight for their opinions. -After all, however, it is a matter of indifference -whether one opinion is imposed upon the herd, or -five opinions are permitted to it.—He who diverges -from the five public opinions and goes apart, has -always the whole herd against him.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>175.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Concerning Eloquence.</i>—What has hitherto had -the most convincing eloquence? The rolling of -the drum: and as long as kings have this at their -command, they will always be the best orators and -popular leaders.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>176.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Compassion.</i>—The poor, ruling princes! All their -rights now change unexpectedly into claims, and -all these claims immediately sound like pretensions! -And if they but say "we," or "my people," -wicked old Europe begins laughing. Verily, a -chief-master-of-ceremonies of the modern world -would make little ceremony with them; perhaps -he would decree that "<i>les souverains rangent aux -parvenus</i>."</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>177.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>On "Educational Matters."</i>—In Germany an -important educational means is lacking for higher -men; namely, the laughter of higher men; these -men do not laugh in Germany.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span> - <h3 class='c009'>178.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>For Moral Enlightenment.</i>—The Germans must -be talked out of their Mephistopheles—and out of -their Faust also. These are two moral prejudices -against the value of knowledge.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>179.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Thoughts.</i>—Thoughts are the shadows of our -sentiments—always, however, obscurer, emptier, -and simpler.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>180.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Good Time for Free Spirits.</i>—Free Spirits -take liberties even with regard to Science—and -meanwhile they are allowed to do so,—while the -Church still remains!—In so far they have now -their good time.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>181.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Following and Leading.</i>—A: "Of the two, the -one will always follow, the other will always lead, -whatever be the course of their destiny. <i>And yet</i> -the former is superior to the other in virtue and -intellect." B: "And yet? And yet? That is -spoken for the others; not for me, not for us!—<i>Fit -secundum regulam.</i>"</p> -<h3 class='c009'>182.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Solitude.</i>—When one lives alone one does -not speak too loudly, and one does not write too -loudly either, for one fears the hollow reverberation—the -criticism of the nymph Echo.—And all voices -sound differently in solitude!</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span> - <h3 class='c009'>183.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Music of the Best Future.</i>—The first musician -for me would be he who knew only the sorrow of -the profoundest happiness, and no other sorrow: -there has not hitherto been such a musician.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>184.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Justice.</i>—Better allow oneself to be robbed than -have scarecrows around one—that is my taste. -And under all circumstances it is just a matter -of taste—and nothing more!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>185.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Poor.</i>—He is now poor, but not because everything -has been taken from him, but because he has -thrown everything away:—what does he care? -He is accustomed to find new things.—It is the -poor who misunderstand his voluntary poverty.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>186.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Bad Conscience.</i>—All that he now does is excellent -and proper—and yet he has a bad conscience -with it all. For the exceptional is his task.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>187.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Offensiveness in Expression.</i>—This artist offends -me by the way in which he expresses his ideas, -his very excellent ideas: so diffusely and forcibly, -and with such gross rhetorical artifices, as if -he were speaking to the mob. We feel always as -if "in bad company" when devoting some time -to his art.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span> - <h3 class='c009'>188.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Work.</i>—How close work and the workers now -stand even to the most leisurely of us! The -royal courtesy in the words: "We are all workers," -would have been a cynicism and an indecency -even under Louis XIV.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>189.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Thinker.</i>—He is a thinker: that is to say, -he knows how to take things more simply than -they are.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>190.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against Eulogisers.</i>—A: "One is only praised -by one's equals!" B: "Yes! And he who praises -you says: 'You are my equal!'"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>191.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against many a Vindication.</i>—The most perfidious -manner of injuring a cause is to vindicate it -intentionally with fallacious arguments.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>192.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Good-natured.</i>—What is it that distinguishes -the good-natured, whose countenances beam kindness, -from other people? They feel quite at ease -in presence of a new person, and are quickly -enamoured of him; they therefore wish him well; -their first opinion is: "He pleases me." With -them there follow in succession the wish to -appropriate (they make little scruple about the -person's worth), rapid appropriation, joy in the -possession, and actions in favour of the person -possessed.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span> - <h3 class='c009'>193.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Kant's Joke.</i>—Kant tried to prove, in a way that -dismayed "everybody," that "everybody" was in -the right:—that was his secret joke. He wrote -against the learned, in favour of popular prejudice; -he wrote, however, for the learned and not for the -people.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>194.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The "Open-hearted" Man.</i>—That man acts probably -always from concealed motives; for he has -always communicable motives on his tongue, and -almost in his open hand.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>195.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Laughable!</i>—See! See! He runs <i>away</i> from -men—: they follow him, however, because he runs -<i>before</i> them,—they are such a gregarious lot!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>196.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Limits of our Sense of Hearing.</i>—We hear -only the questions to which we are capable of finding -an answer.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>197.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Caution therefore!</i>—There is nothing we are -fonder of communicating to others than the seal -of secrecy—together with what is under it.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>198.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Vexation of the Proud Man.</i>—The proud man is -vexed even with those who help him forward: he -looks angrily at his carriage-horses!</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span> - <h3 class='c009'>199.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Liberality.</i>—Liberality is often only a form of -timidity in the rich.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>200.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Laughing.</i>—To laugh means to love mischief, -but with a good conscience.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>201.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Applause.</i>—In applause there is always some -kind of noise: even in self-applause.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>202.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Spendthrift.</i>—He has not yet the poverty of -the rich man who has counted all his treasure,—he -squanders his spirit with the irrationalness of the -spendthrift Nature.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>203.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Hic niger est.</i>—Usually he has no thoughts,—but -in exceptional cases bad thoughts come to him.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>204.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Beggars and Courtesy.</i>—"One is not discourteous -when one knocks at a door with a stone when the -bell-pull is awanting"—so think all beggars and -necessitous persons, but no one thinks they are in -the right.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>205.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Need.</i>—Need is supposed to be the cause of -things; but in truth it is often only the effect of -the things themselves.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span> - <h3 class='c009'>206.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>During the Rain.</i>—It rains, and I think of the -poor people who now crowd together with their -many cares, which they are unaccustomed to conceal; -all of them, therefore, ready and anxious to -give pain to one another, and thus provide themselves -with a pitiable kind of comfort, even in bad -weather. This, this only, is the poverty of the -poor!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>207.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Envious Man.</i>—That is an envious man—it -is not desirable that he should have children; -he would be envious of them, because he can no -longer be a child.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>208.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Great Man!</i>—Because a person is "a great -man," we are not authorised to infer that he is a -man. Perhaps he is only a boy, or a chameleon -of all ages, or a bewitched girl.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>209.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Mode of Asking for Reasons.</i>—There is a mode -of asking for our reasons which not only makes us -forget our best reasons, but also arouses in us a -spite and repugnance against reason generally:—a -very stupefying mode of questioning, and properly -an artifice of tyrannical men!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>210.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Moderation in Diligence.</i>—One must not be -anxious to surpass the diligence of one's father—that -would make one ill.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span> - <h3 class='c009'>211.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Secret Enemies.</i>—To be able to keep a secret -enemy—that is a luxury which the morality even -of the highest-minded persons can rarely afford.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>212.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Not Letting oneself be Deluded.</i>—His spirit has -bad manners, it is hasty and always stutters with -impatience; so that one would hardly suspect the -deep breathing and the large chest of the soul in -which it resides.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>213.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Way to Happiness.</i>—A sage asked of a fool -the way to happiness. The fool answered without -delay, like one who had been asked the way to the -next town: "Admire yourself, and live on the -street!" "Hold," cried the sage, "you require too -much; it suffices to admire oneself!" The fool -replied: "But how can one constantly admire -without constantly despising?"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>214.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Faith Saves.</i>—Virtue gives happiness and a state -of blessedness only to those who have a strong -faith in their virtue:—not, however, to the more -refined souls whose virtue consists of a profound -distrust of themselves and of all virtue. After all, -therefore, it is "faith that saves" here also!—and -be it well observed, <i>not</i> virtue!</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span> - <h3 class='c009'>215.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Ideal and the Material.</i>—You have a noble -ideal before your eyes: but are you also such a -noble stone that such a divine image could be -formed out of you? And without that—is not all -your labour barbaric sculpturing? A blasphemy -of your ideal!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>216.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Danger in the Voice.</i>—With a very loud voice -a person is almost incapable of reflecting on -subtle matters.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>217.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Cause and Effect.</i>—Before the effect one believes -in other causes than after the effect.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>218.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>My Antipathy.</i>—I do not like those people who, -in order to produce an effect, have to burst like -bombs, and in whose neighbourhood one is always -in danger of suddenly losing one's hearing—or -even something more.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>219.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Object of Punishment.</i>—The object of punishment -is to improve him <i>who punishes</i>,—that is the -ultimate appeal of those who justify punishment.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>220.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Sacrifice.</i>—The victims think otherwise than the -spectators about sacrifice and sacrificing: but they -have never been allowed to express their opinion.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span> - <h3 class='c009'>221.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Consideration.</i>—Fathers and sons are much more -considerate of one another than mothers and -daughters.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>222.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Poet and Liar.</i>—The poet sees in the liar his -foster-brother whose milk he has drunk up; the -latter has thus remained wretched, and has not -even attained to a good conscience.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>223.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Vicariousness of the Senses.</i>—"We have also eyes -in order to hear with them,"—said an old confessor -who had grown deaf; "and among the blind he -that has the longest ears is king."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>224.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Animal Criticism.</i>—I fear the animals regard -man as a being like themselves, very seriously -endangered by a loss of sound animal understanding;—they -regard him perhaps as the absurd -animal, the laughing animal, the crying animal, -the unfortunate animal.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>225.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Natural.</i>—"Evil has always had the great -effect! And Nature is evil! Let us therefore be -natural!"—so reason secretly the great aspirants -after effect, who are too often counted among great -men.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span> - <h3 class='c009'>226.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Distrustful and their Style.</i>—We say the -strongest things simply, provided people are about -us who believe in our strength:—such an environment -educates to "simplicity of style." The -distrustful, on the other hand, speak emphatically; -they make things emphatic.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>227.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Fallacy, Fallacy.</i>—He cannot rule himself; -therefore that woman concludes that it will be -easy to rule him, and throws out her lines to -catch him;—the poor creature, who in a short -time will be his slave.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>228.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against Mediators.</i>—He who attempts to mediate -between two decided thinkers is rightly called -mediocre: he has not an eye for seeing the unique; -similarising and equalising are signs of weak eyes.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>229.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Obstinacy and Loyalty.</i>—Out of obstinacy he -holds fast to a cause of which the questionableness -has become obvious,—he calls that, however, his -"loyalty."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>230.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Lack of Reserve.</i>—His whole nature fails to -<i>convince</i>—that results from the fact that he has -never been reticent about a good action he has -performed.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span> - <h3 class='c009'>231.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The "Plodders."</i>—Persons slow of apprehension -think that slowness forms part of knowledge.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>232.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Dreaming.</i>—Either one does not dream at all, -or one dreams in an interesting manner. One -must learn to be awake in the same fashion:—either -not at all, or in an interesting manner.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>233.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The most Dangerous Point of View.</i>—What I -now do, or neglect to do, is as important <i>for all -that is to come</i>, as the greatest event of the past: -in this immense perspective of effects all actions -are equally great and small.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>234.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Consolatory Words of a Musician.</i>—"Your life -does not sound into people's ears: for them you -live a dumb life, and all refinements of melody, -all fond resolutions in following or leading the -way, are concealed from them. To be sure you do -not parade the thoroughfares with regimental -music,—but these good people have no right to -say on that account that your life is lacking in -music. He that hath ears let him hear."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>235.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Spirit and Character.</i>—Many a one attains his -full height of character, but his spirit is not adapted -to the elevation,—and many a one reversely.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span> - <h3 class='c009'>236.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>To Move the Multitude.</i>—Is it not necessary for -him who wants to move the multitude to give a -stage representation of himself? Has he not first -to translate himself into the grotesquely obvious, -and then <i>set forth</i> his whole personality and cause -in that vulgarised and simplified fashion!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>237.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Polite Man.</i>—"He is so polite!"—Yes, he -has always a sop for Cerberus with him, and is -so timid that he takes everybody for Cerberus, -even you and me,—that is his "politeness."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>238.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Without Envy.</i>—He is wholly without envy, but -there is no merit therein: for he wants to conquer -a land which no one has yet possessed and hardly -any one has even seen.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>239.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Joyless Person.</i>—A single joyless person -is enough to make constant displeasure and a -clouded heaven in a household; and it is only -by a miracle that such a person is lacking!—Happiness -is not nearly such a contagious disease;—how -is that!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>240.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>On the Sea-Shore.</i>—I would not build myself a -house (it is an element of my happiness not to be -a house-owner!). If I had to do so, however, I -should build it, like many of the Romans, right -<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>into the sea,—I should like to have some secrets -in common with that beautiful monster.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>241.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Work and Artist.</i>—This artist is ambitious and -nothing more; ultimately, however, his work is -only a magnifying glass, which he offers to every -one who looks in his direction.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>242.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Suum cuique.</i>—However great be my greed of -knowledge, I cannot appropriate aught of things -but what already belongs to me,—the property of -others still remains in the things. How is it -possible for a man to be a thief or a robber!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>243.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Origin of "Good" and "Bad."</i>—He only will -devise an improvement who can feel that "this is -not good."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>244.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Thoughts and Words.</i>—Even our thoughts we -are unable to render completely in words.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>245.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Praise in Choice.</i>—The artist chooses his subjects; -that is his mode of praising.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>246.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Mathematics.</i>—We want to carry the refinement -and rigour of mathematics into all the sciences, as -far as it is in any way possible, not in the belief that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>we shall apprehend things in this way, but in order -thereby to <i>assert</i> our human relation to things. -Mathematics is only a means to general and -ultimate human knowledge.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>247.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Habits.</i>—All habits make our hand wittier and -our wit unhandier.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>248.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Books.</i>—Of what account is a book that never -carries us away beyond all books!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>249.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Sigh of the Seeker of Knowledge.</i>—"Oh, my -covetousness! In this soul there is no disinterestedness—but -an all-desiring self, which, by means of -many individuals, would fain see as with <i>its own</i> -eyes, and grasp as with <i>its own</i> hands—a self -bringing back even the entire past, and wanting -to lose nothing that could in any way belong to it! -Oh, this flame of my covetousness! Oh, that I -were reincarnated in a hundred individuals!"—He -who does not know this sigh by experience, does -not know the passion of the seeker of knowledge -either.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>250.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Guilt.</i>—Although the most intelligent judges of -the witches, and even the witches themselves, were -convinced of the guilt of witchcraft, the guilt, -nevertheless, was not there. So it is with all -guilt.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span> - <h3 class='c009'>251.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Misunderstood Sufferers.</i>—Great natures suffer -otherwise than their worshippers imagine; they -suffer most severely from the ignoble, petty emotions -of certain evil moments; in short, from doubt -of their own greatness;—not however from the -sacrifices and martyrdoms which their tasks require -of them. As long as Prometheus sympathises -with men and sacrifices himself for them, he is -happy and proud in himself; but on becoming -envious of Zeus and of the homage which mortals -pay him—then Prometheus suffers!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>252.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Better to be in Debt.</i>—"Better to remain in debt -than to pay with money which does not bear our -stamp!"—that is what our sovereignty prefers.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>253.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Always at Home.</i>—One day we attain our <i>goal</i>—and -then refer with pride to the long journeys we -have made to reach it. In truth, we did not notice -that we travelled. We got into the habit of thinking -that we were <i>at home</i> in every place.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>254.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against Embarrassment.</i>—He who is always -thoroughly occupied is rid of all embarrassment.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>255.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Imitators.</i>—A: "What? You don't want to have -imitators?" B: "I don't want people to do anything -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span><i>after</i> me; I want every one to do something -<i>before</i> himself (as a pattern to himself)—just as <i>I</i> -do." A: "Consequently—?"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>256.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Skinniness.</i>—All profound men have their happiness -in imitating the flying-fish for once, and -playing on the crests of the waves; they think -that what is best of all in things is their surface: -their skinniness—<i>sit venia verbo</i>.</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>257.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>From Experience.</i>—A person often does not know -how rich he is, until he learns from experience what -rich men even play the thief on him.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>258.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Deniers of Chance.</i>—No conqueror believes -in chance.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>259.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>From Paradise.</i>—"Good and Evil are God's -prejudices"—said the serpent.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>260.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>One times One.</i>—One only is always in the wrong, -but with two truth begins.—One only cannot -prove himself right; but two are already beyond -refutation.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>261.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Originality.</i>—What is originality? To <i>see</i> something -that does not yet bear a name, that cannot -yet be named, although it is before everybody's -<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>eyes. As people are usually constituted, it is the -name that first makes a thing generally visible to -them.—Original persons have also for the most -part been the namers of things.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>262.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Sub specie aeterni.</i>—A: "You withdraw faster -and faster from the living; they will soon strike -you out of their lists!"—B: "It is the only way -to participate in the privilege of the dead." A: -"In what privilege?"—B: "No longer having to -die."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>263.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Without Vanity.</i>—When we love we want our -defects to remain concealed,—not out of vanity, but -lest the person loved should suffer therefrom. -Indeed, the lover would like to appear as a God,—and -not out of vanity either.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>264.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What we Do.</i>—What we do is never understood, -but only praised and blamed.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>265.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Ultimate Scepticism.</i>—But what after all are -man's truths?—They are his <i>irrefutable</i> errors.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>266.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Where Cruelty is Necessary.</i>—He who is great is -cruel to his second-rate virtues and judgments.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span> - <h3 class='c009'>267.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>With a high Aim.</i>—With a high aim a person -is superior even to justice, and not only to his -deeds and his judges.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>268.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What makes Heroic?</i>—To face simultaneously -one's greatest suffering and one's highest hope.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>269.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What dost thou Believe in?</i>—In this: That the -weights of all things must be determined anew.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>270.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What Saith thy Conscience?</i>—"Thou shalt become -what thou art."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>271.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Where are thy Greatest Dangers?</i>—In pity.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>272.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What dost thou Love in others?</i>—My hopes.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>273.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Whom dost thou call Bad?</i>—Him who always -wants to put others to shame.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>274.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What dost thou think most humane?</i>—To spare -a person shame.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>275.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What is the Seal of Liberty Attained?</i>—To be -no longer ashamed of oneself.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span> - <h2 class='c004'>BOOK FOURTH<br /> <br />SANCTUS JANUARIUS</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c003'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Thou who with cleaving fiery lances</div> - <div class='line in2'>The stream of my soul from its ice dost free,</div> - <div class='line'>Till with a rush and a roar it advances</div> - <div class='line in2'>To enter with glorious hoping the sea:</div> - <div class='line'>Brighter to see and purer ever,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,—</div> - <div class='line'>So it praises thy wondrous endeavour,</div> - <div class='line in2'>January, thou beauteous saint!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c012'><i>Genoa</i>, January 1882.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span> - <h3 class='c009'>276.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>For the New Year.</i>—I still live, I still think; I -must still live, for I must still think. <i>Sum, ergo -cogito: cogito, ergo sum.</i> To-day everyone takes -the liberty of expressing his wish and his favourite -thought: well, I also mean to tell what I have -wished for myself to-day, and what thought first -crossed my mind this year,—a thought which ought -to be the basis, the pledge and the sweetening of -all my future life! I want more and more to -perceive the necessary characters in things as the -beautiful:—I shall thus be one of those who -beautify things. <i>Amor fati</i>: let that henceforth -be my love! I do not want to wage war with the -ugly. I do not want to accuse, I do not want even -to accuse the accusers. <i>Looking aside</i>, let that be -my sole negation! And all in all, to sum up: I -wish to be at any time hereafter only a yea-sayer!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>277.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Personal Providence.</i>—There is a certain climax -in life, at which, notwithstanding all our freedom, -and however much we may have denied all directing -reason and goodness in the beautiful chaos -of existence, we are once more in great danger -of intellectual bondage, and have to face our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>hardest test. For now the thought of a personal -Providence first presents itself before us with -its most persuasive force, and has the best of -advocates, apparentness, in its favour, now when it -is obvious that all and everything that happens to -us always <i>turns out for the best</i>. The life of every -day and of every hour seems to be anxious for -nothing else but always to prove this proposition -anew; let it be what it will, bad or good weather, -the loss of a friend, a sickness, a calumny, the -non-receipt of a letter, the spraining of one's -foot, a glance into a shop-window, a counter-argument, -the opening of a book, a dream, a -deception:—it shows itself immediately, or very -soon afterwards as something "not permitted to -be absent,"—it is full of profound significance and -utility precisely <i>for us</i>! Is there a more dangerous -temptation to rid ourselves of the belief in the -Gods of Epicurus, those careless, unknown Gods, -and believe in some anxious and mean Divinity, -who knows personally every little hair on our -heads, and feels no disgust in rendering the most -wretched services? Well—I mean in spite of all -this! we want to leave the Gods alone (and the -serviceable genii likewise), and wish to content -ourselves with the assumption that our own -practical and theoretical skilfulness in explaining -and suitably arranging events has now reached its -highest point. We do not want either to think -too highly of this dexterity of our wisdom, when -the wonderful harmony which results from playing -on our instrument sometimes surprises us -too much: a harmony which sounds too well for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>us to dare to ascribe it to ourselves. In fact, now -and then there is one who plays <i>with</i> us—beloved -Chance: he leads our hand occasionally, and even -the all-wisest Providence could not devise any finer -music than that of which our foolish hand is then -capable.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>278.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Thought of Death.</i>—It gives me a melancholy -happiness to live in the midst of this confusion of -streets, of necessities, of voices: how much enjoyment, -impatience and desire, how much thirsty -life and drunkenness of life comes to light here -every moment! And yet it will soon be so still -for all these shouting, lively, life-loving people! -How everyone's shadow, his gloomy travelling-companion -stands behind him! It is always as in -the last moment before the departure of an emigrant-ship: -people have more than ever to say to -one another, the hour presses, the ocean with its -lonely silence waits impatiently behind all the -noise—so greedy, so certain of its prey! And all, -all, suppose that the past has been nothing, or a -small matter, that the near future is everything: -hence this haste, this crying, this self-deafening -and self-overreaching! Everyone wants to be -foremost in this future,—and yet death and the -stillness of death are the only things certain and -common to all in this future! How strange that this -sole thing that is certain and common to all, exercises -almost no influence on men, and that they are the -<i>furthest</i> from regarding themselves as the brotherhood -of death! It makes me happy to see that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>men do not want to think at all of the idea of death! -I would fain do something to make the idea of life -even a hundred times <i>more worthy of their attention</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>279.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Stellar Friendship.</i>—We were friends, and have -become strangers to each other. But this is as it -ought to be, and we do not want either to conceal -or obscure the fact, as if we had to be ashamed of -it. We are two ships, each of which has its goal -and its course; we may, to be sure, cross one -another in our paths, and celebrate a feast together -as we did before,—and then the gallant ships lay -quietly in one harbour, and in one sunshine, so -that it might have been thought they were -already at their goal, and that they had had one -goal. But then the almighty strength of our tasks -forced us apart once more into different seas and -into different zones, and perhaps we shall never -see one another again,—or perhaps we may see -one another, but not know one another again; the -different seas and suns have altered us! That we -had to become strangers to one another is the law -to which we are <i>subject</i>: just by that shall we -become more sacred to one another! Just by -that shall the thought of our former friendship -become holier! There is probably some immense, -invisible curve and stellar orbit in which our -courses and goals, so widely different, may be -<i>comprehended</i> as small stages of the way,—let us -raise ourselves to this thought! But our life is -too short, and our power of vision too limited for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>us to be more than friends in the sense of that -sublime possibility.—And so we will <i>believe</i> in our -stellar friendship, though we should have to be -terrestrial enemies to one another.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>280.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Architecture for Thinkers.</i>—An insight is needed -(and that probably very soon) as to what is specially -lacking in our great cities—namely, quiet, spacious, -and widely extended places for reflection, places with -long, lofty colonnades for bad weather, or for too -sunny days, where no noise of wagons or of shouters -would penetrate, and where a more refined propriety -would prohibit loud praying even to the priest: -buildings and situations which as a whole would -express the sublimity of self-communion and -seclusion from the world. The time is past when -the Church possessed the monopoly of reflection, -when the <i>vita contemplativa</i> had always in the first -place to be the <i>vita religiosa</i>: and everything that -the Church has built expresses this thought. I -know not how we could content ourselves with -their structures, even if they should be divested -of their ecclesiastical purposes: these structures -speak a far too pathetic and too biassed speech, as -houses of God and places of splendour for supernatural -intercourse, for us godless ones to be able -to think <i>our thoughts</i> in them. We want to have -<i>ourselves</i> translated into stone and plant, we want -to go for a walk in <i>ourselves</i> when we wander in -these halls and gardens.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span> - <h3 class='c009'>281.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Knowing how to Find the End.</i>—Masters of the -first rank are recognised by knowing in a perfect -manner how to find the end, in the whole as well -as in the part; be it the end of a melody or of a -thought, be it the fifth act of a tragedy or of a state -affair. The masters of the second degree always -become restless towards the end, and seldom dip -down into the sea with such proud, quiet equilibrium -as, for example, the mountain-ridge at <i>Porto fino</i>—where -the Bay of Genoa sings its melody to an end.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>282.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Gait.</i>—There are mannerisms of the intellect -by which even great minds betray that they -originate from the populace, or from the semi-populace:—it -is principally the gait and step -of their thoughts which betray them; they cannot -<i>walk</i>. It was thus that even Napoleon, to his -profound chagrin, could not walk "legitimately" -and in princely fashion on occasions when it was -necessary to do so properly, as in great coronation -processions and on similar occasions: even there he -was always just the leader of a column—proud and -brusque at the same time, and very self-conscious -of it all.—It is something laughable to see those -writers who make the folding robes of their periods -rustle around them: they want to cover their <i>feet</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>283.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Pioneers.</i>—I greet all the signs indicating that a -more manly and warlike age is commencing, which -will, above all, bring heroism again into honour! -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>For it has to prepare the way for a yet higher age, -and gather the force which the latter will one day -require,—the age which will carry heroism into knowledge, -and <i>wage war</i> for the sake of ideas and their -consequences. For that end many brave pioneers -are now needed, who, however, cannot originate out -of nothing,—and just as little out of the sand and -slime of present-day civilisation and the culture of -great cities: men silent, solitary and resolute, who -know how to be content and persistent in invisible -activity: men who with innate disposition seek in all -things that which is <i>to be overcome</i> in them: men to -whom cheerfulness, patience, simplicity, and contempt -of the great vanities belong just as much as -do magnanimity in victory and indulgence to the -trivial vanities of all the vanquished: men with -an acute and independent judgment regarding all -victors, and concerning the part which chance has -played in the winning of victory and fame: men -with their own holidays, their own work-days, and -their own periods of mourning; accustomed to -command with perfect assurance, and equally ready, -if need be, to obey, proud in the one case as in the -other, equally serving their own interests: men -more imperilled, more productive, more happy! -For believe me!—the secret of realising the largest -productivity and the greatest enjoyment of existence -is <i>to live in danger</i>! Build your cities on the slope -of Vesuvius! Send your ships into unexplored -seas! Live in war with your equals and with -yourselves! Be robbers and spoilers, ye knowing -ones, as long as ye cannot be rulers and -possessor! The time will soon pass when you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>can be satisfied to live like timorous deer concealed -in the forests. Knowledge will finally stretch out -her hand for that which belongs to her:—she means -to <i>rule</i> and <i>possess</i>, and you with her!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>284.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Belief in Oneself.</i>—In general, few men have -belief in themselves:—and of those few some are -endowed with it as a useful blindness or partial -obscuration of intellect (what would they perceive -if they could see <i>to the bottom of themselves</i>!). -The others must first acquire the belief for themselves: -everything good, clever, or great that they -do, is first of all an argument against the sceptic -that dwells in them: the question is how to convince -or persuade <i>this sceptic</i>, and for that purpose -genius almost is needed. They are signally dissatisfied -with themselves.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>285.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Excelsior!</i>—"Thou wilt never more pray, never -more worship, never more repose in infinite trust—thou -refusest to stand still and dismiss thy thoughts -before an ultimate wisdom, an ultimate virtue, an -ultimate power,—thou hast no constant guardian -and friend in thy seven solitudes—thou livest -without the outlook on a mountain that has snow -on its head and fire in its heart—there is no -longer any requiter for thee, nor any amender with -his finishing touch—there is no longer any reason -in that which happens, or any love in that which -will happen to thee—there is no longer any resting-place -for thy weary heart, where it has only to find -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>and no longer to seek, thou art opposed to any kind -of ultimate peace, thou desirest the eternal recurrence -of war and peace:—man of renunciation, -wilt thou renounce in all these things? Who -will give thee the strength to do so? No one has -yet had this strength!"—There is a lake which one -day refused to flow away, and threw up a dam at -the place where it had hitherto flowed away: since -then this lake has always risen higher and higher. -Perhaps the very renunciation will also furnish us -with the strength with which the renunciation itself -can be borne; perhaps man will ever rise higher -and higher from that point onward, when he no -longer <i>flows out</i> into a God.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>286.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Digression.</i>—Here are hopes; but what will -you see and hear of them, if you have not experienced -glance and glow and dawn of day in your -own souls? I can only suggest—I cannot do more! -To move the stones, to make animals men—would -you have me do that? Alas, if you are yet stones -and animals, seek first your Orpheus!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>287.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Love of Blindness.</i>—"My thoughts," said the -wanderer to his shadow, "ought to show me where -I stand, but they should not betray to me <i>whither I -go</i>. I love ignorance of the future, and do not -want to come to grief by impatience and anticipatory -tasting of promised things."</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span> - <h3 class='c009'>288.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Lofty Moods.</i>—It seems to me that most men do -not believe in lofty moods, unless it be for the -moment, or at the most for a quarter of an hour,—except -the few who know by experience a longer -duration of high feeling. But to be absolutely -a man with a single lofty feeling, the incarnation of -a single lofty mood—that has hitherto been only a -dream and an enchanting possibility: history does -not yet give us any trustworthy example of it. -Nevertheless it could some day produce such men -also—when a multitude of favourable conditions -have been created and established, which at -present even the happiest chance is unable to -throw together. Perhaps that very state which has -hitherto entered into our soul as an exception, felt -with horror now and then, may be the usual condition -of those future souls: a continuous movement -between high and low, and the feeling of high and -low, a constant state of mounting as on steps, and -at the same time reposing as on clouds.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>289.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Aboard Ship!</i>—When one considers how a full -philosophical justification of his mode of living -and thinking operates upon every individual—namely, -as a warming, blessing, and fructifying -sun, specially shining on him; how it makes him -independent of praise and blame, self-sufficient, -rich and generous in the bestowal of happiness -and kindness; how it unceasingly transforms the -evil to the good, brings all the energies to bloom -<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>and maturity, and altogether hinders the growth -of the greater and lesser weeds of chagrin and discontent:—one -at last cries out importunately: Oh, -that many such new suns were created! The evil -man, also, the unfortunate man, and the exceptional -man, shall each have his philosophy, his -rights, and his sunshine! It is not sympathy with -them that is necessary!—we must unlearn this -arrogant fancy, notwithstanding that humanity -has so long learned it and used it exclusively—we -have not to set up any confessor, exorcist, or -pardoner for them! It is a new <i>justice</i>, however, -that is necessary! And a new solution! And -new philosophers! The moral earth also is round! -The moral earth also has its antipodes! The antipodes -also have their right to exist! there is -still another world to discover—and more than -one! Aboard ship! ye philosophers!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>290.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>One Thing is Needful.</i>—To "give style" to one's -character—that is a grand and a rare art! He -who surveys all that his nature presents in its -strength and in its weakness, and then fashions it -into an ingenious plan, until everything appears -artistic and rational, and even the weaknesses -enchant the eye—exercises that admirable art. -Here there has been a great amount of second -nature added, there a portion of first nature has -been taken away:—in both cases with long exercise -and daily labour at the task. Here the ugly, -which does not permit of being taken away, has -been concealed, there it has been re-interpreted -<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>into the sublime. Much of the vague, which refuses -to take form, has been reserved and utilised -for the perspectives:—it is meant to give a hint -of the remote and immeasurable. In the end, -when the work has been completed, it is revealed -how it was the constraint of the same taste that -organised and fashioned it in whole or in part: -whether the taste was good or bad is of less -importance than one thinks,—it is sufficient that -it was <i>a taste</i>!—It will be the strong imperious -natures which experience their most refined joy -in such constraint, in such confinement and perfection -under their own law; the passion of their -violent volition lessens at the sight of all disciplined -nature, all conquered and ministering nature: even -when they have palaces to build and gardens to -lay out, it is not to their taste to allow nature to -be free.—It is the reverse with weak characters -who have not power over themselves, and <i>hate</i> -the restriction of style: they feel that if this -repugnant constraint were laid upon them, they -would necessarily become <i>vulgarised</i> under it: -they become slaves as soon as they serve, they -hate service. Such intellects—they may be intellects -of the first rank—are always concerned with -fashioning or interpreting themselves and their -surroundings as <i>free</i> nature—wild, arbitrary, fantastic, -confused and surprising: and it is well for -them to do so, because only in this manner can -they please themselves! For one thing is needful: -namely, that man should <i>attain to</i> satisfaction with -himself—be it but through this or that fable and -artifice: it is only then that man's aspect is at all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>endurable! He who is dissatisfied with himself is -ever ready to avenge himself on that account: we -others will be his victims, if only in having always -to endure his ugly aspect. For the aspect of the -ugly makes one mean and sad.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>291.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Genoa.</i>—I have looked upon this city, its villas -and pleasure-grounds and the wide circuit of its -inhabited heights and slopes, for a considerable -time: in the end I must say that I see <i>countenances</i> -out of past generations,—this district is strewn with -the images of bold and autocratic men. They have -<i>lived</i> and have wanted to live on—they say so -with their houses, built and decorated for centuries, -and not for the passing hour: they were well -disposed to life, however ill-disposed they may -often have been towards themselves. I always see -the builder, how he casts his eye on all that is -built around him far and near, and likewise on -the city, the sea, and the chain of mountains; how -he expresses power and conquest in his gaze: -all this he wishes to fit into <i>his</i> plan, and in the -end make it his <i>property</i>, by its becoming a -portion of the same. The whole district is overgrown -with this superb, insatiable egoism of the -desire to possess and exploit; and as these men -when abroad recognised no frontiers, and in their -thirst for the new placed a new world beside the -old, so also at home everyone rose up against -everyone else, and devised some mode of expressing -his superiority, and of placing between himself and -his neighbour his personal illimitableness. Everyone -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>won for himself his home once more by over-powering -it with his architectural thoughts, and -by transforming it into a delightful sight for his -race. When we consider the mode of building -cities in the north, the law and the general delight -in legality and obedience, impose upon us: we -thereby divine the propensity to equality and -submission which must have ruled in those builders. -Here, however, on turning every corner you find -a man by himself, who knows the sea, knows adventure, -and knows the Orient, a man who is averse -to law and to neighbour, as if it bored him to -have to do with them, a man who scans all that -is already old and established, with envious glances: -with a wonderful craftiness of fantasy, he would -like, at least in thought, to establish all this anew, -to lay his hand upon it, and introduce his meaning -into it—if only for the passing hour of a sunny -afternoon, when for once his insatiable and melancholy -soul feels satiety, and when only what is his -own, and nothing strange, may show itself to -his eye.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>292.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>To the Preachers of Morality.</i>—I do not mean -to moralise, but to those who do, I would give this -advice: if you mean ultimately to deprive the best -things and the best conditions of all honour and -worth, continue to speak of them in the same -way as heretofore! Put them at the head of your -morality, and speak from morning till night of the -happiness of virtue, of repose of soul, of righteousness, -and of reward and punishment in the nature -of things: according as you go on in this manner, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>all these good things will finally acquire a popularity -and a street-cry for themselves: but then -all the gold on them will also be worn off, and -more besides: all the gold <i>in them</i> will have -changed into lead. Truly, you understand the -reverse art of alchemy, the depreciating of the -most valuable things! Try, just for once, another -recipe, in order not to realise as hitherto the -opposite of what you mean to attain: <i>deny</i> those -good things, withdraw from them the applause of -the populace and discourage the spread of them, -make them once more the concealed chastities of -solitary souls, say that <i>morality is something forbidden</i>! -Perhaps you will thus win over for those -things the sort of men who are only of any account, -I mean the <i>heroic</i>. But then there must be -something formidable in them, and not as hitherto -something disgusting! Might one not be inclined -to say at present with reference to morality -what Master Eckardt says: "I pray God to deliver -me from God!"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>293.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our Atmosphere.</i>—We know it well: to him who -only casts a glance now and then at science, as -in taking a walk (in the manner of women, and -alas! also like many artists), the strictness in its -service, its inexorability in small matters as well -as in great, its rapidity in weighing, judging and -condemning, produce something of a feeling of -giddiness and fright. It is especially terrifying to -him that the hardest is here demanded, that the -best is done without the reward of praise or distinction; -it is rather as among soldiers—almost -<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>nothing but blame and sharp reprimand <i>is heard</i>; -for doing well prevails here as the rule, doing ill -as the exception; the rule, however, has, here as -everywhere, a silent tongue. It is the same with -this "severity of science" as with the manners and -politeness of the best society: it frightens the -uninitiated. He, however, who is accustomed to it, -does not like to live anywhere but in this clear, -transparent, powerful, and highly electrified atmosphere, -this <i>manly</i> atmosphere. Anywhere else -it is not pure and airy enough for him: he suspects -that <i>there</i> his best art would neither be properly -advantageous to anyone else, nor a delight to -himself, that through misunderstandings half of -his life would slip through his fingers, that much -foresight, much concealment, and reticence would -constantly be necessary,—nothing but great and -useless losses of power! In <i>this</i> keen and clear -element, however, he has his entire power: here he -can fly! Why should he again go down into those -muddy waters where he has to swim and wade and -soil his wings!—No! There it is too hard for us -to live! we cannot help it that we are born for the -atmosphere, the pure atmosphere, we rivals of the -ray of light; and that we should like best to ride -like it on the atoms of ether, not away from the -sun, but <i>towards the sun</i>! That, however, we -cannot do:—so we want to do the only thing that -is in our power: namely, to bring light to the earth, -we want to be "the light of the earth!" And for -that purpose we have our wings and our swiftness -and our severity, on that account we are manly, and -even terrible like the fire. Let those fear us, who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>do not know how to warm and brighten themselves -by our influence!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>294.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Against the Disparagers of Nature.</i>—They are -disagreeable to me, those men in whom every -natural inclination forthwith becomes a disease, -something disfiguring, or even disgraceful. <i>They</i> -have seduced us to the opinion that the inclinations -and impulses of men are evil; <i>they</i> are the cause -of our great injustice to our own nature, and to all -nature! There are enough of men who <i>may</i> yield -to their impulses gracefully and carelessly: but -they do not do so, for fear of that imaginary "evil -thing" in nature! <i>That is the cause</i> why there is -so little nobility to be found among men: the -indication of which will always be to have no fear -of oneself, to expect nothing disgraceful from -oneself, to fly without hesitation whithersoever we -are impelled—we free-born birds! Wherever we -come, there will always be freedom and sunshine -around us.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>295.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Short-lived Habits.</i>—I love short-lived habits, -and regard them as an invaluable means for -getting a knowledge of <i>many</i> things and various -conditions, to the very bottom of their sweetness -and bitterness; my nature is altogether arranged -for short-lived habits, even in the needs of its -bodily health, and in general, <i>as far as</i> I can see, -from the lowest up to the highest matters. I -always think that <i>this</i> will at last satisfy me -permanently (the short-lived habit has also that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>characteristic belief of passion, the belief in everlasting -duration; I am to be envied for having -found it and recognised it), and then it nourishes -me at noon and at eve, and spreads a profound -satisfaction around me and in me, so that I have -no longing for anything else, not needing to -compare, or despise, or hate. But one day the -habit has had its time: the good thing separates -from me, not as something which then inspires -disgust in me—but peaceably and as though satisfied -with me, as I am with it; as if we had to be -mutually thankful, and <i>thus</i> shook hands for -farewell. And already the new habit waits at the -door, and similarly also my belief—indestructible -fool and sage that I am!—that this new habit will -be the right one, the ultimate right one. So it is -with me as regards foods, thoughts, men, cities, -poems, music, doctrines, arrangements of the day, -and modes of life.—On the other hand, I hate -<i>permanent</i> habits, and feel as if a tyrant came -into my neighbourhood, and as if my life's breath -<i>condensed</i>, when events take such a form that permanent -habits seem necessarily to grow out of them: -for example, through an official position, through -constant companionship with the same persons, -through a settled abode, or through a uniform state -of health. Indeed, from the bottom of my soul I -am gratefully disposed to all my misery and sickness, -and to whatever is imperfect in me, because such -things leave me a hundred back-doors through which -I can escape from permanent habits. The most -unendurable thing, to be sure, the really terrible -thing, would be a life without habits, a life which -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>continually required improvisation:—that would -be my banishment and my Siberia.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>296.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Fixed Reputation.</i>—A fixed reputation was -formerly a matter of the very greatest utility; and -wherever society continues to be ruled by the -herd-instinct, it is still most suitable for every -individual <i>to give</i> to his character and business -<i>the appearance</i> of unalterableness,—even when they -are not so in reality. "One can rely on him, he -remains the same"—that is the praise which has -most significance in all dangerous conditions of -society. Society feels with satisfaction that it -has a reliable <i>tool</i> ready at all times in the -virtue of this one, in the ambition of that one, and -in the reflection and passion of a third one,—it -honours this <i>tool-like nature</i>, this self-constancy, -this unchangeableness in opinions, efforts, and -even in faults, with the highest honours. Such -a valuation, which prevails and has prevailed -everywhere simultaneously with the morality of -custom, educates "characters," and brings all -changing, re-learning, and self-transforming into -<i>disrepute</i>. Be the advantage of this mode of -thinking ever so great otherwise, it is in any case -the mode of judging which is most injurious <i>to -knowledge</i>: for precisely the good-will of the knowing -one ever to declare himself unhesitatingly as -<i>opposed</i> to his former opinions, and in general to -be distrustful of all that wants to be fixed in him—is -here condemned and brought into disrepute. -The disposition of the thinker, as incompatible with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>a "fixed reputation," is regarded as <i>dishonourable</i>, -while the petrifaction of opinions has all the honour -to itself:—we have at present still to live under the -interdict of such rules! How difficult it is to live -when one feels that the judgment of many millenniums -is around one and against one. It is probable -that for many millenniums knowledge was -afflicted with a bad conscience, and that there must -have been much self-contempt and secret misery in -the history of the greatest intellects.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>297.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Ability to Contradict.</i>—Everyone knows at present -that the ability to endure contradiction is a high -indication of culture. Some people even know -that the higher man courts opposition, and provokes -it, so as to get a cue to his hitherto unknown partiality. -But the <i>ability</i> to contradict, the attainment -of <i>good</i> conscience in hostility to the accustomed, -the traditional and the hallowed,—that is more than -both the above-named abilities, and is the really -great, new and astonishing thing in our culture, the -step of all steps of the emancipated intellect: who -knows that?—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>298.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Sigh.</i>—I caught this notion on the way, and -rapidly took the readiest, poor words to hold it fast, -so that it might not again fly away. And now it -has died in these dry words, and hangs and flaps -about in them—and I hardly know now, when I -look upon it, how I could have had such happiness -when I caught this bird.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span> - <h3 class='c009'>299.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>What one should Learn from Artists.</i>—What -means have we for making things beautiful, attractive, -and desirable, when they are not so?—and -I suppose they are never so in themselves! -We have here something to learn from physicians, -when, for example, they dilute what is bitter, or -put wine and sugar into their mixing-bowl; but we -have still more to learn from artists, who in fact, -are continually concerned in devising such inventions -and artifices. To withdraw from things -until one no longer sees much of them, until one -has even to see things into them, <i>in order to see -them at all</i>—or to view them from the side, and -as in a frame—or to place them so that they -partly disguise themselves and only permit of -perspective views—or to look at them through -coloured glasses, or in the light of the sunset—or -to furnish them with a surface or skin which is not -fully transparent: we should learn all that from -artists, and moreover be wiser than they. For -this fine power of theirs usually ceases with them -where art ceases and life begins; <i>we</i>, however, want -to be the poets of our life, and first of all in the -smallest and most commonplace matters.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>300.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Prelude to Science.</i>—Do you believe then that -the sciences would have arisen and grown up if -the sorcerers, alchemists, astrologers and witches -had not been their forerunners; those who, with -their promisings and foreshadowings, had first to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>create a thirst, a hunger, and a taste for <i>hidden and -forbidden</i> powers? Yea, that infinitely more had -to be <i>promised</i> than could ever be fulfilled, in order -that something might be fulfilled in the domain of -knowledge? Perhaps the whole of <i>religion</i>, also, -may appear to some distant age as an exercise and -a prelude, in like manner as the prelude and preparation -of science here exhibit themselves, though -<i>not</i> at all practised and regarded as such. Perhaps -religion may have been the peculiar means for -enabling individual men to enjoy but once the -entire self-satisfaction of a God and all his self-redeeming -power. Indeed!—one may ask—would -man have learned at all to get on the tracks of -hunger and thirst for <i>himself</i>, and to extract satiety -and fullness out of <i>himself</i>, without that religious -schooling and preliminary history? Had Prometheus -first to <i>fancy</i> that he had <i>stolen</i> the light, and -that he did penance for the theft—in order finally -to discover that he had created the light, <i>in that he -had longed for the light</i>, and that not only man, but -also <i>God</i> had been the work of <i>his</i> hands and the -clay in his hands? All mere creations of the -creator?—just as the illusion, the theft, the Caucasus, -the vulture, and the whole tragic Prometheia of all -thinkers!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>301.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Illusion of the Contemplative.</i>—Higher men are -distinguished from lower, by seeing and hearing -immensely more, and in a thoughtful manner—and -it is precisely this that distinguishes man from -the animal, and the higher animal from the -lower. The world always becomes fuller for him -<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>who grows up into the full stature of humanity; -there are always more interesting fishing-hooks, -thrown out to him; the number of his stimuli is -continually on the increase, and similarly the -varieties of his pleasure and pain,—the higher man -becomes always at the same time happier and -unhappier. An <i>illusion</i>, however, is his constant -accompaniment all along: he thinks he is placed -as a <i>spectator</i> and <i>auditor</i> before the great -pantomime and concert of life; he calls his nature -a <i>contemplative nature</i>, and thereby overlooks the -fact that he himself is also a real creator, and -continuous poet of life,—that he no doubt differs -greatly from the <i>actor</i> in this drama, the so-called -practical man, but differs still more from a mere -onlooker or spectator <i>before</i> the stage. There is -certainly <i>vis contemplativa</i>, and re-examination of -his work peculiar to him as poet, but at the same -time, and first and foremost, he has the <i>vis creativa</i>, -which the practical man or doer <i>lacks</i>, whatever -appearance and current belief may say to the -contrary. It is we, we who think and feel, -that actually and unceasingly <i>make</i> something -which does not yet exist: the whole eternally -increasing world of valuations, colours, weights, -perspectives, gradations, affirmations and negations. -This composition of ours is continually learnt, -practised, and translated into flesh and actuality, -and even into the commonplace, by the so-called -practical men (our actors, as we have said). Whatever -has <i>value</i> in the present world, has it not in -itself, by its nature,—nature is always worthless:—but -a value was once given to it, bestowed upon it, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>and it was <i>we</i> who gave and bestowed! We only -have created the world <i>which is of any account -to man</i>!—But it is precisely this knowledge that -we lack, and when we get hold of it for a moment -we have forgotten it the next: we misunderstand -our highest power, we contemplative men, and -estimate ourselves at too low a rate,—we are -neither as <i>proud nor as happy</i> as we might be.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>302.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Danger of the Happiest Ones.</i>—To have fine -senses and a fine taste; to be accustomed to the -select and the intellectually best as our proper and -readiest fare; to be blessed with a strong, bold, -and daring soul; to go through life with a quiet -eye and a firm step, ever ready for the worst as for -a festival, and full of longing for undiscovered -worlds and seas, men and Gods; to listen to all -joyous music, as if there, perhaps, brave men, -soldiers and seafarers, took a brief repose and -enjoyment, and in the profoundest pleasure of the -moment were overcome with tears and the whole -purple melancholy of happiness: who would not -like all this to be <i>his</i> possession, his condition! It -was the <i>happiness of Homer</i>! The condition of -him who invented the Gods for the Greeks,—nay, -who invented <i>his</i> Gods for himself! But let us not -conceal the fact that with this happiness of Homer -in one's soul, one is more liable to suffering than -any other creature under the sun! And only at -this price do we purchase the most precious pearl -that the waves of existence have hitherto washed -ashore! As its possessor one always becomes more -<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>sensitive to pain, and at last too sensitive: a -little displeasure and loathing sufficed in the end -to make Homer disgusted with life. He was -unable to solve a foolish little riddle which some -young fishers proposed to him! Yes, the little -riddles are the dangers of the happiest ones!—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>303.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Two Happy Ones.</i>—Certainly this man, notwithstanding -his youth, understands the <i>improvisation -of life</i>, and astonishes even the acutest observers. -For it seems that he never makes a mistake, -although he constantly plays the most hazardous -games. One is reminded of the improvising masters -of the musical art, to whom even the listeners -would fain ascribe a divine <i>infallibility</i> of the -hand, notwithstanding that they now and then -make a mistake, as every mortal is liable to do. -But they are skilled and inventive, and always -ready in a moment to arrange into the structure -of the score the most accidental tone (where the -jerk of a finger or a humour brings it about), and -to animate the accident with a fine meaning and -a soul.—Here is quite a different man: everything -that he intends and plans fails with him in the long -run. That on which he has now and again set his -heart has already brought him several times to the -abyss, and to the very verge of ruin; and if he has -as yet got out of the scrape, it certainly has not -been merely with a "black eye." Do you think -he is unhappy over it? He resolved long ago -not to regard his own wishes and plans as of so -much importance. "If this does not succeed with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>me,"—he says to himself, "perhaps that will succeed; -and on the whole I do not know but that I am -under more obligation to thank my failures than -any of my successes. Am I made to be headstrong, -and to wear the bull's horns? That which constitutes -the worth and the sum of life <i>for me</i>, lies -somewhere else; I know more of life, because I -have been so often on the point of losing it; and -just on that account I <i>have</i> more of life than any -of you!"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>304.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Doing we Leave Undone.</i>—In the main all -those moral systems are distasteful to me which say: -"Do not do this! Renounce! Overcome thyself!" -On the other hand I am favourable to those moral -systems which stimulate me to do something, and -to do it again from morning till evening, and dream -of it at night, and think of nothing else but to do -it <i>well</i>, as well as it is possible for <i>me</i> alone! -From him who so lives there fall off one after the -other the things that do not pertain to such a life: -without hatred or antipathy, he sees <i>this</i> take leave -of him to-day, and <i>that</i> to-morrow, like the yellow -leaves which every livelier breeze strips from the -tree: or he does not see at all that they take leave -of him, so firmly is his eye fixed upon his goal, -and generally forward, not sideways, backward, -nor downward. "Our doing must determine what -we leave undone; in that we do, we leave undone"—so -it pleases me, so runs <i>my placitum</i>. But I -do not mean to strive with open eyes for my -impoverishment; I do not like any of the negative -<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>virtues whose very essence is negation and self-renunciation.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>305.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Self-control.</i>—Those moral teachers who first -and foremost order man to get himself into his -own power, induce thereby a curious infirmity in -him,—namely, a constant sensitiveness with reference -to all natural strivings and inclinations, and -as it were, a sort of itching. Whatever may henceforth -drive him, draw him, allure or impel him, -whether internally or externally—it always seems -to this sensitive being, as if his self-control were -in danger: he is no longer at liberty to trust -himself to any instinct, to any free flight, but -stands constantly with defensive mien, armed -against himself, with sharp distrustful eye, the -eternal watcher of his stronghold, to which office -he has appointed himself. Yes, he can be <i>great</i> in -that position! But how unendurable he has now -become to others, how difficult even for himself -to bear, how impoverished and cut off from the -finest accidents of his soul! Yea, even from all -further <i>instruction</i>! For we must be able to lose -ourselves at times, if we want to learn something -of what we have not in ourselves.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>306.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Stoic and Epicurean.</i>—The Epicurean selects the -situations, the persons, and even the events which -suit his extremely sensitive, intellectual constitution; -he renounces the rest—that is to say, by far -the greater part of experience—because it would be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>too strong and too heavy fare for him. The Stoic, -on the contrary, accustoms himself to swallow -stones and vermin, glass-splinters and scorpions, -without feeling any disgust: his stomach is meant -to become indifferent in the end to all that the -accidents of existence cast into it:—he reminds -one of the Arabic sect of the Assaua, with which -the French became acquainted in Algiers; and -like those insensible persons, he also likes well -to have an invited public at the exhibition of his -insensibility, the very thing the Epicurean willingly -dispenses with:—he has of course his "garden"! -Stoicism may be quite advisable for men with -whom fate improvises, for those who live in violent -times and are dependent on abrupt and changeable -individuals. He, however, who <i>anticipates</i> -that fate will permit him to spin "a long thread," -does well to make his arrangements in Epicurean -fashion; all men devoted to intellectual labour -have done it hitherto! For it would be a supreme -loss to them to forfeit their fine sensibility, and -acquire the hard, stoical hide with hedgehog -prickles in exchange.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>307.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Favour of Criticism.</i>—Something now appears -to thee as an error which thou formerly lovedst as -a truth, or as a probability: thou pushest it from -thee and imaginest that thy reason has there -gained a victory. But perhaps that error was -then, when thou wast still another person—thou -art always another person,—just as necessary to -thee as all thy present "truths," like a skin, as it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>were, which concealed and veiled from thee much -which thou still mayst not see. Thy new life, and -not thy reason, has slain that opinion for thee: -<i>thou dost not require it any longer</i>, and now it -breaks down of its own accord, and the irrationality -crawls out of it as a worm into the -light. When we make use of criticism it is not -something arbitrary and impersonal,—it is, at least -very often, a proof that there are lively, active -forces in us, which cast a skin. We deny, and -must deny, because something in us <i>wants</i> to live -and affirm itself, something which we perhaps do -not as yet know, do not as yet see!—So much in -favour of criticism.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>308.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The History of each Day.</i>—What is it that constitutes -the history of each day for thee? Look -at thy habits of which it consists: are they the -product of numberless little acts of cowardice and -laziness, or of thy bravery and inventive reason? -Although the two cases are so different, it is -possible that men might bestow the same praise -upon thee, and that thou mightst also be equally -useful to them in the one case as in the other. -But praise and utility and respectability may -suffice for him whose only desire is to have a good -conscience,—not however for thee, the "trier of the -reins," who hast a <i>consciousness of the conscience</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>309.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Out of the Seventh Solitude.</i>—One day the -wanderer shut a door behind him, stood still, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>wept. Then he said: "Oh, this inclination and -impulse towards the true, the real, the non-apparent, -the certain! How I detest it! Why -does this gloomy and passionate taskmaster follow -just <i>me</i>? I should like to rest, but it does not -permit me to do so. Are there not a host of things -seducing me to tarry! Everywhere there are -gardens of Armida for me, and therefore there will -always be fresh separations and fresh bitterness -of heart! I must set my foot forward, my weary -wounded foot: and because I feel I must do this, I -often cast grim glances back at the most beautiful -things which could not detain me—<i>because</i> they -could not detain me!"</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>310.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Will and Wave.</i>—How eagerly this wave comes -hither, as if it were a question of its reaching something! -How it creeps with frightful haste into the -innermost corners of the rocky cliff! It seems that it -wants to forestall some one; it seems that something -is concealed there that has value, high value.—And -now it retreats somewhat more slowly, still -quite white with excitement,—is it disappointed? -Has it found what it sought? Does it merely -pretend to be disappointed?—But already another -wave approaches, still more eager and wild than -the first, and its soul also seems to be full of secrets -and of longing for treasure-seeking. Thus live -the waves,—thus live we who exercise will!—I do -not say more.—But what! Ye distrust me? Ye are -angry at me, ye beautiful monsters? Do ye fear -that I will quite betray your secret? Well! Just -<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>be angry with me, raise your green, dangerous -bodies as high as ye can, make a wall between me -and the sun—as at present! Verily, there is now -nothing more left of the world save green twilight -and green lightning-flashes. Do as ye will, ye -wanton creatures, roar with delight and wickedness—or -dive under again, pour your emeralds down -into the depths, and cast your endless white tresses -of foam and spray over them—it is all the same to -me, for all is so well with you, and I am so pleased -with you for it all: how could I betray <i>you</i>! For—take -this to heart!—I know you and your secret, -I know your race! You and I are indeed of one -race! You and I have indeed one secret!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>311.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Broken Lights.</i>—We are not always brave, and -when we are weary, people of our stamp are -liable to lament occasionally in this wise:—"It is -so hard to cause pain to men—oh, that it should -be necessary! What good is it to live concealed, -when we do not want to keep to ourselves -that which causes vexation? Would it not be -more advisable to live in the madding crowd, and -compensate individuals for sins that are committed -and must be committed against mankind in general? -Foolish with fools, vain with the vain, enthusiastic -with enthusiasts? Would that not be reasonable -when there is such an inordinate amount of -divergence in the main? When I hear of the -malignity of others against me—is not my first -feeling that of satisfaction? It is well that it -should be so!—I seem to myself to say to them—I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>am so little in harmony with you, and have so -much truth on my side: see henceforth that ye be -merry at my expense as often as ye can! Here -are my defects and mistakes, here are my -illusions, my bad taste, my confusion, my tears, -my vanity, my owlish concealment, my contradictions! -Here you have something to laugh at! -Laugh then, and enjoy yourselves! I am not -averse to the law and nature of things, which is -that defects and errors should give pleasure!—To -be sure there were once 'more glorious' times, -when as soon as any one got an idea, however -moderately new it might be, he would think himself -so <i>indispensable</i> as to go out into the street -with it, and call to everybody: 'Behold! the -kingdom of heaven is at hand!'—I should not -miss myself, if I were a-wanting. We are none of -us indispensable!"—As we have said, however, we -do not think thus when we are brave; we do not -think <i>about it</i> at all.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>312.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>My Dog.</i>—I have given a name to my suffering, -and call it "dog,"—it is just as faithful, just as -importunate and shameless, just as entertaining, -just as wise, as any other dog—and I can domineer -over it, and vent my bad humour on it, as others -do with their dogs, servants, and wives.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>313.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>No Picture of a Martyr.</i>—I will take my cue -from Raphael, and not paint any more martyr -<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>pictures. There are enough of sublime things -without its being necessary to seek sublimity where -it is linked with cruelty; moreover my ambition -would not be gratified in the least if I aspired to -be a sublime executioner.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>314.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>New Domestic Animals.</i>—I want to have my -lion and my eagle about me, that I may always -have hints and premonitions concerning the amount -of my strength or weakness. Must I look down on -them to-day, and be afraid of them? And will -the hour come once more when they will look up -to me, and tremble?—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>315.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Last Hour.</i>—Storms are my danger. Shall -I have my storm in which I shall perish, just as -Oliver Cromwell perished in his storm? Or shall -I go out as a light does, not first blown out by -the wind, but grown tired and weary of itself—a -burnt-out light? Or finally, shall I blow myself -out, so as <i>not to burn out</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>316.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Prophetic Men.</i>—Ye cannot divine how sorely -prophetic men suffer: ye think only that a fine -"gift" has been given to them, and would fain have it -yourselves,—but I will express my meaning by a -simile. How much may not the animals suffer from -the electricity of the atmosphere and the clouds! -Some of them, as we see, have a prophetic faculty -with regard to the weather, for example, apes -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>(as one can observe very well even in Europe,—and -not only in menageries, but at Gibraltar). But -it never occurs to us that it is their <i>sufferings</i>—that -are their prophets! When strong positive electricity, -under the influence of an approaching -cloud not at all visible, is suddenly converted -into negative electricity, and an alteration of the -weather is imminent, these animals then behave -as if an enemy were approaching them, and prepare -for defence, or flight: they generally hide -themselves,—they do not think of the bad weather -as weather, but as an enemy whose hand they -already <i>feel</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>317.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Retrospect.</i>—We seldom become conscious of the -real pathos of any period of life as such, as long -as we continue in it, but always think it is -the only possible and reasonable thing for us -henceforth, and that it is altogether <i>ethos</i> and not -<i>pathos</i><a id='r10' /><a href='#f10' class='c011'><sup>[10]</sup></a>—to speak and distinguish like the Greeks. -A few notes of music to-day recalled a winter and -a house, and a life of utter solitude to my mind, -and at the same time the sentiments in which I -then lived: I thought I should be able to live -in such a state always. But now I understand -that it was entirely pathos and passion, something -comparable to this painfully bold and truly comforting -music,—it is not one's lot to have these -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>sensations for years, still less for eternities: otherwise -one would become too "ethereal" for this -planet.</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>318.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Wisdom in Pain.</i>—In pain there is as much -wisdom as in pleasure: like the latter it is one of -the best self-preservatives of a species. Were it not -so, pain would long ago have been done away with; -that it is hurtful is no argument against it, for -to be hurtful is its very essence. In pain I hear -the commanding call of the ship's captain: "Take -in sail!" "Man," the bold seafarer, must have -learned to set his sails in a thousand different ways, -otherwise he could not have sailed long, for the -ocean would soon have swallowed him up. We -must also know how to live with reduced energy: -as soon as pain gives its precautionary signal, it is -time to reduce the speed—some great danger, -some storm, is approaching, and we do well to -"catch" as little wind as possible.—It is true that -there are men who, on the approach of severe pain, -hear the very opposite call of command, and never -appear more proud, more martial, or more happy, -than when the storm is brewing; indeed, pain -itself provides them with their supreme moments! -These are the heroic men, the great <i>pain-bringers</i> -of mankind: those few and rare ones who need -just the same apology as pain generally,—and -verily, it should not be denied them! They are -forces of the greatest importance for preserving and -advancing the species, were it only because they are -opposed to smug ease, and do not conceal their -disgust at this kind of happiness.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span> - <h3 class='c009'>319.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>As Interpreters of our Experiences.</i>—One form of -honesty has always been lacking among founders -of religions and their kin:—they have never made -their experiences a matter of the intellectual conscience. -"What did I really experience? What -then took place in me and around me? Was my -understanding clear enough? Was my will -directly opposed to all deception of the senses, -and courageous in its defence against fantastic -notions?"—None of them ever asked -these questions, nor to this day do any of the -good religious people ask them. They have rather -a thirst for things which are <i>contrary to reason</i>, -and they don't want to have too much difficulty -in satisfying this thirst,—so they experience -"miracles" and "regenerations," and hear the -voices of angels! But we who are different, who -are thirsty for reason, want to look as carefully into -our experiences, as in the case of a scientific experiment, -hour by hour, day by day! We ourselves -want to be our own experiments, and our -own subjects of experiment.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>320.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>On Meeting Again.</i>—A: Do I quite understand -you? You are in search of something? <i>Where</i>, -in the midst of the present, actual world, is <i>your</i> -niche and star? Where can <i>you</i> lay yourself in -the sun, so that you also may have a surplus of -well-being, that your existence may justify itself? -Let everyone do that for himself—you seem to say, -—and let him put talk about generalities, concern -about others and society, out of his mind!—B: I -want more; I am no seeker. I want to create my -own sun for myself.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span> - <h3 class='c009'>321.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>A New Precaution.</i>—Let us no longer think so -much about punishing, blaming, and improving! -We shall seldom be able to alter an individual, and -if we should succeed in doing so, something else -may also succeed, perhaps unawares: <i>we</i> may have -been altered by him! Let us rather see to it that -our own influence on <i>all that is to come</i> outweighs -and overweighs his influence! Let us not struggle -in direct conflict!—all blaming, punishing, and -desire to improve comes under this category. -But let us elevate ourselves all the higher! Let -us ever give to our pattern more shining colours! -Let us obscure the other by our light! No! We -do not mean to become <i>darker</i> ourselves on his -account, like all that punish and are discontented! -Let us rather go aside! Let us look away!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>322.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>A Simile.</i>—Those thinkers in whom all the stars -move in cyclic orbits, are not the most profound. -He who looks into himself, as into an immense -universe, and carries Milky Ways in himself, knows -also how irregular all Milky Ways are; they lead -into the very chaos and labyrinth of existence.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>323.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Happiness in Destiny.</i>—Destiny confers its greatest -distinction upon us when it has made us fight -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>for a time on the side of our adversaries. We are -thereby <i>predestined</i> to a great victory.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>324.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Media Vita.</i>—No! Life has not deceived -me! On the contrary, from year to year I find it -richer, more desirable and more mysterious—from -the day on which the great liberator broke my -fetters, the thought that life may be an experiment -of the thinker—and not a duty, not a fatality, not -a deceit!—And knowledge itself may be for others -something different; for example, a bed of ease, -or the path to a bed of ease, or an entertainment, -or a course of idling,—for me it is a world of -dangers and victories, in which even the heroic -sentiments have their arena and dancing-floor. -"<i>Life as a means to knowledge</i>"—with this principle -in one's heart, one can not only be brave, -but can even <i>live joyfully and laugh joyfully</i>! And -who could know how to laugh well and live well, -who did not first understand the full meaning of -war and victory!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>325.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What Belongs to Greatness.</i>—Who can attain to -anything great if he does not feel the force and -will in himself <i>to inflict</i> great pain? The ability -to suffer is a small matter: in that line, weak -women and even slaves often attain masterliness. -But not to perish from internal distress and doubt -when one inflicts great anguish and hears the cry -of this anguish—that is great, that belongs to -greatness.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span> - <h3 class='c009'>326.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Physicians of the Soul and Pain.</i>—All preachers -of morality, as also all theologians, have a bad -habit in common: all of them try to persuade -man that he is very ill, and that a severe, final, -radical cure is necessary. And because mankind as -a whole has for centuries listened too eagerly to -those teachers, something of the superstition that -the human race is in a very bad way has actually -come over men: so that they are now far too ready -to sigh; they find nothing more in life and make -melancholy faces at each other, as if life were -indeed very hard <i>to endure</i>. In truth, they are -inordinately assured of their life and in love with -it, and full of untold intrigues and subtleties for -suppressing everything disagreeable and for extracting -the thorn from pain and misfortune. It -seems to me that people always speak <i>with exaggeration</i> -about pain and misfortune, as if it were -a matter of good behaviour to exaggerate here: -on the other hand people are intentionally silent -in regard to the number of expedients for alleviating -pain; as for instance, the deadening of it, or -feverish flurry of thought, or a peaceful position, -or good and bad reminiscences, intentions, hopes,—also -many kinds of pride and fellow-feeling which -have almost the effect of anæsthetics: while in the -greatest degree of pain fainting takes place of itself. -We understand very well how to pour sweetness -on our bitterness, especially on the bitterness of -our soul; we find a remedy in our bravery and -sublimity, as well as in the nobler delirium of submission -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>and resignation. A loss scarcely remains -a loss for an hour: in some way or other a gift from -heaven has always fallen into our lap at the same -moment—a new form of strength, for example: -be it but a new opportunity for the exercise of -strength! What have the preachers of morality -not dreamt concerning the inner "misery" of evil -men! What <i>lies</i> have they not told us about the -misfortunes of impassioned men! Yes, lying is here -the right word: they were only too well aware of -the overflowing happiness of this kind of man, but -they kept silent as death about it; because it was -a refutation of their theory, according to which -happiness only originates through the annihilation -of the passions and the silencing of the will! And -finally, as regards the recipe of all those physicians -of the soul and their recommendation of a severe -radical cure, we may be allowed to ask: Is our -life really painful and burdensome enough for us -to exchange it with advantage for a Stoical mode -of life, and Stoical petrification? We do <i>not</i> feel -<i>sufficiently miserable</i> to have to feel ill in the -Stoical fashion!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>327.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Taking Things Seriously.</i>—The intellect is with -most people an awkward, obscure and creaking -machine, which is difficult to set in motion: they -call it "<i>taking a thing seriously</i>" when they work -with this machine, and want to think well—oh, -how burdensome must good thinking be to them! -That delightful animal, man, seems to lose his good-humour -whenever he thinks well; he becomes -"serious"! And "where there is laughing and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>gaiety, thinking cannot be worth anything:"—so -speaks the prejudice of this serious animal against -all "Joyful Wisdom."—Well, then! Let us show -that it is prejudice!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>328.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Doing Harm to Stupidity.</i>—It is certain that the -belief in the reprehensibility of egoism, preached -with such stubbornness and conviction, has on the -whole done harm to egoism (<i>in favour of the herd-instinct</i>, -as I shall repeat a hundred times!), especially -by depriving it of a good conscience, and bidding -us seek in it the true source of all misfortune. -"Thy selfishness is the bane of thy life"—so rang -the preaching for millenniums: it did harm, as we -have said, to selfishness, and deprived it of much -spirit, much cheerfulness, much ingenuity, and -much beauty; it stultified and deformed and -poisoned selfishness!—Philosophical antiquity, on -the other hand, taught that there was another -principal source of evil: from Socrates downwards, -the thinkers were never weary of preaching that -"your thoughtlessness and stupidity, your unthinking -way of living according to rule, and -your subjection to the opinion of your neighbour, -are the reasons why you so seldom attain to -happiness,—we thinkers are, as thinkers, the -happiest of mortals." Let us not decide here -whether this preaching against stupidity was more -sound than the preaching against selfishness; it -is certain, however, that stupidity was thereby -deprived of its good conscience:—these philosophers -<i>did harm to stupidity</i>.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span> - <h3 class='c009'>329.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Leisure and Idleness.</i>—There is an Indian -savagery, a savagery peculiar to the Indian blood, -in the manner in which the Americans strive after -gold: and the breathless hurry of their work—the -characteristic vice of the new world—already -begins to infect old Europe, and makes it savage -also, spreading over it a strange lack of intellectuality. -One is now ashamed of repose: even -long reflection almost causes remorse of conscience. -Thinking is done with a stop-watch, as dining -is done with the eyes fixed on the financial -newspaper; we live like men who are continually -"afraid of letting opportunities slip." "Better do -anything whatever, than nothing"—this principle -also is a noose with which all culture and all -higher taste may be strangled. And just as all -form obviously disappears in this hurry of workers, -so the sense for form itself, the ear and the eye for -the melody of movement, also disappear. The -proof of this is the <i>clumsy perspicuity</i> which is now -everywhere demanded in all positions where a -person would like to be sincere with his fellows, -in intercourse with friends, women, relatives, -children, teachers, pupils, leaders and princes,—one -has no longer either time or energy for ceremonies, -for roundabout courtesies, for any <i>esprit</i> in conversation, -or for any <i>otium</i> whatever. For life in the -hunt for gain continually compels a person to -consume his intellect, even to exhaustion, in constant -dissimulation, overreaching, or forestalling: -the real virtue nowadays is to do something in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>shorter time than another person. And so there -are only rare hours of sincere intercourse <i>permitted</i>: -in them, however, people are tired, and would -not only like "to let themselves go," but <i>to -stretch their legs</i> out wide in awkward style. -The way people write their <i>letters</i> nowadays is -quite in keeping with the age; their style and -spirit will always be the true "sign of the times." -If there be still enjoyment in society and in art, -it is enjoyment such as over-worked slaves provide -for themselves. Oh, this moderation in "joy" of -our cultured and uncultured classes! Oh, this -increasing suspiciousness of all enjoyment! <i>Work</i> -is winning over more and more the good conscience -to its side: the desire for enjoyment already calls -itself "need of recreation," and even begins to be -ashamed of itself. "One owes it to one's health," -people say, when they are caught at a picnic. Indeed, -it might soon go so far that one could not yield to -the desire for the <i>vita contemplativa</i> (that is to say, -excursions with thoughts and friends), without self-contempt -and a bad conscience.—Well! Formerly -it was the very reverse: it was "action" that suffered -from a bad conscience. A man of good family -<i>concealed</i> his work when need compelled him to -labour. The slave laboured under the weight of -the feeling that he did something contemptible:—the -"doing" itself was something contemptible. -"Only in <i>otium</i> and <i>bellum</i> is there nobility -and honour:" so rang the voice of ancient prejudice!</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span> - <h3 class='c009'>330.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Applause.</i>—The thinker does not need applause -nor the clapping of hands, provided he be sure of -the clapping of his own hands: the latter, however, -he cannot do without. Are there men who could -also do without this, and in general without any -kind of applause? I doubt it: and even as regards -the wisest, Tacitus, who is no calumniator of the -wise, says: <i>quando etiam sapientibus gloriæ cupido -novissima exuitur</i>—that means with him: never.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>331.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Better Deaf than Deafened.</i>—Formerly a person -wanted to have a <i>calling</i>, but that no longer suffices -to-day, for the market has become too large,—there -has now to be <i>bawling</i>. The consequence -is that even good throats outcry each other, and -the best wares are offered for sale with hoarse voices; -without market-place bawling and hoarseness there -is now no longer any genius.—It is, sure enough, -an evil age for the thinker: he has to learn to find -his stillness betwixt two noises, and has to pretend -to be deaf until he finally becomes so. As long as -he has not learned this, he is in danger of perishing -from impatience and headaches.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>332.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Evil Hour.</i>—There has perhaps been an -evil hour for every philosopher, in which he thought: -What do I matter, if people should not believe my -poor arguments!—And then some malicious bird -has flown past him and twittered: "What do you -matter? What do you matter?"</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span> - <h3 class='c009'>333.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>What does Knowing Mean?</i>—<i>Non ridere, non -lugere, neque detestari, sed intelligere!</i> says Spinoza, -so simply and sublimely, as is his wont. Nevertheless, -what else is this <i>intelligere</i> ultimately, but just -the form in which the three other things become -perceptible to us all at once? A result of the -diverging and opposite impulses of desiring to -deride, lament and execrate? Before knowledge -is possible each of these impulses must first have -brought forward its one-sided view of the object -or event. The struggle of these one-sided views -occurs afterwards, and out of it there occasionally -arises a compromise, a pacification, a recognition -of rights on all three sides, a sort of justice and -agreement: for in virtue of the justice and agreement -all those impulses can maintain themselves -in existence and retain their mutual rights. We, to -whose consciousness only the closing reconciliation -scenes and final settling of accounts of these long -processes manifest themselves, think on that account -that <i>intelligere</i> is something conciliating, just and -good, something essentially antithetical to the -impulses; whereas it is only <i>a certain relation -of the impulses to one another</i>. For a very -long time conscious thinking was regarded as -thinking proper: it is now only that the truth -dawns upon us that the greater part of our -intellectual activity goes on unconsciously and -unfelt by us; I believe, however, that the impulses -which are here in mutual conflict understand -right well how to make themselves felt by -<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span><i>one another</i>, and how to cause pain:—the violent, -sudden exhaustion which overtakes all thinkers, -may have its origin here (it is the exhaustion of -the battle-field). Aye, perhaps in our struggling -interior there is much concealed <i>heroism</i>, but -certainly nothing divine, or eternally-reposing-in-itself, -as Spinoza supposed. <i>Conscious</i> thinking, and -especially that of the philosopher, is the weakest, -and on that account also the relatively mildest -and quietest mode of thinking: and thus it is -precisely the philosopher who is most easily misled -concerning the nature of knowledge.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>334.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>One must Learn to Love.</i>—This is our experience -in music: we must first <i>learn</i> in general <i>to hear</i>, -to hear fully, and to distinguish a theme or a -melody, we have to isolate and limit it as a life by -itself; then we need to exercise effort and good-will -in order <i>to endure</i> it in spite of its strangeness, we -need patience towards its aspect and expression, -and indulgence towards what is odd in it:—in the -end there comes a moment when we are <i>accustomed</i> -to it, when we expect it, when it dawns upon us -that we should miss it if it were lacking; and then -it goes on to exercise its spell and charm more -and more, and does not cease until we have become -its humble and enraptured lovers, who want it, and -want it again, and ask for nothing better from the -world.—It is thus with us, however, not only in -music: it is precisely thus that we have <i>learned to -love</i> all things that we now love. We are always -finally recompensed for our good-will, our patience, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>reasonableness and gentleness towards what is -unfamiliar, by the unfamiliar slowly throwing off -its veil and presenting itself to us as a new, ineffable -beauty:—that is its <i>thanks</i> for our hospitality. He -also who loves himself must have learned it in this -way: there is no other way. Love also has to be -learned.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>335.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Cheers for Physics!</i>—How many men are there -who know how to observe? And among the few -who do know,—how many observe themselves? -"Everyone is furthest from himself"—all the "triers -of the reins" know that to their discomfort; and -the saying, "Know thyself," in the mouth of a God -and spoken to man, is almost a mockery. But -that the case of self-observation is so desperate, -is attested best of all by the manner in which -<i>almost everybody</i> talks of the nature of a moral -action, that prompt, willing, convinced, loquacious -manner, with its look, its smile, and its pleasing -eagerness! Everyone seems inclined to say to -you: "Why, my dear Sir, that is precisely <i>my</i> affair! -You address yourself with your question to him -who <i>is authorised</i> to answer, for I happen to be wiser -with regard to this matter than in anything else. -Therefore, when a man decides that '<i>this is right</i>,' -when he accordingly concludes that '<i>it must therefore -be done</i>,' and thereupon <i>does</i> what he has thus -recognised as right and designated as necessary—then -the nature of his action is <i>moral</i>!" But, my -friend, you are talking to me about three actions -instead of one: your deciding, for instance, that -"this is right," is also an action,—could one not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>judge either morally or immorally? <i>Why</i> do you -regard this, and just this, as right?—"Because my -conscience tells me so; conscience never speaks -immorally, indeed it determines in the first place -what shall be moral!"—But why do you <i>listen</i> to -the voice of your conscience? And in how far are -you justified in regarding such a judgment as true -and infallible? This <i>belief</i>—is there no further -conscience for it? Do you know nothing of an -intellectual conscience? A conscience behind your -"conscience"? Your decision, "this is right," has -a previous history in your impulses, your likes and -dislikes, your experiences and non-experiences; -"<i>how</i> has it originated?" you must ask, and afterwards -the further question: "<i>what</i> really impels me -to give ear to it?" You can listen to its command -like a brave soldier who hears the command of -his officer. Or like a woman who loves him who -commands. Or like a flatterer and coward, afraid -of the commander. Or like a blockhead who follows -because he has nothing to say to the contrary. In -short, you can give ear to your conscience in a -hundred different ways. But <i>that</i> you hear this or -that judgment as the voice of conscience, consequently, -<i>that</i> you feel a thing to be right—may -have its cause in the fact that you have never -reflected about yourself, and have blindly accepted -from your childhood what has been designated to -you as <i>right</i>: or in the fact that hitherto bread and -honours have fallen to your share with that which -you call your duty,—it is "right" to you, because -it seems to be <i>your</i> "condition of existence" (that -you, however, have a <i>right</i> to existence appears to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>you as irrefutable!). The <i>persistency</i> of your moral -judgment might still be just a proof of personal -wretchedness or impersonality; your "moral force" -might have its source in your obstinacy—or in -your incapacity to perceive new ideals! And to -be brief: if you had thought more acutely, observed -more accurately, and had learned more, you would -no longer under all circumstances call this and that -your "duty" and your "conscience": the knowledge -<i>how moral judgments have in general always -originated</i>, would make you tired of these pathetic -words,—as you have already grown tired of other -pathetic words, for instance "sin," "salvation," and -"redemption."—And now, my friend, do not talk to -me about the categorical imperative! That word -tickles my ear, and I must laugh in spite of your -presence and your seriousness. In this connection -I recollect old Kant, who, as a punishment for having -<i>gained possession surreptitiously</i> of the "thing in -itself"—also a very ludicrous affair!—was imposed -upon by the categorical imperative, and with that in -his heart <i>strayed back again</i> to "God," the "soul," -"freedom," and "immortality," like a fox which -strays back into its cage: and it had been <i>his</i> strength -and shrewdness which had <i>broken open</i> this cage!—What? -You admire the categorical imperative in -you? This "persistency" of your so-called moral -judgment? This absoluteness of the feeling that -"as I think on this matter, so must everyone think"? -Admire rather your <i>selfishness</i> therein! And the -blindness, paltriness, and modesty of your selfishness! -For it is selfishness in a person to regard -<i>his</i> judgment as universal law, and a blind, paltry -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>and modest selfishness besides, because it betrays -that you have not yet discovered yourself, that you -have not yet created for yourself any individual, -quite individual ideal:—for this could never be the -ideal of another, to say nothing of all, of every -one!——He who still thinks that "each would -have to act in this manner in this case," has not yet -advanced half a dozen paces in self-knowledge: -otherwise he would know that there neither are nor -can be similar actions,—that every action that has -been done, has been done in an entirely unique and -inimitable manner, and that it will be the same -with regard to all future actions; that all precepts -of conduct (and even the most esoteric and subtle -precepts of all moralities up to the present), apply -only to the coarse exterior,—that by means of them, -indeed, a semblance of equality can be attained, -<i>but only a semblance</i>,—that in outlook or retrospect, -<i>every</i> action is and remains an impenetrable affair,—that -our opinions of "good," "noble" and "great" -can never be demonstrated by our actions, because -no action is cognisable,—that our opinions, estimates, -and tables of values are certainly among -the most powerful levers in the mechanism of our -actions, that in every single case, nevertheless, the -law of their mechanism is untraceable. Let us -<i>confine</i> ourselves, therefore, to the purification of our -opinions and appreciations, and to the <i>construction -of new tables of value of our own</i>:—we will, however, -brood no longer over the "moral worth of our -actions"! Yes, my friends! As regards the whole -moral twaddle of people about one another, it is -time to be disgusted with it! To sit in judgment -<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>morally ought to be opposed to our taste! Let -us leave this nonsense and this bad taste to those -who have nothing else to do, save to drag the past -a little distance further through time, and who are -never themselves the present,—consequently to the -many, to the majority! We, however, <i>would seek -to become what we are</i>,—the new, the unique, the incomparable, -making laws for ourselves and creating -ourselves! And for this purpose we must become -the best students and discoverers of all the laws -and necessities in the world. We must be <i>physicists</i> -in order to be <i>creators</i> in that sense,—whereas -hitherto all appreciations and ideals have been -based on <i>ignorance</i> of physics, or in <i>contradiction</i> to -it. And therefore, three cheers for physics! And -still louder cheers for that which <i>impels</i> us to it—our -honesty.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>336.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Avarice of Nature.</i>—Why has nature been so -niggardly towards humanity that she has not let -human beings shine, this man more and that man -less, according to their inner abundance of light? -Why have not great men such a fine visibility in -their rising and setting as the sun? How much -less equivocal would life among men then be!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>337.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Future "Humanity."</i>—When I look at this age -with the eye of a distant future, I find nothing -so remarkable in the man of the present day as his -peculiar virtue and sickness called "the historical -sense." It is a tendency to something quite new -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>and foreign in history: if this embryo were given -several centuries and more, there might finally -evolve out of it a marvellous plant, with a smell -equally marvellous, on account of which our old -earth might be more pleasant to live in than it has -been hitherto. We moderns are just beginning -to form the chain of a very powerful, future sentiment, -link by link,—we hardly know what we are -doing. It almost seems to us as if it were not the -question of a new sentiment, but of the decline of all -old sentiments:—the historical sense is still something -so poor and cold, and many are attacked by it -as by a frost, and are made poorer and colder by it. -To others it appears as the indication of stealthily -approaching age, and our planet is regarded by -them as a melancholy invalid, who, in order to -forget his present condition, writes the history of -his youth. In fact, this is one aspect of the new -sentiment. He who knows how to regard the -history of man in its entirety as <i>his own history</i>, -feels in the immense generalisation all the grief -of the invalid who thinks of health, of the old -man who thinks of the dream of his youth, of the -lover who is robbed of his beloved, of the martyr -whose ideal is destroyed, of the hero on the -evening of the indecisive battle which has -brought him wounds and the loss of a friend. -But to bear this immense sum of grief of all -kinds, to be able to bear it, and yet still be -the hero who at the commencement of a second -day of battle greets the dawn and his happiness, -as one who has an horizon of centuries before -and behind him, as the heir of all nobility, of all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>past intellect, and the obligatory heir (as the -noblest) of all the old nobles; while at the same -time the first of a new nobility, the equal of which -has never been seen nor even dreamt of: to -take all this upon his soul, the oldest, the newest, -the losses, hopes, conquests, and victories of mankind: -to have all this at last in one soul, and to -comprise it in one feeling:—this would necessarily -furnish a happiness which man has not hitherto -known,—a God's happiness, full of power and love, -full of tears and laughter, a happiness which, like -the sun in the evening, continually gives of its -inexhaustible riches and empties into the sea,—and -like the sun, too, feels itself richest when even -the poorest fisherman rows with golden oars! This -divine feeling might then be called—humanity!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>338.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Will to Suffering and the Compassionate.</i>—Is -it to your advantage to be above all compassionate? -And is it to the advantage of the sufferers when -you are so? But let us leave the first question for -a moment without an answer.—That from which -we suffer most profoundly and personally is almost -incomprehensible and inaccessible to every one else: -in this matter we are hidden from our neighbour -even when he eats at the same table with us. -Everywhere, however, where we are <i>noticed</i> as -sufferers, our suffering is interpreted in a shallow -way; it belongs to the nature of the emotion of -pity to <i>divest</i> unfamiliar suffering of its properly -personal character:—our "benefactors" lower our -value and volition more than our enemies. In -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>most benefits which are conferred on the unfortunate -there is something shocking in the intellectual -levity with which the compassionate person -plays the rôle of fate: he knows nothing of all the -inner consequences and complications which are -called misfortune for <i>me</i> or for <i>you</i>! The entire -economy of my soul and its adjustment by "misfortune," -the uprising of new sources and needs, the -closing up of old wounds, the repudiation of whole -periods of the past—none of these things which -may be connected with misfortune preoccupy the -dear sympathiser. He wishes <i>to succour</i>, and does -not reflect that there is a personal necessity for misfortune; -that terror, want, impoverishment, midnight -watches, adventures, hazards and mistakes are as -necessary to me and to you as their opposites, yea, -that, to speak mystically, the path to one's own -heaven always leads through the voluptuousness of -one's own hell. No, he knows nothing thereof. The -"religion of compassion" (or "the heart") bids him -help, and he thinks he has helped best when he has -helped most speedily! If you adherents of this -religion actually have the same sentiments towards -yourselves which you have towards your fellows, -if you are unwilling to endure your own suffering -even for an hour, and continually forestall all -possible misfortune, if you regard suffering and -pain generally as evil, as detestable, as deserving -of annihilation, and as blots on existence, well, you -have then, besides your religion of compassion, yet -another religion in your heart (and this is perhaps -the mother of the former)—<i>the religion of smug ease</i>. -Ah, how little you know of the <i>happiness</i> of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>man, you comfortable and good-natured ones!—for -happiness and misfortune are brother and sister, -and twins, who grow tall together, or, as with -you, <i>remain small</i> together! But now let us -return to the first question.—How is it at all -possible for a person to keep to <i>his</i> path! Some -cry or other is continually calling one aside: our -eye then rarely lights on anything without it -becoming necessary for us to leave for a moment -our own affairs and rush to give assistance. I -know there are hundreds of respectable and laudable -methods of making me stray <i>from my course</i>, -and in truth the most "moral" of methods! -Indeed, the opinion of the present-day preachers -of the morality of compassion goes so far as to -imply that just this, and this alone is moral:—to -stray from <i>our</i> course to that extent and to run -to the assistance of our neighbour. I am equally -certain that I need only give myself over to the -sight of one case of actual distress, and I, too, -<i>am</i> lost! And if a suffering friend said to me, -"See, I shall soon die, only promise to die with -me"—I might promise it, just as—to select for -once bad examples for good reasons—the sight of -a small, mountain people struggling for freedom, -would bring me to the point of offering them my -hand and my life. Indeed, there is even a secret -seduction in all this awakening of compassion, and -calling for help: our "own way" is a thing too -hard and insistent, and too far removed from the -love and gratitude of others,—we escape from it -and from our most personal conscience, not at all -unwillingly, and, seeking security in the conscience -<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>of others, we take refuge in the lovely temple of -the "religion of pity." As soon now as any war -breaks out, there always breaks out at the same -time a certain secret delight precisely in the -noblest class of the people: they rush with rapture -to meet the new danger of <i>death</i>, because they -believe that in the sacrifice for their country they -have finally that long-sought-for permission—the -permission <i>to shirk their aim</i>:—war is for them a -detour to suicide, a detour, however, with a good -conscience. And although silent here about some -things, I will not, however, be silent about my -morality, which says to me: Live in concealment -in order that thou <i>mayest</i> live to thyself. -Live <i>ignorant</i> of that which seems to thy age -to be most important! Put at least the skin of -three centuries betwixt thyself and the present -day! And the clamour of the present day, the -noise of wars and revolutions, ought to be a -murmur to thee! Thou wilt also want to help, -but only those whose distress thou entirely <i>understandest</i>, -because they have <i>one</i> sorrow and <i>one</i> -hope in common with thee—thy <i>friends</i>: and only -in <i>the</i> way that thou helpest thyself:—I want to -make them more courageous, more enduring, more -simple, more joyful! I want to teach them that -which at present so few understand, and the -preachers of fellowship in sorrow least of all:—namely, -<i>fellowship in joy</i>!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>339.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Vita femina.</i>—To see the ultimate beauties in a -work—all knowledge and good-will is not enough; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>it requires the rarest, good chance for the veil of -clouds to move for once from the summits, and for -the sun to shine on them. We must not only -stand at precisely the right place to see this, our -very soul itself must have pulled away the veil -from its heights, and must be in need of an external -expression and simile, so as to have a support and -remain master of itself. All these, however, are -so rarely united at the same time that I am -inclined to believe that the highest summit of all -that is good, be it work, deed, man, or nature, has -hitherto remained for most people, and even for -the best, as something concealed and shrouded:—that, -however, which unveils itself to us, <i>unveils -itself to us but once</i>. The Greeks indeed prayed: -"Twice and thrice, everything beautiful!" Ah, -they had their good reason to call on the Gods, -for ungodly actuality does not furnish us with -the beautiful at all, or only does so once! I mean -to say that the world is overfull of beautiful things, -but it is nevertheless poor, very poor, in beautiful -moments, and in the unveiling of those beautiful -things. But perhaps this is the greatest charm of -life: it puts a gold-embroidered veil of lovely -potentialities over itself, promising, resisting, -modest, mocking, sympathetic, seductive. Yes, -life is a woman!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>340.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Dying Socrates.</i>—I admire the courage and -wisdom of Socrates in all that he did, said—and -did not say. This mocking and amorous demon -and rat-catcher of Athens, who made the most -insolent youths tremble and sob was not only the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>wisest babbler that has ever lived, but was just as -great in his silence. I would that he had also -been silent in the last moment of his life,—perhaps -he might then have belonged to a still higher -order of intellects. Whether it was death, or the -poison, or piety, or wickedness—something or -other loosened his tongue at that moment, and he -said: "O Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepios." For -him who has ears, this ludicrous and terrible "last -word" implies: "O Crito, <i>life is a long sickness</i>!" -Is it possible! A man like him, who had lived -cheerfully and to all appearance as a soldier,—was -a pessimist! He had merely put on a good -demeanour towards life, and had all along concealed -his ultimate judgment, his profoundest sentiment! -Socrates, Socrates <i>had suffered from life</i>! And -he also took his revenge for it—with that veiled, -fearful, pious, and blasphemous phrase! Had even -a Socrates to revenge himself? Was there a grain -too little of magnanimity in his superabundant -virtue? Ah, my friends! We must surpass even -the Greeks!</p> -<h3 class='c009'>341.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Heaviest Burden.</i>—What if a demon crept -after thee into thy loneliest loneliness some day -or night, and said to thee: "This life, as thou -livest it at present, and hast lived it, thou must -live it once more, and also innumerable times; -and there will be nothing new in it, but every -pain and every joy and every thought and every -sigh, and all the unspeakably small and great -in thy life must come to thee again, and all -in the same series and sequence—and similarly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>this spider and this moonlight among the trees, -and similarly this moment, and I myself. The -eternal sand-glass of existence will ever be turned -once more, and thou with it, thou speck of dust!"—Wouldst -thou not throw thyself down and gnash -thy teeth, and curse the demon that so spake? -Or hast thou once experienced a tremendous -moment in which thou wouldst answer him: "Thou -art a God, and never did I hear aught more -divine!" If that thought acquired power over -thee, as thou art, it would transform thee, and -perhaps crush thee; the question with regard to all -and everything: "Dost thou want this once more, -and also for innumerable times?" would lie as the -heaviest burden upon thy activity! Or, how wouldst -thou have to become favourably inclined to thyself -and to life, so as <i>to long for nothing more ardently</i> -than for this last eternal sanctioning and sealing?—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>342.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Incipit Tragœdia.</i>—When Zarathustra was thirty -years old, he left his home and the Lake of Urmi, -and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed -his spirit and his solitude, and for ten years did -not weary of it. But at last his heart changed,—and -rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he -went before the sun and spake thus unto it: "Thou -great star! What would be thy happiness if thou -hadst not those for whom thou shinest! For ten -years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou -wouldst have wearied of thy light and of the -journey, had it not been for me, mine eagle, and my -serpent. But we awaited thee every morning, took -<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>from thee thine overflow, and blessed thee for it. -Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that -hath gathered too much honey; I need hands outstretched -to take it. I would fain bestow and -distribute, until the wise have once more become -joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their -riches. Therefore must I descend into the deep, -as thou doest in the evening, when thou goest -behind the sea and givest light also to the nether-world, -thou most rich star! Like thee must I <i>go -down</i>, as men say, to whom I shall descend. Bless -me then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even -the greatest happiness without envy! Bless the -cup that is about to overflow, that the water may -flow golden out of it, and carry everywhere the -reflection of thy bliss! Lo! This cup is again -going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again -going to be a man."—Thus began Zarathustra's -down-going.</p> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span> - <h2 class='c004'>BOOK FIFTH<br /> <br />WE FEARLESS ONES</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c003'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"Carcasse, tu trembles? Tu</div> - <div class='line'>tremblerais bien davantage, si</div> - <div class='line'>tu savais, où je te mène."—</div> - <div class='line'><i>Turenne.</i></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span> - <h3 class='c009'>343.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>What our Cheerfulness Signifies.</i>—The most -important of more recent events—that "God is -dead," that the belief in the Christian God has -become unworthy of belief—already begins to cast -its first shadows over Europe. To the few at least -whose eye, whose <i>suspecting</i> glance, is strong enough -and subtle enough for this drama, some sun -seems to have set, some old, profound confidence -seems to have changed into doubt: our old world -must seem to them daily more darksome, distrustful, -strange and "old." In the main, however, one may -say that the event itself is far too great, too remote, -too much beyond most people's power of apprehension, -for one to suppose that so much as the report -of it could have <i>reached</i> them; not to speak of many -who already knew <i>what</i> had really taken place, and -what must all collapse now that this belief had been -undermined,—because so much was built upon it, -so much rested on it, and had become one with it: -for example, our entire European morality. This -lengthy, vast and uninterrupted process of crumbling, -destruction, ruin and overthrow which is now -imminent: who has realised it sufficiently to-day to -have to stand up as the teacher and herald of such -a tremendous logic of terror, as the prophet of a -period of gloom and eclipse, the like of which has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>probably never taken place on earth before?... -Even we, the born riddle-readers, who wait as it -were on the mountains posted 'twixt to-day and -to-morrow, and engirt by their contradiction, we, -the firstlings and premature children of the coming -century, into whose sight especially the shadows -which must forthwith envelop Europe <i>should</i> -already have come—how is it that even we, without -genuine sympathy for this period of gloom, -contemplate its advent without any <i>personal</i> -solicitude or fear? Are we still, perhaps, too -much under the <i>immediate effects</i> of the event—and -are these effects, especially as regards <i>ourselves</i>, -perhaps the reverse of what was to be -expected—not at all sad and depressing, but -rather like a new and indescribable variety of -light, happiness, relief, enlivenment, encouragement, -and dawning day?... In fact, we philosophers -and "free spirits" feel ourselves irradiated -as by a new dawn by the report that the "old -God is dead"; our hearts overflow with gratitude, -astonishment, presentiment and expectation. At -last the horizon seems open once more, granting -even that it is not bright; our ships can at last -put out to sea in face of every danger; every -hazard is again permitted to the discerner; the -sea, <i>our</i> sea, again lies open before us; perhaps -never before did such an "open sea" exist.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>344.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>To what Extent even We are still Pious.</i>—It is -said with good reason that convictions have no civic -rights in the domain of science: it is only when a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>conviction voluntarily condescends to the modesty of -an hypothesis, a preliminary standpoint for experiment, -or a regulative fiction, that its access to the -realm of knowledge, and a certain value therein, -can be conceded,—always, however, with the restriction -that it must remain under police supervision, -under the police of our distrust.—Regarded -more accurately, however, does not this imply that -only when a conviction <i>ceases</i> to be a conviction -can it obtain admission into science? Does not -the discipline of the scientific spirit just commence -when one no longer harbours any conviction?... -It is probably so: only, it remains to be asked -whether, <i>in order that this discipline may commence</i>, -it is not necessary that there should already be a -conviction, and in fact one so imperative and -absolute, that it makes a sacrifice of all other -convictions. One sees that science also rests -on a belief: there is no science at all "without -premises." The question whether <i>truth</i> is necessary, -must not merely be affirmed beforehand, -but must be affirmed to such an extent that -the principle, belief, or conviction finds expression, -that "there is <i>nothing more necessary</i> than -truth, and in comparison with it everything else -has only a secondary value."—This absolute will -to truth: what is it? Is it the will <i>not to allow -ourselves to be deceived</i>? Is it the will <i>not to deceive</i>? -For the will to truth could also be interpreted -in this fashion, provided one includes under -the generalisation, "I will not deceive," the -special case, "I will not deceive myself." But -why not deceive? Why not allow oneself to be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>deceived?—Let it be noted that the reasons for the -former eventuality belong to a category quite different -from those for the latter: one does not want to -be deceived oneself, under the supposition that it -is injurious, dangerous, or fatal to be deceived,—in -this sense science would be a prolonged -process of caution, foresight and utility; against -which, however, one might reasonably make objections. -What? is not-wishing-to-be-deceived really -less injurious, less dangerous, less fatal? What do -you know of the character of existence in all its -phases to be able to decide whether the greater -advantage is on the side of absolute distrust, or -of absolute trustfulness? In case, however, of both -being necessary, much trusting <i>and</i> much distrusting, -whence then should science derive the absolute -belief, the conviction on which it rests, that -truth is more important than anything else, even -than every other conviction? This conviction -could not have arisen if truth <i>and</i> untruth had -both continually proved themselves to be useful: -as is the case. Thus—the belief in science, -which now undeniably exists, cannot have had -its origin in such a utilitarian calculation, but -rather <i>in spite of</i> the fact of the inutility and -dangerousness of the "Will to truth," of "truth at -all costs," being continually demonstrated. "At -all costs": alas, we understand that sufficiently -well, after having sacrificed and slaughtered one -belief after another at this altar!—Consequently, -"Will to truth" does <i>not</i> imply, "I will not allow -myself to be deceived," but—there is no other -alternative—"I will not deceive, not even myself": -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span><i>and thus we have reached the realm of morality</i>. -For, let one just ask oneself fairly: "Why wilt -thou not deceive?" especially if it should seem—and -it does seem—as if life were laid out with a -view to appearance, I mean, with a view to error, -deceit, dissimulation, delusion, self-delusion; and -when on the other hand it is a matter of fact that -the great type of life has always manifested itself -on the side of the most unscrupulous πολύτροποι. -Such an intention might perhaps, to express -it mildly, be a piece of Quixotism, a little -enthusiastic craziness; it might also, however, be -something worse, namely, a destructive principle, -hostile to life.... "Will to Truth,"—that might -be a concealed Will to Death.—Thus the question, -Why is there science? leads back to the moral -problem: <i>What in general is the purpose of morality</i>, -if life, nature, and history are "non-moral"? -There is no doubt that the conscientious man in -the daring and extreme sense in which he -is presupposed by the belief in science, <i>affirms -thereby a world other than</i> that of life, nature, -and history; and in so far as he affirms this "other -world," what? must he not just thereby—deny -its counterpart, this world, <i>our</i> world?... But -what I have in view will now be understood, namely, -that it is always a <i>metaphysical belief</i> on which our -belief in science rests,—and that even we knowing -ones of to-day, the godless and anti-metaphysical, -still take <i>our</i> fire from the conflagration kindled -by a belief a millennium old, the Christian belief, -which was also the belief of Plato, that God -is truth, that the truth is divine.... But what if -<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>this itself always becomes more untrustworthy, -what if nothing any longer proves itself divine, -except it be error, blindness, and falsehood;—what -if God himself turns out to be our most persistent -lie?—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>345.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Morality as a Problem.</i>—A defect in personality -revenges itself everywhere: an enfeebled, lank, -obliterated, self-disavowing and disowning personality -is no longer fit for anything good—it is -least of all fit for philosophy. "Selflessness" -has no value either in heaven or on earth; the great -problems all demand <i>great love</i>, and it is only the -strong, well-rounded, secure spirits, those who have -a solid basis, that are qualified for them. It makes -the most material difference whether a thinker stands -personally related to his problems, having his fate, -his need, and even his highest happiness therein; -or merely impersonally, that is to say, if he can -only feel and grasp them with the tentacles of cold, -prying thought. In the latter case I warrant that -nothing comes of it: for the great problems, granting -that they let themselves be grasped at all, do -not let themselves be <i>held</i> by toads and weaklings: -that has ever been their taste—a taste also which -they share with all high-spirited women.—How is -it that I have not yet met with any one, not even in -books, who seems to have stood to morality in this -position, as one who knew morality as a problem, -and this problem as <i>his own</i> personal need, affliction, -pleasure and passion? It is obvious that -up to the present morality has not been a problem -at all; it has rather been the very ground on -<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>which people have met, after all distrust, dissension, -and contradiction, the hallowed place of -peace, where thinkers could obtain rest even from -themselves, could recover breath and revive. I -see no one who has ventured to <i>criticise</i> the -estimates of moral worth. I miss in this connection -even the attempts of scientific curiosity, -and the fastidious, groping imagination of psychologists -and historians, which easily anticipates a -problem and catches it on the wing, without rightly -knowing what it catches. With difficulty I have -discovered some scanty data for the purpose of -furnishing a <i>history of the origin</i> of these feelings -and estimates of value (which is something different -from a criticism of them, and also something different -from a history of ethical systems). In an -individual case, I have done everything to encourage -the inclination and talent for this kind of history—in -vain, as it would seem to me at present. There -is little to be learned from those historians of -morality (especially Englishmen): they themselves -are usually, quite unsuspiciously, under the influence -of a definite morality, and act unwittingly -as its armour-bearers and followers—perhaps still -repeating sincerely the popular superstition of -Christian Europe, that the characteristic of moral -action consists in abnegation, self-denial, self-sacrifice, -or in fellow-feeling and fellow-suffering. -The usual error in their premises is their insistence -on a certain <i>consensus</i> among human beings, -at least among civilised human beings, with -regard to certain propositions of morality, and -from thence they conclude that these propositions -<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>are absolutely binding even upon you and me; or -reversely, they come to the conclusion that <i>no</i> -morality at all is binding, after the truth has -dawned upon them that to different peoples moral -valuations are <i>necessarily</i> different: both of which -conclusions are equally childish follies. The error -of the more subtle amongst them is that they -discover and criticise the probably foolish opinions -of a people about its own morality, or the opinions -of mankind about human morality generally; they -treat accordingly of its origin, its religious sanctions, -the superstition of free will, and such matters; and -they think that just by so doing they have criticised -the morality itself. But the worth of a precept, -"Thou shalt," is still fundamentally different from -and independent of such opinions about it, and -must be distinguished from the weeds of error -with which it has perhaps been overgrown: just -as the worth of a medicine to a sick person is -altogether independent of the question whether -he has a scientific opinion about medicine, or -merely thinks about it as an old wife would do. -A morality could even have grown <i>out of</i> an -error: but with this knowledge the problem of its -worth would not even be touched.—Thus, no one -has hitherto tested the <i>value</i> of that most celebrated -of all medicines, called morality: for which -purpose it is first of all necessary for one—<i>to call it -in question</i>. Well, that is just our work.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>346.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our Note of Interrogation.</i>—But you don't understand -it? As a matter of fact, an effort will be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>necessary in order to understand us. We seek -for words; we seek perhaps also for ears. Who -are we after all? If we wanted simply to call ourselves -in older phraseology, atheists, unbelievers, -or even immoralists, we should still be far from -thinking ourselves designated thereby: we are all -three in too late a phase for people generally to -conceive, for <i>you</i>, my inquisitive friends, to be able -to conceive, what is our state of mind under the -circumstances. No! we have no longer the bitterness -and passion of him who has broken loose, -who has to make for himself a belief, a goal, -and even a martyrdom out of his unbelief! We -have become saturated with the conviction (and -have grown cold and hard in it) that things -are not at all divinely ordered in this world, nor -even according to human standards do they go on -rationally, mercifully, or justly: we know the fact -that the world in which we live is ungodly, immoral, -and "inhuman,"—we have far too long interpreted -it to ourselves falsely and mendaciously, according -to the wish and will of our veneration, that is to say, -according to our <i>need</i>. For man is a venerating -animal! But he is also a distrustful animal: and -that the world is <i>not</i> worth what we have believed -it to be worth is about the surest thing our distrust -has at last managed to grasp. So much -distrust, so much philosophy! We take good -care not to say that the world is of <i>less</i> value: -it seems to us at present absolutely ridiculous -when man claims to devise values <i>to surpass</i> -the values of the actual world,—it is precisely -from that point that we have retraced our steps; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>as from an extravagant error of human conceit and -irrationality, which for a long period has not been -recognised as such. This error had its last expression -in modern Pessimism; an older and -stronger manifestation in the teaching of Buddha; -but Christianity also contains it, more dubiously, -to be sure, and more ambiguously, but none the -less seductive on that account. The whole attitude -of "man <i>versus</i> the world," man as world-denying -principle, man as the standard of the value of -things, as judge of the world, who in the end -puts existence itself on his scales and finds it too -light—the monstrous impertinence of this attitude -has dawned upon us as such, and has disgusted -us,—we now laugh when we find, "Man <i>and</i> -World" placed beside one another, separated by -the sublime presumption of the little word "and"! -But how is it? Have we not in our very laughing -just made a further step in despising mankind? -And consequently also in Pessimism, in despising -the existence cognisable <i>by us</i>? Have we not -just thereby become liable to a suspicion of an -opposition between the world in which we have -hitherto been at home with our venerations—for -the sake of which we perhaps <i>endure</i> life—and -another world <i>which we ourselves are</i>: an inexorable, -radical, most profound suspicion concerning -ourselves, which is continually getting us Europeans -more annoyingly into its power, and could -easily face the coming generation with the terrible -alternative: "Either do away with your -venerations, or—<i>with yourselves</i>!" The latter -would be Nihilism—but would not the former -<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>also be Nihilism? This is <i>our</i> note of interrogation.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>347.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Believers and their Need of Belief.</i>—How much -<i>faith</i> a person requires in order to flourish, how -much "fixed opinion" he requires which he does -not wish to have shaken, because he <i>holds</i> himself -thereby—is a measure of his power (or more plainly -speaking, of his weakness). Most people in old -Europe, as it seems to me, still need Christianity -at present, and on that account it still finds belief. -For such is man: a theological dogma might be -refuted to him a thousand times,—provided, however, -that he had need of it, he would again and -again accept it as "true,"—according to the famous -"proof of power" of which the Bible speaks. -Some have still need of metaphysics; but also -the impatient <i>longing for certainty</i> which at present -discharges itself in scientific, positivist fashion -among large numbers of the people, the longing -by all means to get at something stable (while -on account of the warmth of the longing the -establishing of the certainty is more leisurely and -negligently undertaken): even this is still the -longing for a hold, a support; in short, the <i>instinct -of weakness</i>, which, while not actually creating -religions, metaphysics, and convictions of all kinds, -nevertheless—preserves them. In fact, around all -these positivist systems there fume the vapours of -a certain pessimistic gloom, something of weariness, -fatalism, disillusionment, and fear of new -disillusionment—or else manifest animosity, ill-humour, -anarchic exasperation, and whatever there -<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>is of symptom or masquerade of the feeling of -weakness. Even the readiness with which our -cleverest contemporaries get lost in wretched -corners and alleys, for example, in Vaterländerei -(so I designate Jingoism, called <i>chauvinisme</i> in -France, and "<i>deutsch</i>" in Germany), or in petty -æsthetic creeds in the manner of Parisian <i>naturalisme</i> -(which only brings into prominence and -uncovers <i>that</i> aspect of nature which excites -simultaneously disgust and astonishment—they -like at present to call this aspect <i>la vérité vraie</i>), -or in Nihilism in the St Petersburg style (that -is to say, in the <i>belief in unbelief</i>, even to -martyrdom for it):—this shows always and above -all the need of belief, support, backbone, and -buttress.... Belief is always most desired, most -pressingly needed where there is a lack of will: for -the will, as emotion of command, is the distinguishing -characteristic of sovereignty and power. -That is to say, the less a person knows how to -command, the more urgent is his desire for one -who commands, who commands sternly,—a God, a -prince, a caste, a physician, a confessor, a dogma, -a party conscience. From whence perhaps it -could be inferred that the two world-religions, -Buddhism and Christianity, might well have had -the cause of their rise, and especially of their rapid -extension, in an extraordinary <i>malady of the will</i>. -And in truth it has been so: both religions lighted -upon a longing, monstrously exaggerated by malady -of the will, for an imperative, a "Thou-shalt," a -longing going the length of despair; both religions -were teachers of fanaticism in times of slackness -<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>of will-power, and thereby offered to innumerable -persons a support, a new possibility of exercising -will, an enjoyment in willing. For in fact fanaticism -is the sole "volitional strength" to which -the weak and irresolute can be excited, as a -sort of hypnotising of the entire sensory-intellectual -system, in favour of the over-abundant nutrition -(hypertrophy) of a particular point of view and a -particular sentiment, which then dominates—the -Christian calls it his <i>faith</i>. When a man arrives -at the fundamental conviction that he <i>requires</i> to -be commanded, he becomes "a believer." Reversely, -one could imagine a delight and a power of self-determining, -and a <i>freedom</i> of will whereby a spirit -could bid farewell to every belief, to every wish for -certainty, accustomed as it would be to support -itself on slender cords and possibilities, and to -dance even on the verge of abysses. Such a spirit -would be the <i>free spirit par excellence</i>.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>348.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Origin of the Learned.</i>—The learned man in -Europe grows out of all the different ranks and -social conditions, like a plant requiring no specific -soil: on that account he belongs essentially and -involuntarily to the partisans of democratic thought. -But this origin betrays itself. If one has trained -one's glance to some extent to recognise in a -learned book or scientific treatise the intellectual -<i>idiosyncrasy</i> of the learned man—all of them -have such idiosyncrasy,—and if we take it by -surprise, we shall almost always get a glimpse -behind it of the "antecedent history" of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>learned man and his family, especially of the -nature of their callings and occupations. Where -the feeling finds expression, "That is at last -proved, I am now done with it," it is commonly -the ancestor in the blood and instincts of the -learned man that approves of the "accomplished -work" in the nook from which he sees things;—the -belief in the proof is only an indication of what -has been looked upon for ages by a laborious -family as "good work." Take an example: the -sons of registrars and office-clerks of every kind, -whose main task has always been to arrange a -variety of material, distribute it in drawers, and -systematise it generally, evince, when they become -learned men, an inclination to regard a problem -as almost solved when they have systematised it. -There are philosophers who are at bottom nothing -but systematising brains—the formal part of the -paternal occupation has become its essence to -them. The talent for classifications, for tables -of categories, betrays something; it is not for -nothing that a person is the child of his parents. -The son of an advocate will also have to be an -advocate as investigator: he seeks as a first consideration, -to carry the point in his case, as a -second consideration, he perhaps seeks to be in -the right. One recognises the sons of Protestant -clergymen and schoolmasters by the naïve assurance -with which as learned men they already -assume their case to be proved, when it has but -been presented by them staunchly and warmly: -they are thoroughly accustomed to people <i>believing</i> -in them,—it belonged to their fathers' "trade"! -<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>A Jew, contrariwise, in accordance with his -business surroundings and the past of his race, -is least of all accustomed—to people believing -him. Observe Jewish scholars with regard to this -matter,—they all lay great stress on logic, that -is to say, on <i>compelling</i> assent by means of reasons; -they know that they must conquer thereby, even -when race and class antipathy is against them, even -where people are unwilling to believe them. For -in fact, nothing is more democratic than logic: -it knows no respect of persons, and takes even the -crooked nose as straight. (In passing we may -remark that in respect to logical thinking, in -respect to <i>cleaner</i> intellectual habits, Europe is -not a little indebted to the Jews; above all the -Germans, as being a lamentably <i>déraisonnable</i> -race, who, even at the present day, must always -have their "heads washed"<a id='r11' /><a href='#f11' class='c011'><sup>[11]</sup></a> in the first place. -Wherever the Jews have attained to influence, they -have taught to analyse more subtly, to argue more -acutely, to write more clearly and purely: it has -always been their problem to bring a people "to -<i>raison</i>.")</p> -<h3 class='c009'>349.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Origin of the Learned once more.</i>—To seek -self-preservation merely, is the expression of a state -of distress, or of limitation of the true, fundamental -instinct of life, which aims at the <i>extension of power</i>, -and with this in view often enough calls in question -self-preservation and sacrifices it. It should be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>taken as symptomatic when individual philosophers, -as for example, the consumptive Spinoza, have -seen and have been obliged to see the principal -feature of life precisely in the so-called self-preservative -instinct:—they have just been men -in states of distress. That our modern natural -sciences have entangled themselves so much with -Spinoza's dogma (finally and most grossly in -Darwinism, with its inconceivably one-sided doctrine -of the "struggle for existence"—), is probably -owing to the origin of most of the inquirers into -nature: they belong in this respect to the people, -their forefathers have been poor and humble persons, -who knew too well by immediate experience the -difficulty of making a living. Over the whole -of English Darwinism there hovers something of -the suffocating air of over-crowded England, something -of the odour of humble people in need and -in straits. But as an investigator of nature, a -person ought to emerge from his paltry human -nook: and in nature the state of distress does not -<i>prevail</i>, but superfluity, even prodigality to the -extent of folly. The struggle for existence is only -an <i>exception</i>, a temporary restriction of the will to -live; the struggle, be it great or small, turns everywhere -on predominance, on increase and expansion, -on power, in conformity to the will to power, which -is just the will to live.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>350.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Honour of Homines Religiosi.</i>—The struggle -against the church is most certainly (among other -things—for it has a manifold significance) the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>struggle of the more ordinary, cheerful, confiding, -superficial natures against the rule of the graver, -profounder, more contemplative natures, that is to -say, the more malign and suspicious men, who -with long continued distrust in the worth of life, -brood also over their own worth:—the ordinary -instinct of the people, its sensual gaiety, its "good -heart," revolts against them. The entire Roman -Church rests on a Southern suspicion of the nature -of man (always misunderstood in the North), a -suspicion whereby the European South has succeeded -to the inheritance of the profound Orient—the -mysterious, venerable Asia—and its contemplative -spirit. Protestantism was a popular -insurrection in favour of the simple, the respectable, -the superficial (the North has always been -more good-natured and more shallow than the -South), but it was the French Revolution that first -gave the sceptre wholly and solemnly into the -hands of the "good man" (the sheep, the ass, the -goose, and everything incurably shallow, bawling, -and fit for the Bedlam of "modern ideas").</p> -<h3 class='c009'>351.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>In Honour of Priestly Natures.</i>—I think that -philosophers have always felt themselves furthest -removed from that which the people (in all classes -of society nowadays) take for wisdom: the prudent, -bovine placidity, piety, and country-parson meekness, -which lies in the meadow and <i>gazes at</i> life -seriously and ruminatingly:—this is probably because -philosophers have not had sufficiently the -taste of the "people," or of the country-parson -<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>for that kind of wisdom. Philosophers will also -perhaps be the latest to acknowledge that the -people <i>should</i> understand something of that which -lies furthest from them, something of the great -<i>passion</i> of the thinker, who lives and must live -continually in the storm-cloud of the highest -problems and the heaviest responsibilities (consequently, -not gazing at all, to say nothing of -doing so indifferently, securely, objectively). The -people venerate an entirely different type of man -when on their part they form the ideal of a -"sage," and they are a thousand times justified -in rendering homage with the highest eulogies and -honours to precisely that type of men—namely, -the gentle, serious, simple, chaste, priestly natures -and those related to them,—it is to them that -the praise falls due in the popular veneration of -wisdom. And to whom should the people ever -have more reason to be grateful than to these men -who pertain to its class and rise from its ranks, but -are persons consecrated, chosen, and <i>sacrificed</i> for its -good—they themselves believe themselves sacrificed -to God,—before whom the people can pour forth its -heart with impunity, by whom it can <i>get rid</i> of its -secrets, cares, and worse things (for the man who -"communicates himself" gets rid of himself, and he -who has "confessed" forgets). Here there exists a -great need: for sewers and pure cleansing waters -are required also for spiritual filth, and rapid -currents of love are needed, and strong, lowly, pure -hearts, who qualify and sacrifice themselves for -such service of the non-public health department—for -it <i>is</i> a sacrificing, the priest is, and continues to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>be, a human sacrifice.... The people regard such -sacrificed, silent, serious men of "faith" as "<i>wise</i>," -that is to say, as men who have become sages, as -"reliable" in relation to their own unreliability. -Who would desire to deprive the people of that -expression and that veneration?—But as is fair on -the other side, among philosophers the priest also -is still held to belong to the "people," and is <i>not</i> -regarded as a sage, because, above all, they themselves -do not believe in "sages," and they already -scent "the people" in this very belief and superstition. -It was <i>modesty</i> which invented in Greece -the word "philosopher," and left to the play-actors -of the spirit the superb arrogance of assuming -the name "wise"—the modesty of such monsters -of pride and self-glorification as Pythagoras and -Plato.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>352.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Why we can hardly Dispense with Morality.</i>—The -naked man is generally an ignominious -spectacle—I speak of us European males (and by -no means of European females!). If the most -joyous company at table suddenly found themselves -stripped and divested of their garments through the -trick of an enchanter, I believe that not only would -the joyousness be gone and the strongest appetite -lost;—it seems that we Europeans cannot at all -dispense with the masquerade that is called -clothing. But should not the disguise of "moral -men," the screening under moral formulæ and -notions of decency, the whole kindly concealment -of our conduct under conceptions of duty, virtue, -public sentiment, honourableness, and disinterestedness, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>have just as good reasons in support -of it? Not that I mean hereby that human -wickedness and baseness, in short, the evil wild -beast in us, should be disguised; on the contrary, -my idea is that it is precisely as <i>tame -animals</i> that we are an ignominious spectacle and -require moral disguising,—that the "inner man" -in Europe is far from having enough of intrinsic -evil "to let himself be seen" with it (to be <i>beautiful</i> -with it). The European disguises himself <i>in -morality</i> because he has become a sick, sickly, -crippled animal, who has good reasons for being -"tame," because he is almost an abortion, an imperfect, -weak and clumsy thing.... It is not the fierceness -of the beast of prey that finds moral disguise -necessary, but the gregarious animal, with its -profound mediocrity, anxiety and ennui. <i>Morality -dresses up the European</i>—let us acknowledge it!—in -more distinguished, more important, more conspicuous -guise—in "divine" guise—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>353.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Origin of Religions.</i>—The real inventions of -founders of religions are, on the one hand, to -establish a definite mode of life and everyday -custom, which operates as <i>disciplina voluntatis</i>, and -at the same time does away with ennui; and on -the other hand, to give to that very mode of life an -<i>interpretation</i>, by virtue of which it appears illumined -with the highest value; so that it henceforth becomes -a good for which people struggle, and under certain -circumstances lay down their lives. In truth, the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>second of these inventions is the more essential: -the first, the mode of life, has usually been there -already, side by side, however, with other modes of -life, and still unconscious of the value which it -embodies. The import, the originality of the -founder of a religion, discloses itself usually in the -fact that he <i>sees</i> the mode of life, <i>selects</i> it, and -<i>divines</i> for the first time the purpose for which it -can be used, how it can be interpreted. Jesus (or -Paul), for example, found around him the life of the -common people in the Roman province, a modest, -virtuous, oppressed life: he interpreted it, he put -the highest significance and value into it—and -thereby the courage to despise every other mode -of life, the calm fanaticism of the Moravians, the -secret, subterranean self-confidence which goes on -increasing, and is at last ready "to overcome the -world" (that is to say, Rome, and the upper classes -throughout the empire). Buddha, in like manner, -found the same type of man,—he found it in fact -dispersed among all the classes and social ranks of -a people who were good and kind (and above all -inoffensive), owing to indolence, and who likewise -owing to indolence, lived abstemiously, almost -without requirements. He understood that such a -type of man, with all its <i>vis inertiae</i>, had inevitably -to glide into a belief which promises <i>to avoid</i> the -return of earthly ill (that is to say, labour and -activity generally),—this "understanding" was his -genius. The founder of a religion possesses -psychological infallibility in the knowledge of a -definite, average type of souls, who have not yet -<i>recognised</i> themselves as akin. It is he who brings -<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>them together: the founding of a religion, therefore, -always becomes a long ceremony of recognition.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>354.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The "Genius of the Species."</i>—The problem of -consciousness (or more correctly: of becoming -conscious of oneself) meets us only when we begin -to perceive in what measure we could dispense with -it: and it is at the beginning of this perception -that we are now placed by physiology and zoology -(which have thus required two centuries to overtake -the hint thrown out in advance by Leibnitz). -For we could in fact think, feel, will, and recollect, -we could likewise "act" in every sense of the term, -and nevertheless nothing of it all would require -to "come into consciousness" (as one says metaphorically). -The whole of life would be possible -without its seeing itself as it were in a mirror: as -in fact even at present the far greater part of our -life still goes on without this mirroring,—and even -our thinking, feeling, volitional life as well, however -painful this statement may sound to an older -philosopher. <i>What</i> then is <i>the purpose</i> of consciousness -generally, when it is in the main <i>superfluous</i>?—Now -it seems to me, if you will hear my answer -and its perhaps extravagant supposition, that the -subtlety and strength of consciousness are always in -proportion to the <i>capacity for communication</i> of a man -(or an animal), the capacity for communication in -its turn being in proportion to the <i>necessity for -communication</i>: the latter not to be understood as if -precisely the individual himself who is master in -the art of communicating and making known his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>necessities would at the same time have to be -most dependent upon others for his necessities. -It seems to me, however, to be so in relation to -whole races and successions of generations: where -necessity and need have long compelled men to -communicate with their fellows and understand -one another rapidly and subtly, a surplus of the -power and art of communication is at last acquired, -as if it were a fortune which had gradually accumulated, -and now waited for an heir to squander it -prodigally (the so-called artists are these heirs, in -like manner the orators, preachers, and authors: -all of them men who come at the end of a long -succession, "late-born" always, in the best sense of -the word, and as has been said, <i>squanderers</i> by -their very nature). Granted that this observation -is correct, I may proceed further to the conjecture -that <i>consciousness generally has only been developed -under the pressure of the necessity for communication</i>,—that -from the first it has been necessary and -useful only between man and man (especially -between those commanding and those obeying), -and has only developed in proportion to its utility. -Consciousness is properly only a connecting network -between man and man,—it is only as -such that it has had to develop; the recluse -and wild-beast species of men would not have -needed it. The very fact that our actions, -thoughts, feelings and motions come within the -range of our consciousness—at least a part of them—is -the result of a terrible, prolonged "must" -ruling man's destiny: as the most endangered -animal he <i>needed</i> help and protection; he needed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>his fellows, he was obliged to express his distress, -he had to know how to make himself understood—and -for all this he needed "consciousness" first of all, -consequently, to "know" himself what he lacked, -to "know" how he felt and to "know" what he -thought. For, to repeat it once more, man, like -every living creature, thinks unceasingly, but does -not know it; the thinking which is becoming -<i>conscious of itself</i> is only the smallest part thereof, -we may say, the most superficial part, the worst -part:—for this conscious thinking alone <i>is done in -words, that is to say, in the symbols for communication</i>, -by means of which the origin of consciousness -is revealed. In short, the development of speech -and the development of consciousness (not of -reason, but of reason becoming self-conscious) go -hand in hand. Let it be further accepted that it -is not only speech that serves as a bridge between -man and man, but also the looks, the pressure and -the gestures; our becoming conscious of our sense -impressions, our power of being able to fix them, -and as it were to locate them outside of ourselves, -has increased in proportion as the necessity has -increased for communicating them to <i>others</i> by -means of signs. The sign-inventing man is at the -same time the man who is always more acutely -self-conscious; it is only as a social animal that man -has learned to become conscious of himself,—he is -doing so still, and doing so more and more.—As is -obvious, my idea is that consciousness does not -properly belong to the individual existence of man, -but rather to the social and gregarious nature in -him; that, as follows therefrom, it is only in relation -<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>to communal and gregarious utility that it -is finely developed; and that consequently each -of us, in spite of the best intention of <i>understanding</i> -himself as individually as possible, and of "knowing -himself," will always just call into consciousness -the non-individual in him, namely, his "averageness";—that -our thought itself is continuously as it -were <i>outvoted</i> by the character of consciousness—by -the imperious "genius of the species" therein—and -is translated back into the perspective of the -herd. Fundamentally our actions are in an incomparable -manner altogether personal, unique and -absolutely individual—there is no doubt about it; -but as soon as we translate them into consciousness, -they <i>do not appear so any longer</i>.... This is -the proper phenomenalism and perspectivism as I -understand it: the nature of <i>animal consciousness</i> -involves the notion that the world of which we can -become conscious is only a superficial and symbolic -world, a generalised and vulgarised world;—that -everything which becomes conscious <i>becomes</i> just -thereby shallow, meagre, relatively stupid,—a -generalisation, a symbol, a characteristic of the -herd; that with the evolving of consciousness there -is always combined a great, radical perversion, -falsification, superficialisation, and generalisation. -Finally, the growing consciousness is a danger, -and whoever lives among the most conscious -Europeans knows even that it is a disease. As -may be conjectured, it is not the antithesis of -subject and object with which I am here concerned: -I leave that distinction to the epistemologists -who have remained entangled in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>toils of grammar (popular metaphysics). It is -still less the antithesis of "thing in itself" and -phenomenon, for we do not "know" enough to be -entitled even <i>to make such a distinction</i>. Indeed, -we have not any organ at all for <i>knowing</i> or for -"truth"; we "know" (or believe, or fancy) just as -much as may be <i>of use</i> in the interest of the human -herd, the species; and even what is here called -"usefulness" is ultimately only a belief, a fancy, -and perhaps precisely the most fatal stupidity by -which we shall one day be ruined.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>355.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Origin of our Conception of "Knowledge."</i>—I -take this explanation from the street. I heard one -of the people saying that "he knew me," so I -asked myself: What do the people really understand -by knowledge? What do they want when they seek -"knowledge"? Nothing more than -that what is strange is to be traced back to something -<i>known</i>. And we philosophers—have we -really understood <i>anything more</i> by knowledge? -The known, that is to say, what we are accustomed -to, so that we no longer marvel at it, the commonplace, -any kind of rule to which we are habituated, -all and everything in which we know ourselves to be -at home:—what? is our need of knowing not just -this need of the known? the will to discover in -everything strange, unusual, or questionable, something -which no longer disquiets us? Is it not -possible that it should be the <i>instinct of fear</i> which -enjoins upon us to know? Is it not possible that -the rejoicing of the discerner should be just his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>rejoicing in the regained feeling of security?... -One philosopher imagined the world "known" -when he had traced it back to the "idea": alas, -was it not because the idea was so known, so -familiar to him? because he had so much less fear -of the "idea"—Oh, this moderation of the discerners! -let us but look at their principles, and at -their solutions of the riddle of the world in this -connection! When they again find aught in things, -among things, or behind things, that is unfortunately -very well known to us, for example, our multiplication -table, or our logic, or our willing and desiring, -how happy they immediately are! For "what is -known is understood": they are unanimous as to -that. Even the most circumspect among them think -that the known is at least <i>more easily understood</i> than -the strange; that for example, it is methodically -ordered to proceed outward from the "inner world," -from "the facts of consciousness," because it is the -world which is <i>better known to us</i>! Error of errors! -The known is the accustomed, and the accustomed -is the most difficult of all to "understand," that -is to say, to perceive as a problem, to perceive -as strange, distant, "outside of us."... The great -certainty of the natural sciences in comparison with -psychology and the criticism of the elements of -consciousness—<i>unnatural</i> sciences as one might -almost be entitled to call them—rests precisely on -the fact that they take <i>what is strange</i> as their -object: while it is almost like something contradictory -and absurd <i>to wish</i> to take generally what -is not strange as an object....</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span> - <h3 class='c009'>356.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>In what Manner Europe will always become "more -Artistic."</i>—Providing a living still enforces even -in the present day (in our transition period when -so much ceases to enforce) a definite <i>rôle</i> on almost -all male Europeans, their so-called callings; some -have the liberty, an apparent liberty, to choose -this rôle themselves, but most have it chosen for -them. The result is strange enough. Almost all -Europeans confound themselves with their rôle -when they advance in age; they themselves are the -victims of their "good acting," they have forgotten -how much chance, whim and arbitrariness swayed -them when their "calling" was decided—and how -many other rôles they <i>could</i> perhaps have played: -for it is now too late! Looked at more closely, we -see that their characters have actually <i>evolved</i> out -of their rôle, nature out of art. There were ages in -which people believed with unshaken confidence, -yea, with piety, in their predestination for this very -business, for that very mode of livelihood, and -would not at all acknowledge chance, or the -fortuitous rôle, or arbitrariness therein. Ranks, -guilds, and hereditary trade privileges succeeded, -with the help of this belief, in rearing those extraordinary -broad towers of society which distinguished -the Middle Ages, and of which at all events one -thing remains to their credit: capacity for duration -(and duration is a value of the first rank on earth!). -But there are ages entirely the reverse, the properly -democratic ages, in which people tend to become -more and more oblivious of this conviction, and a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>sort of impudent conviction and quite contrary mode -of viewing things comes to the front, the Athenian -conviction which is first observed in the epoch of -Pericles, the American conviction of the present -day, which wants also more and more to become -an European conviction, whereby the individual is -convinced that he can do almost anything, that he -<i>can play almost any rôle</i>, whereby everyone makes experiments -with himself, improvises, tries anew, tries -with delight, whereby all nature ceases and becomes -art.... The Greeks, having adopted this <i>rôle-creed</i>—an -artist creed, if you will—underwent step -by step, as is well known, a curious transformation, -not in every respect worthy of imitation: <i>they -became actual stage-players</i>; and as such they -enchanted, they conquered all the world, and at last -even the conqueror of the world, (for the <i>Graeculus -histrio</i> conquered Rome, and <i>not</i> Greek culture, as -the naïve are accustomed to say....) What I -fear, however, and what is at present obvious, if we -desire to perceive it, is that we modern men are -quite on the same road already; and whenever man -begins to discover in what respect he plays a rôle, -and to what extent he <i>can</i> be a stage-player, he -<i>becomes</i> a stage-player.... A new flora and fauna -of men thereupon springs up, which cannot grow in -more stable, more restricted eras—or is left "at the -bottom," under the ban and suspicion of infamy—, -thereupon the most interesting and insane periods -of history always make their appearance, in which -"stage-players," <i>all</i> kinds of stage-players, are the -real masters. Precisely thereby another species -of man is always more and more injured, and in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>the end made impossible: above all the great -"architects"; the building power is now being -paralysed; the courage that makes plans for the -distant future is disheartened; there begins to be -a lack of organising geniuses. Who is there who -would now venture to undertake works for the -completion of which millenniums would have to be -<i>reckoned</i> upon? The fundamental belief is dying -out, on the basis of which one could calculate, -promise and anticipate the future in one's plan, and -offer it as a sacrifice thereto, that in fact man has only -value and significance in so far as he is <i>a stone in a -great building</i>; for which purpose he has first of all -to be <i>solid</i>, he has to be a "stone."... Above all, -not a—stage-player! In short—alas! this fact -will be hushed up for some considerable time to -come!—that which from henceforth will no longer -be built, and <i>can</i> no longer be built, is—a society -in the old sense of the term; to build this structure -everything is lacking, above all, the material. -<i>None of us are any longer material for a society</i>: -that is a truth which is seasonable at present! -It seems to me a matter of indifference that meanwhile -the most short-sighted, perhaps the most -honest, and at any rate the noisiest species of men -of the present day, our friends the Socialists, believe, -hope, dream, and above all scream and scribble -almost the opposite; in fact one already reads their -watchword of the future: "free society," on all -tables and walls. Free society? Indeed! Indeed! -But you know, gentlemen, sure enough whereof one -builds it? Out of wooden iron! Out of the famous -wooden iron! And not even out of wooden....</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span> - <h3 class='c009'>357.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>The old Problem: "What is German?"</i>—Let us -count up apart the real acquisitions of philosophical -thought for which we have to thank German -intellects: are they in any allowable sense to be -counted also to the credit of the whole race? Can -we say that they are at the same time the work of -the "German soul," or at least a symptom of it, in -the sense in which we are accustomed to think, for -example, of Plato's ideomania, his almost religious -madness for form, as an event and an evidence of -the "Greek soul"? Or would the reverse perhaps -be true? Were they so individual, so much an -exception to the spirit of the race, as was, for -example, Goethe's Paganism with a good conscience? -Or as Bismarck's Macchiavelism was with -a good conscience, his so-called "practical politics" -in Germany? Did our philosophers perhaps even -go counter to the <i>need</i> of the "German soul"? In -short, were the German philosophers really philosophical -<i>Germans</i>?—I call to mind three cases. -Firstly, <i>Leibnitz's</i> incomparable insight—with which -he obtained the advantage not only over Descartes, -but over all who had philosophised up to his time,—that -consciousness is only an accident of mental -representation, and <i>not</i> its necessary and essential -attribute; that consequently what we call consciousness -only constitutes a state of our spiritual and -psychical world (perhaps a morbid state), and is <i>far -from being that world itself</i>:—is there anything -German in this thought, the profundity of which -has not as yet been exhausted? Is there reason -<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>to think that a person of the Latin race would -not readily have stumbled on this reversal of the -apparent?—for it is a reversal. Let us call to mind -secondly, the immense note of interrogation which -<i>Kant</i> wrote after the notion of causality. Not that -he at all doubted its legitimacy, like Hume: on -the contrary, he began cautiously to define the -domain within which this notion has significance -generally (we have not even yet got finished with -the marking out of these limits). Let us take -thirdly, the astonishing hit of <i>Hegel</i>, who stuck at -no logical usage or fastidiousness when he ventured -to teach that the conceptions of kinds develop <i>out -of one another</i>: with which theory the thinkers in -Europe were prepared for the last great scientific -movement, for Darwinism—for without Hegel there -would have been no Darwin. Is there anything -German in this Hegelian innovation which first -introduced the decisive conception of evolution -into science? Yes, without doubt we feel that -there is something of ourselves "discovered" and -divined in all three cases; we are thankful for it, -and at the same time surprised; each of these -three principles is a thoughtful piece of German -self-confession, self-understanding, and self-knowledge. -We feel with Leibnitz that "our inner -world is far richer, ampler, and more concealed"; -as Germans we are doubtful, like Kant, about the -ultimate validity of scientific knowledge of nature, -and in general about whatever <i>can</i> be known -<i>causaliter</i>: the <i>knowable</i> as such now appears to us -of <i>less</i> worth. We Germans should still have been -Hegelians, even though there had never been a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>Hegel, inasmuch as we (in contradistinction to all -Latin peoples) instinctively attribute to becoming, -to evolution, a profounder significance and higher -value than to that which "is"—we hardly believe -at all in the validity of the concept "being." -This is all the more the case because we are not -inclined to concede to our human logic that it is -logic in itself, that it is the only kind of logic (we -should rather like, on the contrary, to convince -ourselves that it is only a special case, and perhaps -one of the strangest and most stupid). A fourth -question would be whether also <i>Schopenhauer</i> with -his Pessimism, that is to say the problem of -<i>the worth of existence</i>, had to be a German. I -think not. The event <i>after</i> which this problem -was to be expected with certainty, so that an -astronomer of the soul could have calculated the -day and the hour for it—namely, the decay of the -belief in the Christian God, the victory of scientific -atheism,—is a universal European event, in which -all races are to have their share of service and -honour. On the contrary, it has to be ascribed -precisely to the Germans—those with whom -Schopenhauer was contemporary,—that they delayed -this victory of atheism longest, and endangered -it most. Hegel especially was its retarder -<i>par excellence</i>, in virtue of the grandiose attempt -which he made to persuade us of the divinity of -existence, with the help at the very last of our -sixth sense, "the historical sense." As philosopher, -Schopenhauer was the <i>first</i> avowed and inflexible -atheist we Germans have had: his hostility to -Hegel had here its background. The non-divinity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>of existence was regarded by him as something -understood, palpable, indisputable; he always lost -his philosophical composure and got into a passion -when he saw anyone hesitate and beat about the -bush here. It is at this point that his thorough -uprightness of character comes in: unconditional, -honest atheism is precisely the <i>preliminary condition</i> -for his raising the problem, as a final and hardwon -victory of the European conscience, as the most -prolific act of two thousand years' discipline to -truth, which in the end no longer tolerates the -<i>lie</i> of the belief in a God.... One sees what has -really gained the victory over the Christian God—, -Christian morality itself, the conception of veracity, -taken ever more strictly, the confessional subtlety -of the Christian conscience, translated and sublimated -to the scientific conscience, to intellectual -purity at any price. To look upon nature as if it -were a proof of the goodness and care of a God; -to interpret history in honour of a divine reason, -as a constant testimony to a moral order in the -world and a moral final purpose; to explain -personal experiences as pious men have long -enough explained them, as if everything were a -dispensation or intimation of Providence, something -planned and sent on behalf of the salvation -of the soul: all that is now <i>past</i>, it has conscience -<i>against</i> it, it is regarded by all the more acute -consciences as disreputable and dishonourable, -as mendaciousness, femininism, weakness, and -cowardice,—by virtue of this severity, if by anything, -we are <i>good</i> Europeans, the heirs of Europe's -longest and bravest self-conquest. When we thus -<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>reject the Christian interpretation, and condemn -its "significance" as a forgery, we are immediately -confronted in a striking manner with the <i>Schopenhauerian</i> -question: <i>Has existence then a significance -at all?</i>—the question which will require a couple of -centuries even to be completely heard in all its -profundity. Schopenhauer's own answer to this -question was—if I may be forgiven for saying so—a -premature, juvenile reply, a mere compromise, -a stoppage and sticking in the very same Christian-ascetic, -moral perspectives, <i>the belief in which had -got notice to quit</i> along with the belief in God.... -But he <i>raised</i> the question—as a good European, -as we have said, and <i>not</i> as a German.—Or did the -Germans prove at least by the way in which they -seized on the Schopenhauerian question, their -inner connection and relationship to him, their -preparation for his problem, and their <i>need</i> of it? -That there has been thinking and printing even -in Germany since Schopenhauer's time on the -problem raised by him,—it was late enough!—does -not at all suffice to enable us to decide in -favour of this closer relationship; one could, on -the contrary, lay great stress on the peculiar <i>awkwardness</i> -of this post-Schopenhauerian Pessimism—Germans -evidently do not behave themselves -there as in their element. I do not at all allude -here to Eduard von Hartmann; on the contrary, -my old suspicion is not vanished even at present -that he is <i>too clever</i> for us; I mean to say that as -arrant rogue from the very first, he did not perhaps -make merry solely over German Pessimism—and -that in the end he might probably "bequeathe" -<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>to them the truth as to how far a person could -bamboozle the Germans themselves in the age of -bubble companies. But further, are we perhaps -to reckon to the honour of Germans, the old -humming-top, Bahnsen, who all his life spun about -with the greatest pleasure around his realistically -dialectic misery and "personal ill-luck,"—was <i>that</i> -German? (In passing I recommend his writings -for the purpose for which I myself have used them, -as anti-pessimistic fare, especially on account of his -<i>elegantia psychologica</i>, which, it seems to me, could -alleviate even the most constipated body and soul). -Or would it be proper to count such dilettanti and -old maids as the mawkish apostle of virginity, -Mainländer, among the genuine Germans? After -all he was probably a Jew (all Jews become -mawkish when they moralise). Neither Bahnsen, -nor Mainländer, nor even Eduard von Hartmann, -give us a reliable grasp of the question whether the -pessimism of Schopenhauer (his frightened glance -into an undeified world, which has become stupid, -blind, deranged and problematic, his <i>honourable</i> -fright) was not only an exceptional case among -Germans, but a <i>German</i> event: while everything -else which stands in the foreground, like our -valiant politics and our joyful Jingoism (which -decidedly enough regards everything with reference -to a principle sufficiently unphilosophical: -"<i>Deutschland, Deutschland, über Alles</i>,"<a id='r12' /><a href='#f12' class='c011'><sup>[12]</sup></a> consequently -<i>sub specie speciei</i>, namely, the German -<i>species</i>), testifies very plainly to the contrary. No! -<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>The Germans of to-day are <i>not</i> pessimists! And -Schopenhauer was a pessimist, I repeat it once -more, as a good European, and <i>not</i> as a German.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>358.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Peasant Revolt of the Spirit.</i>—We Europeans -find ourselves in view of an immense world of ruins, -where some things still tower aloft, while other -objects stand mouldering and dismal, where most -things however already lie on the ground, picturesque -enough—where were there ever finer -ruins?—overgrown with weeds, large and small. -It is the Church which is this city of decay: we -see the religious organisation of Christianity -shaken to its deepest foundations. The belief in -God is overthrown, the belief in the Christian -ascetic ideal is now fighting its last fight. Such a -long and solidly built work as Christianity—it was -the last construction of the Romans!—could not -of course be demolished all at once; every sort -of earthquake had to shake it, every sort of spirit -which perforates, digs, gnaws and moulders had -to assist in the work of destruction. But that -which is strangest is that those who have exerted -themselves most to retain and preserve Christianity, -have been precisely those who did most to destroy -it,—the Germans. It seems that the Germans do -not understand the essence of a Church. Are they -not spiritual enough, or not distrustful enough to -do so? In any case the structure of the Church -rests on a <i>southern</i> freedom and liberality of spirit, -and similarly on a southern suspicion of nature, -man, and spirit,—it rests on a knowledge of man, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>an experience of man, entirely different from what -the north has had. The Lutheran Reformation -in all its length and breadth was the indignation -of the simple against something "complicated." -To speak cautiously, it was a coarse, honest misunderstanding, -in which much is to be forgiven,—people -did not understand the mode of expression -of a <i>victorious</i> Church, and only saw corruption; -they misunderstood the noble scepticism, the <i>luxury</i> -of scepticism and toleration which every victorious, -self-confident power permits.... One overlooks -the fact readily enough at present that as regards -all cardinal questions concerning power Luther -was badly endowed; he was fatally short-sighted, -superficial and imprudent—and above all, as a -man sprung from the people, he lacked all the -hereditary qualities of a ruling caste, and all the -instincts for power; so that his work, his intention -to restore the work of the Romans, merely became -involuntarily and unconsciously the commencement -of a work of destruction. He unravelled, he tore -asunder with honest rage, where the old spider had -woven longest and most carefully. He gave the -sacred books into the hands of everyone,—they -thereby got at last into the hands of the philologists, -that is to say, the annihilators of every belief based -upon books. He demolished the conception of -"the Church" in that he repudiated the belief in -the inspiration of the Councils: for only under the -supposition that the inspiring spirit which had -founded the Church still lives in it, still builds it, -still goes on building its house, does the conception -of "the Church" retain its power. He gave back -<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>to the priest sexual intercourse: but three-fourths -of the reverence of which the people (and above -all the women of the people) are capable, rests on -the belief that an exceptional man in this respect -will also be an exceptional man in other respects. -It is precisely here that the popular belief in something -superhuman in man, in a miracle, in the -saving God in man, has its most subtle and insidious -advocate. After Luther had given a wife to -the priest, he had <i>to take from him</i> auricular confession; -that was psychologically right: but thereby he -practically did away with the Christian priest himself, -whose profoundest utility has ever consisted -in his being a sacred ear, a silent well, and a grave -for secrets. "Every man his own priest"—behind -such formulæ and their bucolic slyness, there was -concealed in Luther the profoundest hatred of -"higher men" and the rule of "higher men," as -the Church had conceived them. Luther disowned -an ideal which he did not know how to attain, -while he seemed to combat and detest the degeneration -thereof. As a matter of fact, he, the impossible -monk, repudiated the <i>rule</i> of the <i>homines religiosi</i>; -he consequently brought about precisely the same -thing within the ecclesiastical social order that -he combated so impatiently in the civic order,—namely -a "peasant insurrection."—As to all that -grew out of his Reformation afterwards, good and -bad, which can at present be almost counted up,—who -would be naïve enough to praise or blame -Luther simply on account of these results? He -is innocent of all; he knew not what he did. -The art of making the European spirit shallower, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>especially in the north, or more <i>good-natured</i>, if -people would rather hear it designated by a moral -expression, undoubtedly took a clever step in -advance in the Lutheran Reformation; and similarly -there grew out of it the mobility and disquietude -of the spirit, its thirst for independence, its belief -in the right to freedom, and its "naturalness." If -people wish to ascribe to the Reformation in the -last instance the merit of having prepared and -favoured that which we at present honour as -"modern science," they must of course add that it -is also accessory to bringing about the degeneration -of the modern scholar with his lack of -reverence, of shame and of profundity; and that -it is also responsible for all naïve candour -and plain-dealing in matters of knowledge, in -short for the <i>plebeianism of the spirit</i> which is -peculiar to the last two centuries, and from which -even pessimism hitherto, has not in any way -delivered us. "Modern ideas" also belong to this -peasant insurrection of the north against the colder, -more ambiguous, more suspicious spirit of the south, -which has built itself its greatest monument in the -Christian Church. Let us not forget in the end -what a Church is, and especially, in contrast to every -"State": a Church is above all an authoritative -organisation which secures to the <i>most spiritual</i> -men the highest rank, and <i>believes</i> in the power of -spirituality so far as to forbid all grosser appliances -of authority. Through this alone the Church is -under all circumstances a <i>nobler</i> institution than -the State.—</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span> - <h3 class='c009'>359.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Vengeance on Intellect and other Backgrounds of -Morality.</i>—Morality—where do you think it has -its most dangerous and rancorous advocates?—There, -for example, is an ill-constituted man, who -does not possess enough of intellect to be able to -take pleasure in it, and just enough of culture to -be aware of the fact; bored, satiated, and a self-despiser; -besides being cheated unfortunately by -some hereditary property out of the last consolation, -the "blessing of labour," the self-forgetfulness in -the "day's work"; one who is thoroughly ashamed -of his existence—perhaps also harbouring some -vices,—and who on the other hand (by means of -books to which he has no right, or more intellectual -society than he can digest), cannot help vitiating -himself more and more, and making himself vain -and irritable: such a thoroughly poisoned man—for -intellect becomes poison, culture becomes -poison, possession becomes poison, solitude becomes -poison, to such ill-constituted beings—gets at last -into a habitual state of vengeance and inclination -to vengeance.... What do you think he finds -necessary, absolutely necessary in order to give -himself the appearance in his own eyes of superiority -over more intellectual men, so as to give -himself the delight of <i>perfect revenge</i>, at least in -imagination? It is always <i>morality</i> that he -requires, one may wager on it; always the big moral -words, always the high-sounding words: justice, -wisdom, holiness, virtue; always the stoicism of -gestures (how well stoicism hides what one does <i>not</i> -<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>possess!); always the mantle of wise silence, of -affability, of gentleness, and whatever else the -idealist-mantle is called in which the incurable -self-despisers and also the incurably conceited walk -about. Let me not be misunderstood: out of such -born <i>enemies of the spirit</i> there arises now and then -that rare specimen of humanity who is honoured -by the people under the name of saint or sage: it -is out of such men that there arise those prodigies -of morality that make a noise, that make history,—St -Augustine was one of these men. Fear of the -intellect, vengeance on the intellect—Oh! how often -have these powerfully impelling vices become the -root of virtues! Yea, virtue <i>itself</i>!—And asking -the question among ourselves, even the philosopher's -pretension to wisdom, which has occasionally been -made here and there on the earth, the maddest -and most immodest of all pretensions,—has it not -always been, in India as well as in Greece, <i>above all -a means of concealment</i>? Sometimes, perhaps, from -the point of view of education which hallows so -many lies, it has been a tender regard for growing -and evolving persons, for disciples who have often to -be guarded against themselves by means of the belief -in a person (by means of an error). In most cases, -however, it is a means of concealment for a philosopher, -behind which he seeks protection, owing to -exhaustion, age, chilliness, or hardening; as a feeling -of the approaching end, as the sagacity of the instinct -which animals have before their death,—they go -apart, remain at rest, choose solitude, creep into -caves, become <i>wise</i>.... What? Wisdom a means of -concealment of the philosopher from—intellect?—</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span> - <h3 class='c009'>360.</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c010'><i>Two Kinds of Causes which are Confounded.</i>—It -seems to me one of my most essential steps and -advances that I have learned to distinguish the -cause of the action generally from the cause of -action in a particular manner, say, in this direction, -with this aim. The first kind of cause is a quantum -of stored-up force, which waits to be used in some -manner, for some purpose; the second kind of -cause, on the contrary, is something quite unimportant -in comparison with the first, an insignificant -hazard for the most part, in conformity with -which the quantum of force in question "discharges" -itself in some unique and definite manner: the -lucifer-match in relation to the barrel of gunpowder. -Among those insignificant hazards and lucifer-matches -I count all the so-called "aims," and -similarly the still more so-called "occupations" of -people: they are relatively optional, arbitrary, and -almost indifferent in relation to the immense -quantum of force which presses on, as we have -said, to be used up in any way whatever. One -generally looks at the matter in a different manner: -one is accustomed to see the <i>impelling</i> force precisely -in the aim (object, calling, &c.), according to -a primeval error,—but it is only the <i>directing</i> force; -the steersman and the steam have thereby been -confounded. And yet it is not even always the -steersman, the directing force.... Is the "aim," -the "purpose," not often enough only an extenuating -pretext, an additional self-blinding of -conceit, which does not wish it to be said that the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>ship <i>follows</i> the stream into which it has accidentally -run? That it "wishes" to go that way, <i>because</i> it -<i>must</i> go that way? That it has a direction, sure -enough, but—not a steersman? We still require -a criticism of the conception of "purpose."</p> -<h3 class='c009'>361.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Problem of the Actor.</i>—The problem of the -actor has disquieted me the longest; I was uncertain -(and am sometimes so still) whether one could -not get at the dangerous conception of "artist"—a -conception hitherto treated with unpardonable -leniency—from this point of view. Falsity with a -good conscience; delight in dissimulation breaking -forth as power, pushing aside, overflowing, and -sometimes extinguishing the so-called "character"; -the inner longing to play a rôle, to assume a mask, -to put on an <i>appearance</i>; a surplus of capacity for -adaptations of every kind, which can no longer -gratify themselves in the service of the nearest -and narrowest utility: all that perhaps does not -pertain <i>solely</i> to the actor in himself?... Such an -instinct would develop most readily in families of -the lower class of the people, who have had to pass -their lives in absolute dependence, under shifting -pressure and constraint, who (to accommodate -themselves to their conditions, to adapt themselves -always to new circumstances) had again and again -to pass themselves off and represent themselves as -different persons,—thus having gradually qualified -themselves to adjust the mantle to <i>every</i> wind, -thereby almost becoming the mantle itself, as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>masters of the embodied and incarnated art of -eternally playing the game of hide and seek, which -one calls <i>mimicry</i> among the animals:—until at last -this ability, stored up from generation to generation, -has become domineering, irrational and -intractable, till as instinct it begins to command -the other instincts, and begets the actor, the -"artist" (the buffoon, the pantaloon, the Jack-Pudding, -the fool, and the clown in the first place, -also the classical type of servant, Gil Blas: for in -such types one has the precursors of the artist, -and often enough even of the "genius"). Also -under higher social conditions there grows under -similar pressure a similar species of men. Only the -histrionic instinct is there for the most part held -strictly in check by another instinct, for example, -among "diplomatists";—for the rest, I should think -that it would always be open to a good diplomatist -to become a good actor on the stage, provided -his dignity "allowed" it. As regards the <i>Jews</i>, -however, the adaptable people <i>par excellence</i>, we -should, in conformity to this line of thought, -expect to see among them a world-historical -institution from the very beginning, for the rearing -of actors, a genuine breeding-place for actors; and -in fact the question is very pertinent just now: -what good actor at present is <i>not</i>—a Jew? The -Jew also, as a born literary man, as the actual -ruler of the European press, exercises this power -on the basis of his histrionic capacity: for the -literary man is essentially an actor,—he plays -the part of "expert," of "specialist."—Finally -<i>women</i>. If we consider the whole history of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>women, are they not <i>obliged</i> first of all, and above -all to be actresses? If we listen to doctors who have -hypnotised women, or, finally, if we love them—and -let ourselves be "hypnotised" by them,—what -is always divulged thereby? That they "give -themselves airs," even when they—"give themselves."... -Woman is so artistic....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>362.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>My Belief in the Virilising of Europe.</i>—We owe -it to Napoleon (and not at all to the French -Revolution, which had in view the "fraternity" of -the nations, and the florid interchange of good -graces among people generally) that several warlike -centuries, which have not had their like in past -history, may now follow one another—in short, that -we have entered upon <i>the classical age of war</i>, war -at the same time scientific and popular, on the -grandest scale (as regards means, talents and -discipline), to which all coming millenniums will -look back with envy and awe as a work of perfection:—for -the national movement out of which -this martial glory springs, is only the counter-<i>choc</i> -against Napoleon, and would not have existed -without him. To him, consequently, one will one -day be able to attribute the fact that <i>man</i> in Europe -has again got the upper hand of the merchant and -the Philistine; perhaps even of "woman" also, -who has become pampered owing to Christianity -and the extravagant spirit of the eighteenth -century, and still more owing to "modern ideas." -Napoleon, who saw in modern ideas, and accordingly -in civilisation, something like a personal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>enemy, has by this hostility proved himself one of -the greatest continuators of the Renaissance: he -has brought to the surface a whole block of the -ancient character, the decisive block perhaps, the -block of granite. And who knows but that this -block of ancient character will in the end get the -upper hand of the national movement, and will -have to make itself in a <i>positive</i> sense the heir and -continuator of Napoleon:—who, as one knows, -wanted <i>one</i> Europe, which was to be <i>mistress of -the world</i>.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>363.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>How each Sex has its Prejudice about Love.</i>—Notwithstanding -all the concessions which I am -inclined to make to the monogamic prejudice, I -will never admit that we should speak of <i>equal</i> -rights in the love of man and woman: there are -no such equal rights. The reason is that man and -woman understand something different by the -term love,—and it belongs to the conditions of love -in both sexes that the one sex does <i>not</i> presuppose -the same feeling, the same conception of "love," in -the other sex. What woman understands by love -is clear enough: complete surrender (not merely -devotion) of soul and body, without any motive, -without any reservation, rather with shame and -terror at the thought of a devotion restricted by -clauses or associated with conditions. In this -absence of conditions her love is precisely a <i>faith</i>: -woman has no other.—Man, when he loves a -woman, <i>wants</i> precisely this love from her; he -is consequently, as regards himself, furthest removed -from the prerequisites of feminine love; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>granted, however, that there should also be men -to whom on their side the demand for complete -devotion is not unfamiliar,—well, they are really—not -men. A man who loves like a woman becomes -thereby a slave; a woman, however, who loves like -a woman becomes thereby a <i>more perfect</i> woman.... -The passion of woman in its unconditional -renunciation of its own rights presupposes in fact -that there does <i>not</i> exist on the other side an equal -<i>pathos</i>, an equal desire for renunciation: for if both -renounced themselves out of love, there would -result—well, I don't know what, perhaps a <i>horror -vacui</i>? Woman wants to be taken and accepted -as a possession, she wishes to be merged in the -conceptions of "possession" and "possessed"; -consequently she wants one who <i>takes</i>, who does -not offer and give himself away, but who reversely -is rather to be made richer in "himself"—by the -increase of power, happiness and faith which the -woman herself gives to him. Woman gives herself, -man takes her.—I do not think one will get -over this natural contrast by any social contract, -or with the very best will to do justice, however -desirable it may be to avoid bringing the severe, -frightful, enigmatical, and unmoral elements of this -antagonism constantly before our eyes. For love, -regarded as complete, great, and full, is nature, and -as nature, is to all eternity something "unmoral."—<i>Fidelity</i> -is accordingly included in woman's love, -it follows from the definition thereof; with man -fidelity <i>may</i> readily result in consequence of his -love, perhaps as gratitude or idiosyncrasy of taste, -and so-called elective affinity, but it does not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>belong to the <i>essence</i> of his love—and indeed so -little, that one might almost be entitled to speak -of a natural opposition between love and fidelity -in man, whose love is just a desire to possess, and -<i>not</i> a renunciation and giving away; the desire to -possess, however, comes to an end every time with -the possession.... As a matter of fact it is the -more subtle and jealous thirst for possession in the -man (who is rarely and tardily convinced of having -this "possession"), which makes his love continue; -in that case it is even possible that the love may -increase after the surrender,—he does not readily -own that a woman has nothing more to "surrender" -to him.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>364.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Anchorite Speaks.</i>—The art of associating -with men rests essentially on one's skilfulness -(which presupposes long exercise) in accepting a -repast, in taking a repast in the cuisine of which -one has no confidence. Provided one comes to the -table with the hunger of a wolf everything is easy -("the worst society gives thee <i>experience</i>"—as -Mephistopheles says); but one has not got this -wolf's-hunger when one needs it! Alas! how difficult -are our fellow-men to digest! First principle: -to stake one's courage as in a misfortune, to seize -boldly, to admire oneself at the same time, to take -one's repugnance between one's teeth, to cram down -one's disgust. Second principle: to "improve" one's -fellow-man, by praise for example, so that he may -begin to sweat out his self-complacency; or to seize -a tuft of his good or "interesting" qualities, and -pull at it till one gets his whole virtue out, and can -<span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>put him under the folds of it. Third principle: -self-hypnotism. To fix one's eye on the object -of one's intercourse, as on a glass knob, until, ceasing -to feel pleasure or pain thereat, one falls asleep -unobserved, becomes rigid, and acquires a fixed -pose: a household recipe used in married life and -in friendship, well tested and prized as indispensable, -but not yet scientifically formulated. Its -proper name is—patience.—</p> -<h3 class='c009'>365.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Anchorite Speaks once more.</i>—We also have -intercourse with "men," we also modestly put on -the clothes in which people know us (<i>as such</i>), -respect us and seek us; and we thereby mingle in -society, that is to say, among the disguised who -do not wish to be so called; we also do like all -prudent masqueraders, and courteously dismiss all -curiosity which has not reference merely to our -"clothes." There are however other modes and -artifices for "going about" among men and associating -with them: for example, as a ghost,—which -is very advisable when one wants to scare them, -and get rid of them easily. An example: a person -grasps at us, and is unable to seize us. That -frightens him. Or we enter by a closed door. Or -when the lights are extinguished. Or after we are -dead. The latter is the artifice of <i>posthumous</i> men -<i>par excellence</i>. ("What?" said such a one once impatiently, -"do you think we should delight in enduring -this strangeness, coldness, death-stillness -about us, all this subterranean, hidden, dim, undiscovered -solitude, which is called life with us, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>might just as well be called death, if we were not -conscious of what <i>will arise</i> out of us,—and that -only after our death shall we attain to <i>our</i> life and -become living, ah! very living! we posthumous -men!"—)</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>366.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>At the Sight of a Learned Book.</i>—We do not -belong to those who only get their thoughts from -books, or at the prompting of books,—it is our -custom to think in the open air, walking, leaping, -climbing, or dancing on lonesome mountains by -preference, or close to the sea, where even the paths -become thoughtful. Our first question concerning -the value of a book, a man, or a piece of music is: -Can it walk? or still better: Can it dance?... -We seldom read; we do not read the worse for that—oh, -how quickly do we divine how a person has -arrived at his thoughts:—whether sitting before an -ink-bottle with compressed belly and head bent -over the paper: oh, how quickly we are then done -with his book! The constipated bowels betray -themselves, one may wager on it, just as the atmosphere -of the room, the ceiling of the room, the -smallness of the room, betray themselves.—These -were my feelings as I was closing a straightforward, -learned book, thankful, very thankful, but also -relieved.... In the book of a learned man there is -almost always something oppressive and oppressed: -the "specialist" comes to light somewhere, his -ardour, his seriousness, his wrath, his over-estimation -of the nook in which he sits and spins, his hump—every -specialist has his hump. A learned book -also always mirrors a distorted soul: every trade -<span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>distorts. Look at our friends again with whom -we have spent our youth, after they have taken -possession of their science: alas! how the reverse -has always taken place! Alas! how they themselves -are now for ever occupied and possessed by -their science! Grown into their nook, crumpled into -unrecognisability, constrained, deprived of their -equilibrium, emaciated and angular everywhere, -perfectly round only in one place,—we are moved -and silent when we find them so. Every handicraft, -granting even that it has a golden floor,<a id='r13' /><a href='#f13' class='c011'><sup>[13]</sup></a> has -also a leaden ceiling above it, which presses and -presses on the soul, till it is pressed into a strange -and distorted shape. There is nothing to alter -here. We need not think that it is at all possible -to obviate this disfigurement by any educational -artifice whatever. Every kind of <i>perfection</i> is purchased -at a high price on earth, where everything -is perhaps purchased too dear; one is an expert -in one's department at the price of being also a -victim of one's department. But you want to have -it otherwise—"more reasonable," above all more -convenient—is it not so, my dear contemporaries? -Very well! But then you will also immediately -get something different: that is to say, instead -of the craftsman and expert, the literary man, the -versatile, "many-sided" littérateur, who to be sure -lacks the hump—not taking account of the hump -or bow which he makes before you as the shopman -of the intellect and the "porter" of culture—, the -littérateur, who <i>is</i> really nothing, but "represents" -<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>almost everything: he plays and "represents" the -expert, he also takes it upon himself in all modesty -<i>to see that he is</i> paid, honoured and celebrated in -this position.—No, my learned friends! I bless -you even on account of your humps! And also -because like me you despise the littérateurs and -parasites of culture! And because you do not -know how to make merchandise of your intellect! -And have so many opinions which cannot be expressed -in money value! And because you do not -represent anything which you <i>are</i> not! Because -your sole desire is to become masters of your craft; -because you reverence every kind of mastership and -ability, and repudiate with the most relentless -scorn everything of a make-believe, half-genuine, -dressed-up, virtuoso, demagogic, histrionic nature -in <i>litteris et artibus</i>—all that which does not convince -you by its absolute <i>genuineness</i> of discipline -and preparatory training, or cannot stand your -test! (Even genius does not help a person to get -over such a defect, however well it may be able -to deceive with regard to it: one understands this -if one has once looked closely at our most gifted -painters and musicians,—who almost without exception, -can artificially and supplementarily appropriate -to themselves (by means of artful inventions -of style, make-shifts, and even principles), the -<i>appearance</i> of that genuineness, that solidity of -training and culture; to be sure, without thereby -deceiving themselves, without thereby imposing -perpetual silence on their bad consciences. For -you know well enough that all great modern artists -suffer from bad consciences?...)</p> -<h3 class='c009'>367.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>How one has to Distinguish first of all in -Works of Art.</i>—Everything that is thought, versified, -painted and composed, yea, even built and -moulded, belongs either to monologic art, or to -art before witnesses. Under the latter there is also -to be included the apparently monologic art which -involves the belief in God, the whole lyric of prayer; -because for a pious man there is no solitude,—we, -the godless, have been the first to devise this invention. -I know of no profounder distinction in all the -perspective of the artist than this: Whether he -looks at his growing work of art (at "himself—") -with the eye of the witness; or whether he "has -forgotten the world," as is the essential thing in all -monologic art,——it rests <i>on forgetting</i>, it is the music -of forgetting.</p> - -<p><span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span></p> - -<h3 class='c009'>368.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Cynic Speaks.</i>—My objections to Wagner's -music are physiological objections. Why should I -therefore begin by disguising them under æsthetic -formulæ? My "point" is that I can no longer -breathe freely when this music begins to operate -on me; my <i>foot</i> immediately becomes indignant -at it and rebels: for what it needs is time, dance -and march; it demands first of all from music the -ecstasies which are in <i>good</i> walking, striding, leaping -and dancing. But do not my stomach, my -heart, my blood and my bowels also protest? -Do I not become hoarse unawares under its -influence? And then I ask myself what it is -really that my body <i>wants</i> from music generally. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>I believe it wants to have <i>relief</i>: so that all animal -functions should be accelerated by means of light, -bold, unfettered, self-assured rhythms; so that -brazen, leaden life should be gilded by means of -golden, good, tender harmonies. My melancholy -would fain rest its head in the hiding-places and -abysses of <i>perfection</i>: for this reason I need music. -What do I care for the drama! What do I care -for the spasms of its moral ecstasies, in which the -"people" have their satisfaction! What do I -care for the whole pantomimic hocus-pocus of the -actor!... It will now be divined that I am -essentially anti-theatrical at heart,—but Wagner on -the contrary, was essentially a man of the stage and -an actor, the most enthusiastic mummer-worshipper -that has ever existed, even among musicians!... -And let it be said in passing that if Wagner's -theory was that "drama is the object, and music is -only the means to it,"—his <i>practice</i> on the contrary -from beginning to end has been to the effect that -"attitude is the object, drama and even music can -never be anything else but means to <i>that</i>." Music -as a means of elucidating, strengthening and intensifying -dramatic poses and the actor's appeal to the -senses, and Wagnerian drama only an opportunity -for a number of dramatic attitudes! Wagner -possessed, along with all other instincts, the dictatorial -instinct of a great actor in all and everything, -and as has been said, also as a musician.—I once -made this clear with some trouble to a thorough-going -Wagnerian, and I had reasons for adding:—"Do -be a little more honest with yourself: we are -not now in the theatre. In the theatre we are only -<span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>honest in the mass; as individuals we lie, we belie -even ourselves. We leave ourselves at home when -we go to the theatre; we there renounce the right -to our own tongue and choice, to our taste, and -even to our courage as we possess it and practise -it within our own four walls in relation to God and -man. No one takes his finest taste in art into the -theatre with him, not even the artist who works -for the theatre: there one is people, public, -herd, woman, Pharisee, voting animal, democrat, -neighbour, and fellow-creature; there even the -most personal conscience succumbs to the levelling -charm of the 'great multitude'; there stupidity -operates as wantonness and contagion; there the -neighbour rules, there one <i>becomes</i> a neighbour...." -(I have forgotten to mention what my enlightened -Wagnerian answered to my physiological objections: -"So the fact is that you are really not -healthy enough for our music?"—)</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>369.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Juxtapositions in us.</i>—Must we not acknowledge -to ourselves, we artists, that there is a strange -discrepancy in us; that on the one hand our taste, -and on the other hand our creative power, keep -apart in an extraordinary manner, continue apart, -and have a separate growth;—I mean to say that -they have entirely different gradations and <i>tempi</i> -of age, youth, maturity, mellowness and rottenness? -So that, for example, a musician could all -his life create things which <i>contradict</i> all that -his ear and heart, spoilt as they are for listening, -prize, relish and prefer:—he would not even require -<span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>to be aware of the contradiction! As an -almost painfully regular experience shows, a -person's taste can easily outgrow the taste of -his power, even without the latter being thereby -paralysed or checked in its productivity. The -reverse, however, can also to some extent take -place,—and it is to this especially that I should -like to direct the attention of artists. A constant -producer, a man who is a "mother" in the grand -sense of the term, one who no longer knows or -hears of anything except pregnancies and child-beds -of his spirit, who has no time at all to reflect -and make comparisons with regard to himself and -his work, who is also no longer inclined to exercise -his taste, but simply forgets it, letting it take its -chance of standing, lying or falling,—perhaps such -a man at last produces works <i>on which he is then -not at all fit to pass a judgment</i>: so that he -speaks and thinks foolishly about them and about -himself. This seems to me almost the normal -condition with fruitful artists,—nobody knows a -child worse than its parents—and the rule applies -even (to take an immense example) to the entire -Greek world of poetry and art, which was never -"conscious" of what it had done....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>370.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>What is Romanticism?</i>—It will be remembered -perhaps, at least among my friends, that at first -I assailed the modern world with some gross -errors and exaggerations, but at any rate with <i>hope</i> -in my heart. I recognised—who knows from what -personal experiences?—the philosophical pessimism -<span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span>of the nineteenth century as the symptom of a -higher power of thought, a more daring courage -and a more triumphant <i>plenitude</i> of life than had -been characteristic of the eighteenth century, the -age of Hume, Kant, Condillac, and the sensualists: -so that the tragic view of things seemed to me the -peculiar <i>luxury</i> of our culture, its most precious, -noble, and dangerous mode of prodigality; but -nevertheless, in view of its overflowing wealth, a -<i>justifiable</i> luxury. In the same way I interpreted -for myself German music as the expression of a -Dionysian power in the German soul: I thought -I heard in it the earthquake by means of which a -primeval force that had been imprisoned for ages -was finally finding vent—indifferent as to whether -all that usually calls itself culture was thereby -made to totter. It is obvious that I then misunderstood -what constitutes the veritable character -both of philosophical pessimism and of German -music,—namely, their <i>Romanticism</i>. What is -Romanticism? Every art and every philosophy -may be regarded as a healing and helping appliance -in the service of growing, struggling life: -they always presuppose suffering and sufferers. -But there are two kinds of sufferers: on the one -hand those that suffer from <i>overflowing vitality</i>, who -need Dionysian art, and require a tragic view and -insight into life; and on the other hand those who -suffer from <i>reduced vitality</i>, who seek repose, quietness, -calm seas, and deliverance from themselves -through art or knowledge, or else intoxication, -spasm, bewilderment and madness. All Romanticism -in art and knowledge responds to the twofold -<span class='pageno' id='Page_333'>333</span>craving of the <i>latter</i>; to them Schopenhauer as well -as Wagner responded (and responds),—to name -those most celebrated and decided romanticists who -were then <i>misunderstood</i> by me (<i>not</i> however to their -disadvantage, as may be reasonably conceded to -me). The being richest in overflowing vitality, -the Dionysian God and man, may not only allow -himself the spectacle of the horrible and questionable, -but even the fearful deed itself, and all the -luxury of destruction, disorganisation and negation. -With him evil, senselessness and ugliness seem as -it were licensed, in consequence of the overflowing -plenitude of procreative, fructifying power, which -can convert every desert into a luxuriant orchard. -Conversely, the greatest sufferer, the man poorest -in vitality, would have most need of mildness, peace -and kindliness in thought and action: he would -need, if possible, a God who is specially the God -of the sick, a "Saviour"; similarly he would have -need of logic, the abstract intelligibility of existence—for -logic soothes and gives confidence;—in -short he would need a certain warm, fear-dispelling -narrowness and imprisonment within optimistic -horizons. In this manner I gradually began to -understand Epicurus, the opposite of a Dionysian -pessimist;—in a similar manner also the "Christian," -who in fact is only a type of Epicurean, and like -him essentially a romanticist:—and my vision has -always become keener in tracing that most difficult -and insidious of all forms of <i>retrospective -inference</i>, which most mistakes have been made—the -inference from the work to its author, from -the deed to its doer, from the ideal to him who -<span class='pageno' id='Page_334'>334</span><i>needs</i> it, from every mode of thinking and valuing -to the imperative <i>want</i> behind it.—In regard to all -æsthetic values I now avail myself of this radical -distinction: I ask in every single case, "Has hunger -or superfluity become creative here?" At the outset -another distinction might seem to recommend -itself more—it is far more conspicuous,—namely, -to have in view whether the desire for rigidity, for -perpetuation, for <i>being</i> is the cause of the creating, -or the desire for destruction, for change, for the -new, for the future—for <i>becoming</i>. But when looked -at more carefully, both these kinds of desire prove -themselves ambiguous, and are explicable precisely -according to the before-mentioned and, as it seems -to me, rightly preferred scheme. The desire for -<i>destruction</i>, change and becoming, may be the -expression of overflowing power, pregnant with -futurity (my <i>terminus</i> for this is of course the word -"Dionysian"); but it may also be the hatred of the -ill-constituted, destitute and unfortunate, which -destroys, and <i>must</i> destroy, because the enduring, -yea, all that endures, in fact all being, excites and -provokes it. To understand this emotion we have -but to look closely at our anarchists. The will -to <i>perpetuation</i> requires equally a double interpretation. -It may on the one hand proceed from -gratitude and love:—art of this origin will always -be an art of apotheosis, perhaps dithyrambic, as -with Rubens, mocking divinely, as with Hafiz, or -clear and kind-hearted as with Goethe, and spreading -a Homeric brightness and glory over everything -(in this case I speak of <i>Apollonian</i> art). It -may also, however, be the tyrannical will of a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_335'>335</span>sorely-suffering, struggling or tortured being, who -would like to stamp his most personal, individual -and narrow characteristics, the very idiosyncrasy -of his suffering, as an obligatory law and -constraint on others; who, as it were, takes -revenge on all things, in that he imprints, enforces -and brands <i>his</i> image, the image of <i>his</i> torture, -upon them. The latter is <i>romantic pessimism</i> in -its most extreme form, whether it be as Schopenhauerian -will-philosophy, or as Wagnerian music:—romantic -pessimism, the last <i>great</i> event in the -destiny of our civilisation. (That there <i>may be</i> -quite a different kind of pessimism, a classical -pessimism—this presentiment and vision belongs -to me, as something inseparable from me, as my -<i>proprium</i> and <i>ipsissimum</i>; only that the word -"classical" is repugnant to my ears, it has become -far too worn; too indefinite and indistinguishable. -I call that pessimism of the future,—for it -is coming! I see it coming!—<i>Dionysian</i> pessimism.)</p> - -<h3 class='c009'>371.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>We Unintelligible Ones.</i>—Have we ever complained -among ourselves of being misunderstood, -misjudged, and confounded with others; of being -calumniated, misheard, and not heard? That is just -our lot—alas, for a long time yet! say, to be modest, -until 1901—, it is also our distinction; we should not -have sufficient respect for ourselves if we wished -it otherwise. People confound us with others—the -reason of it is that we ourselves grow, we -change continually, we cast off old bark, we still -slough every spring, we always become younger, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_336'>336</span>higher, stronger, as men of the future, we thrust -our roots always more powerfully into the deep—into -evil—, while at the same time we embrace -the heavens ever more lovingly, more extensively, -and suck in their light ever more eagerly with -all our branches and leaves. We grow like trees—that -is difficult to understand, like all life!—not -in one place, but everywhere, not in one direction -only, but upwards and outwards, as well as inwards -and downwards. At the same time our force -shoots forth in stem, branches, and roots; we are -really no longer free to do anything separately, or -to <i>be</i> anything separately.... Such is our lot, as -we have said: we grow in <i>height</i>; and even should -it be our calamity—for we dwell ever closer to -the lightning!—well, we honour it none the less -on that account; it is that which we do not wish -to share with others, which we do not wish to -bestow upon others, the fate of all elevation, <i>our</i> -fate....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>372.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Why we are not Idealists.</i>—Formerly philosophers -were afraid of the senses: have we, perhaps, been -far too forgetful of this fear? We are at present -all of us sensualists, we representatives of the -present and of the future in philosophy,—<i>not</i> -according to theory, however, but in <i>praxis</i>, in -practice.... Those former philosophers, on the -contrary, thought that the senses lured them out -of <i>their</i> world, the cold realm of "ideas," to a dangerous -southern island, where they were afraid that -their philosopher-virtues would melt away like snow -in the sun. "Wax in the ears," was then almost a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_337'>337</span>condition of philosophising; a genuine philosopher -no longer listened to life, in so far as life is music, -he <i>denied</i> the music of life—it is an old philosophical -superstition that all music is Sirens' music.—Now -we should be inclined at the present day to -judge precisely in the opposite manner (which in -itself might be just as false), and to regard <i>ideas</i>, -with their cold, anæmic appearance, and not even -in spite of this appearance, as worse seducers -than the senses. They have always lived on the -"blood" of the philosopher, they always consumed -his senses, and indeed, if you will believe me, -his "heart" as well. Those old philosophers were -heartless: philosophising was always a species of -vampirism. At the sight of such figures even as -Spinoza, do you not feel a profoundly enigmatical -and disquieting sort of impression? Do you -not see the drama which is here performed, the -constantly <i>increasing pallor</i>—, the spiritualisation -always more ideally displayed? Do you not -imagine some long-concealed blood-sucker in the -background, which makes its beginning with the -senses, and in the end retains or leaves behind -nothing but bones and their rattling?—I mean -categories, formulæ, and <i>words</i> (for you will pardon -me in saying that what <i>remains</i> of Spinoza, <i>amor -intellectualis dei</i>, is rattling and nothing more! -What is <i>amor</i>, what is <i>deus</i>, when they have lost -every drop of blood?...) <i>In summa</i>: all philosophical -idealism has hitherto been something like -a disease, where it has not been, as in the case of -Plato, the prudence of superabundant and dangerous -healthfulness, the fear of <i>overpowerful</i> senses, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_338'>338</span>and the wisdom of a wise Socratic.—Perhaps, is it -the case that we moderns are merely not sufficiently -sound <i>to require</i> Plato's idealism? And we do not -fear the senses because——.</p> -<h3 class='c009'>373.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>"Science" as Prejudice.</i>—It follows from the -laws of class distinction that the learned, in so -far as they belong to the intellectual middle-class, -are debarred from getting even a sight of the really -<i>great</i> problems and notes of interrogation. Besides, -their courage, and similarly their outlook, does not -reach so far,—and above all, their need, which -makes them investigators, their innate anticipation -and desire that things should be constituted <i>in such -and such a way</i>, their fears and hopes are too soon -quieted and set at rest. For example, that which -makes the pedantic Englishman, Herbert Spencer, -so enthusiastic in his way, and impels him to -draw a line of hope, a horizon of desirability, the -final reconciliation of "egoism and altruism" of -which he dreams,—that almost causes nausea to -people like us:—a humanity with such Spencerian -perspectives as ultimate perspectives would seem -to us deserving of contempt, of extermination! -But the <i>fact</i> that something has to be taken by -him as his highest hope, which is regarded, and -may well be regarded, by others merely as a -distasteful possibility, is a note of interrogation -which Spencer could not have foreseen.... It is -just the same with the belief with which at present -so many materialistic natural-scientists are content, -the belief in a world which is supposed to have its -<span class='pageno' id='Page_339'>339</span>equivalent and measure in human thinking and -human valuations, a "world of truth" at which we -might be able ultimately to arrive with the help -of our insignificant, four-cornered human reason! -What? do we actually wish to have existence -debased in that fashion to a ready-reckoner -exercise and calculation for stay-at-home mathematicians? -We should not, above all, seek to -divest existence of its <i>ambiguous</i> character: <i>good</i> -taste forbids it, gentlemen, the taste of reverence -for everything that goes beyond your horizon! -That a world-interpretation is alone right by which -<i>you</i> maintain your position, by which investigation -and work can go on scientifically in <i>your</i> sense -(you really mean <i>mechanically</i>?), an interpretation -which acknowledges numbering, calculating, weighing, -seeing and handling, and nothing more—such -an idea is a piece of grossness and naïvety, provided -it is not lunacy and idiocy. Would the -reverse not be quite probable, that the most superficial -and external characters of existence—its most -apparent quality, its outside, its embodiment—should -let themselves be apprehended first? perhaps -alone allow themselves to be apprehended? -A "scientific" interpretation of the world as you -understand it might consequently still be one of -the <i>stupidest</i> that is to say, the most destitute -of significance, of all possible world-interpretations:—I -say this in confidence to my friends the -Mechanicians, who to-day like to hobnob with -philosophers, and absolutely believe that mechanics -is the teaching of the first and last laws upon which, -as upon a ground-floor, all existence must be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_340'>340</span>built. But an essentially mechanical world would -be an essentially <i>meaningless</i> world! Supposing we -valued the <i>worth</i> of a music with reference to how -much it could be counted, calculated, or formulated—how -absurd such a "scientific" estimate of music -would be! What would one have apprehended, -understood, or discerned in it! Nothing, absolutely -nothing of what is really "music" in it!...</p> -<h3 class='c009'>374.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our new "Infinite."</i>—How far the perspective -character of existence extends, or whether it have -any other character at all, whether an existence -without explanation, without "sense" does not -just become "nonsense," whether, on the other -hand, all existence is not essentially an <i>explaining</i> -existence—these questions, as is right and proper, -cannot be determined even by the most diligent -and severely conscientious analysis and self-examination -of the intellect, because in this -analysis the human intellect cannot avoid seeing -itself in its perspective forms, and <i>only</i> in them. -We cannot see round our corner: it is hopeless -curiosity to want to know what other modes of -intellect and perspective there <i>might</i> be: for -example, whether any kind of being could perceive -time backwards, or alternately forwards and backwards -(by which another direction of life and another -conception of cause and effect would be given). -But I think that we are to-day at least far from -the ludicrous immodesty of decreeing from our -nook that there <i>can</i> only be legitimate perspectives -from that nook. The world, on the contrary, has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_341'>341</span>once more become "infinite" to us: in so far we -cannot dismiss the possibility that it <i>contains -infinite interpretations</i>. Once more the great horror -seizes us—but who would desire forthwith to deify -once more <i>this</i> monster of an unknown world in -the old fashion? And perhaps worship <i>the</i> unknown -thing as <i>the</i> "unknown person" in future? Ah! -there are too many <i>ungodly</i> possibilities of interpretation -comprised in this unknown, too much -devilment, stupidity and folly of interpretation.—also -our own human, all too human interpretation -itself, which we know....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>375.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Why we Seem to be Epicureans.</i>—We are cautious, -we modern men, with regard to final convictions, -our distrust lies in wait for the enchantments and -tricks of conscience involved in every strong -belief, in every absolute Yea and Nay: how is this -explained? Perhaps one may see in it a good -deal of the caution of the "burnt child," of the -disillusioned idealist; but one may also see in it -another and better element, the joyful curiosity -of a former lingerer in the corner, who has -been brought to despair by his nook, and now -luxuriates and revels in its antithesis, in the unbounded, -in the "open air in itself." Thus there -is developed an almost Epicurean inclination for -knowledge, which does not readily lose sight of -the questionable character of things; likewise -also a repugnance to pompous moral phrases and -attitudes, a taste that repudiates all coarse, square -contrasts, and is proudly conscious of its habitual -<span class='pageno' id='Page_342'>342</span>reserve. For <i>this too</i> constitutes our pride, this -easy tightening of the reins in our headlong impulse -after certainty, this self-control of the rider in -his most furious riding: for now, as of old we have -mad, fiery steeds under us, and if we delay, it is -certainly least of all the danger which causes us -to delay....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>376.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Our Slow Periods.</i>—It is thus that artists feel, -and all men of "works," the maternal species of -men: they always believe at every chapter of their -life—a work always makes a chapter—that they -have already reached the goal itself; they would -always patiently accept death with the feeling: -"we are ripe for it." This is not the expression -of exhaustion,—but rather that of a certain -autumnal sunniness and mildness, which the work -itself, the maturing of the work, always leaves -behind in its originator. Then the <i>tempo</i> of life -slows down—turns thick and flows with honey—into -long pauses, into the belief in <i>the</i> long pause....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>377.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>We Homeless Ones.</i>—Among the Europeans of -to-day there are not lacking those who may call -themselves homeless ones in a way which is at once -a distinction and an honour; it is by them that my -secret wisdom and <i>gaya scienza</i> is expressly to be -laid to heart. For their lot is hard, their hope uncertain; -it is a clever feat to devise consolation for -them. But what good does it do! We children of -the future, how <i>could</i> we be at home in the present? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_343'>343</span>We are unfavourable to all ideals which could -make us feel at home in this frail, broken-down, -transition period; and as regards the "realities" -thereof, we do not believe in their <i>endurance</i>. The -ice which still carries us has become very thin: the -thawing wind blows; we ourselves, the homeless -ones, are an influence that breaks the ice, and the -other all too thin "realities."... We "preserve" -nothing, nor would we return to any past age; we -are not at all "liberal," we do not labour for "progress," -we do not need first to stop our ears to -the song of the market-place and the sirens of -the future—their song of "equal rights," "free -society," "no longer either lords or slaves," does -not allure us! We do not by any means think it -desirable that the kingdom of righteousness and -peace should be established on earth (because -under any circumstances it would be the -kingdom of the profoundest mediocrity and -Chinaism); we rejoice in all men, who, like ourselves, -love danger, war and adventure, who do -not make compromises, nor let themselves -be captured, conciliated and stunted; we count -ourselves among the conquerors; we ponder over -the need of a new order of things, even of a new -slavery—for every strengthening and elevation of the -type "man" also involves a new form of slavery. -Is it not obvious that with all this we must feel ill -at ease in an age which claims the honour of being -the most humane, gentle and just that the sun has -ever seen? What a pity that at the mere mention -of these fine words, the thoughts at the back -of our minds are all the more unpleasant, that we -<span class='pageno' id='Page_344'>344</span>see therein only the expression—or the masquerade—of -profound weakening, exhaustion, age, and declining -power! What can it matter to us with what -kind of tinsel an invalid decks out his weakness? -He may parade it as his <i>virtue</i>; there is no doubt -whatever that weakness makes people gentle, alas, -so gentle, so just, so inoffensive, so "humane"!—The -"religion of pity," to which people would like -to persuade us—yes, we know sufficiently well the -hysterical little men and women who need this -religion at present as a cloak and adornment! -We are no humanitarians; we should not dare to -speak of our "love of mankind"; for that, a person -of our stamp is not enough of an actor! Or not -sufficiently Saint-Simonist, not sufficiently French. -A person must have been affected with a <i>Gallic</i> -excess of erotic susceptibility and amorous impatience -even to approach mankind honourably -with his lewdness.... Mankind! Was there -ever a more hideous old woman among all old -women (unless perhaps it were "the Truth": a -question for philosophers)? No, we do not love -Mankind! On the other hand, however, we are not -nearly "German" enough (in the sense in which the -word "German" is current at present) to advocate -nationalism and race-hatred, or take delight in the -national heart-itch and blood-poisoning, on account -of which the nations of Europe are at present -bounded off and secluded from one another as if -by quarantines. We are too unprejudiced for that, -too perverse, too fastidious; also too well-informed, -and too much "travelled." We prefer much rather -to live on mountains, apart and "out of season," in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_345'>345</span>past or coming centuries, in order merely to spare -ourselves the silent rage to which we know we -should be condemned as witnesses of a system of -politics which makes the German nation barren -by making it vain, and which is a <i>petty</i> -system besides:—will it not be necessary for -this system to plant itself between two mortal -hatreds, lest its own creation should immediately -collapse? Will it not <i>be obliged</i> to desire -the perpetuation of the petty-state system of -Europe?... We homeless ones are too diverse -and mixed in race and descent as "modern -men," and are consequently little tempted to -participate in the falsified racial self-admiration -and lewdness which at present display themselves -in Germany, as signs of German sentiment, and -which strike one as doubly false and unbecoming -in the people with the "historical sense." We are, -in a word—and it shall be our word of honour!—<i>good -Europeans</i>, the heirs of Europe, the rich, over-wealthy -heirs, also the too deeply pledged heirs -of millenniums of European thought. As such, -we have also outgrown Christianity, and are -disinclined to it—and just because we have -grown <i>out of</i> it, because our forefathers were -Christians uncompromising in their Christian integrity, -who willingly sacrificed possessions and -positions, blood and country, for the sake of their -belief. We—do the same. For what, then? For -our unbelief? For all sorts of unbelief? Nay, you -know better than that, my friends! The hidden -<i>Yea</i> in you is stronger than all the Nays and -Perhapses, of which you and your age are sick; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_346'>346</span>and when you are obliged to put out to sea, you -emigrants, it is—once more a <i>faith</i> which urges -you thereto!...</p> -<h3 class='c009'>378.</h3> - -<p class='c010'>"<i>And once more Grow Clear.</i>"—We, the generous -and rich in spirit, who stand at the sides of the -streets like open fountains and would hinder no -one from drinking from us: we do not know, -alas! how to defend ourselves when we should -like to do so; we have no means of preventing -ourselves being made <i>turbid</i> and dark,—we have -no means of preventing the age in which we live -casting its "up-to-date rubbish" into us, nor of -hindering filthy birds throwing their excrement, -the boys their trash, and fatigued resting travellers -their misery, great and small, into us. But we -do as we have always done: we take whatever -is cast into us down into our depths—for we -are deep, we do not forget—<i>and once more grow -clear</i>....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>379.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Fool's Interruption.</i>—It is not a misanthrope -who has written this book: the hatred of men costs -too dear to-day. To hate as they formerly hated -<i>man</i>, in the fashion of Timon, completely, without -qualification, with all the heart, from the pure <i>love</i> -of hatred—for that purpose one would have to -renounce contempt:—and how much refined -pleasure, how much patience, how much benevolence -even, do we owe to contempt! Moreover -we are thereby the "elect of God": refined contempt -is our taste and privilege, our art, our virtue -<span class='pageno' id='Page_347'>347</span>perhaps, we, the most modern amongst the -moderns!... Hatred, on the contrary, makes -equal, it puts men face to face, in hatred there is -honour; finally, in hatred there is <i>fear</i>, quite a -large amount of fear. We fearless ones, however, -we, the most intellectual men of the period, -know our advantage well enough to live without -fear as the most intellectual persons of this age. -People will not easily behead us, shut us up, -or banish us; they will not even ban or burn -our books. The age loves intellect, it loves us, -and needs us, even when we have to give it to -understand that we are artists in despising; that -all intercourse with men is something of a horror -to us; that with all our gentleness, patience, -humanity and courteousness, we cannot persuade -our nose to abandon its prejudice against the -proximity of man; that we love nature the more, -the less humanly things are done by her, and -that we love art <i>when</i> it is the flight of the artist -from man, or the raillery of the artist at man, or the -raillery of the artist at himself....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>380.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>"The Wanderer" Speaks.</i>—In order for once to -get a glimpse of our European morality from a -distance, in order to compare it with other earlier -or future moralities, one must do as the traveller -who wants to know the height of the towers of -a city: for that purpose he <i>leaves</i> the city. -"Thoughts concerning moral prejudices," if they -are not to be prejudices concerning prejudices, -presuppose a position <i>outside of</i> morality, some -<span class='pageno' id='Page_348'>348</span>sort of world beyond good and evil, to which -one must ascend, climb, or fly—and in the given -case at any rate, a position beyond <i>our</i> good and -evil, an emancipation from all "Europe," understood -as a sum of inviolable valuations which have -become part and parcel of our flesh and blood. -That one <i>wants</i> in fact to get outside, or aloft, -is perhaps a sort of madness, a peculiarly unreasonable -"thou must"—for even we thinkers -have our idiosyncrasies of "unfree will"—: the -question is whether one <i>can</i> really get there. That -may depend on manifold conditions: in the main -it is a question of how light or how heavy we -are, the problem of our "specific gravity." One -must be <i>very light</i> in order to impel one's will to -knowledge to such a distance, and as it were beyond -one's age, in order to create eyes for oneself for the -survey of millenniums, and a pure heaven in these -eyes besides! One must have freed oneself from -many things by which we Europeans of to-day are -oppressed, hindered, held down, and made heavy. -The man of such a "Beyond," who wants to get -even in sight of the highest standards of worth of -his age, must first of all "surmount" this age in himself—it -is the test of his power—and consequently -not only his age, but also his past aversion and -opposition <i>to</i> his age, his suffering <i>caused by</i> his -age, his unseasonableness, his Romanticism....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>381.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>The Question of Intelligibility.</i>—One not only -wants to be understood when one writes, but also—quite -as certainly—<i>not</i> to be understood. It is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_349'>349</span>by no means an objection to a book when someone -finds it unintelligible: perhaps this might just have -been the intention of its author,—perhaps he did -not <i>want</i> to be understood by "anyone." A -distinguished intellect and taste, when it wants to -communicate its thoughts, always selects its hearers; -by selecting them, it at the same time closes its -barriers against "the others." It is there that all -the more refined laws of style have their origin: -they at the same time keep off, they create distance, -they prevent "access" (intelligibility, as we have -said,)—while they open the ears of those who -are acoustically related to them. And to say it -between ourselves and with reference to my own -case,—I do not desire that either my ignorance, or -the vivacity of my temperament, should prevent me -being understood by <i>you</i>, my friends: I certainly -do not desire that my vivacity should have that -effect, however much it may impel me to arrive -quickly at an object, in order to arrive at it at all. -For I think it is best to do with profound problems -as with a cold bath—quickly in, quickly out. That -one does not thereby get into the depths, that one -does not get deep enough <i>down</i>—is a superstition -of the hydrophobic, the enemies of cold water; they -speak without experience. Oh! the great cold -makes one quick!—And let me ask by the way: -Is it a fact that a thing has been misunderstood -and unrecognised when it has only been touched -upon in passing, glanced at, flashed at? Must -one absolutely sit upon it in the first place? -Must one have brooded on it as on an egg? <i>Diu -noctuque incubando</i>, as Newton said of himself? At -<span class='pageno' id='Page_350'>350</span>least there are truths of a peculiar shyness and -ticklishness which one can only get hold of suddenly, -and in no other way,—which one must either <i>take -by surprise</i>, or leave alone.... Finally, my brevity -has still another value: on those questions which -pre-occupy me, I must say a great deal briefly, in -order that it may be heard yet more briefly. For -as immoralist, one has to take care lest one ruins -innocence, I mean the asses and old maids of both -sexes, who get nothing from life but their innocence; -moreover my writings are meant to fill -them with enthusiasm, to elevate them, to encourage -them in virtue. I should be at a loss to know of -anything more amusing than to see enthusiastic -old asses and maids moved by the sweet feelings -of virtue: and "that have I seen"—spake Zarathustra. -So much with respect to brevity; the -matter stands worse as regards my ignorance, of -which I make no secret to myself. There are hours -in which I am ashamed of it; to be sure there are -likewise hours in which I am ashamed of this -shame. Perhaps we philosophers, all of us, are -badly placed at present with regard to knowledge: -science is growing, the most learned of us are on -the point of discovering that we know too little. -But it would be worse still if it were otherwise,—if -we knew too much; our duty is and remains, -first of all, not to get into confusion about -ourselves. We <i>are</i> different from the learned; -although it cannot be denied that amongst other -things we are also learned. We have different -needs, a different growth, a different digestion: we -need more, we need also less. There is no formula -<span class='pageno' id='Page_351'>351</span>as to how much an intellect needs for its nourishment; -if, however, its taste be in the direction of -independence, rapid coming and going, travelling, -and perhaps adventure for which only the swiftest -are qualified, it prefers rather to live free on poor -fare, than to be unfree and plethoric. Not fat, but -the greatest suppleness and power is what a good -dancer wishes from his nourishment,—and I know -not what the spirit of a philosopher would like -better than to be a good dancer. For the dance -is his ideal, and also his art, in the end likewise his -sole piety, his "divine service."...</p> -<h3 class='c009'>382.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Great Healthiness.</i>—We, the new, the nameless, -the hard-to-understand, we firstlings of a yet -untried future—we require for a new end also a -new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, -sharper, tougher, bolder and merrier than any -healthiness hitherto. He whose soul longs to experience -the whole range of hitherto recognised -values and desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all -the coasts of this ideal "Mediterranean Sea," who, -from the adventures of his most personal experience, -wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and -discoverer of the ideal—as likewise how it is with -the artist, the saint, the legislator, the sage, the -scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the godly -Nonconformist of the old style:—requires one -thing above all for that purpose, <i>great healthiness</i>—such -healthiness as one not only possesses, but -also constantly acquires and must acquire, because -one continually sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice -<span class='pageno' id='Page_352'>352</span>it!—And now, after having been long on the -way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the ideal, who -are more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often -enough shipwrecked and brought to grief, nevertheless, -as said above, healthier than people would -like to admit, dangerously healthy, always healthy -again,—it would seem, as if in recompense for it -all, that we have a still undiscovered country before -us, the boundaries of which no one has yet seen, -a beyond to all countries and corners of the -ideal known hitherto, a world so over-rich in the -beautiful, the strange, the questionable, the frightful, -and the divine, that our curiosity as well as our -thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand—alas! -that nothing will now any longer satisfy us! -How could we still be content with <i>the man of -the present day</i> after such peeps, and with such a -craving in our conscience and consciousness? -What a pity; but it is unavoidable that we should -look on the worthiest aims and hopes of the man -of the present day with ill-concealed amusement, -and perhaps should no longer look at them. -Another ideal runs on before us, a strange, tempting -ideal, full of danger, to which we should not like -to persuade any one, because we do not so readily -acknowledge any one's <i>right thereto</i>: the ideal -of a spirit who plays naïvely (that is to say -involuntarily and from overflowing abundance and -power) with everything that has hitherto been -called holy, good, inviolable, divine; to whom the -loftiest conception which the people have reasonably -made their measure of value, would already -imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at least relaxation, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_353'>353</span>blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal -of a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, -which may often enough appear <i>inhuman</i>, for -example, when put by the side of all past seriousness -on earth, and in comparison with all past -solemnities in bearing, word, tone, look, morality -and pursuit, as their truest involuntary parody,— -but with which, nevertheless, perhaps <i>the great -seriousness</i> only commences, the proper interrogation -mark is set up, the fate of the soul changes, -the hour-hand moves, and tragedy <i>begins</i>....</p> -<h3 class='c009'>383.</h3> - -<p class='c010'><i>Epilogue.</i>—But while I slowly, slowly finish the -painting of this sombre interrogation-mark, and am -still inclined to remind my readers of the virtues of -right reading—oh, what forgotten and unknown -virtues—it comes to pass that the wickedest, -merriest, gnome-like laughter resounds around me: -the spirits of my book themselves pounce upon me, -pull me by the ears, and call me to order. "We -cannot endure it any longer," they shout to me, -"away, away with this raven-black music. Is it -not clear morning round about us? And green, soft -ground and turf, the domain of the dance? Was -there ever a better hour in which to be joyful? -Who will sing us a song, a morning song, so sunny, -so light and so fledged that it will <i>not</i> scare the -tantrums,—but will rather invite them to take part -in the singing and dancing. And better a simple -rustic bagpipe than such weird sounds, such toad-croakings, -grave-voices and marmot-pipings, with -which you have hitherto regaled us in your wilderness, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_354'>354</span>Mr Anchorite and Musician of the Future! -No! Not such tones! But let us strike up something -more agreeable and more joyful!"—You -would like to have it so, my impatient friends? -Well! Who would not willingly accord with your -wishes? My bagpipe is waiting, and my voice -also—it may sound a little hoarse; take it as it is! -don't forget we are in the mountains! But what -you will hear is at least new; and if you do not -understand it, if you misunderstand the <i>singer</i>, -what does it matter! That—has always been "The -Singer's Curse."<a id='r14' /><a href='#f14' class='c011'><sup>[14]</sup></a> So much the more distinctly can -you hear his music and melody, so much the better -also can you—dance to his piping. <i>Would you like</i> -to do that?...</p> - -<p><span class='pageno' id='Page_355'>355</span></p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c004'>APPENDIX<br /> <br />SONGS OF PRINCE FREE-AS-A-BIRD</h2> -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_357'>357</span> - <h3 class='c009'>TO GOETHE.<a id='r15' /><a href='#f15' class='c011'><sup>[15]</sup></a></h3> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"The Undecaying"</div> - <div class='line'>Is but thy label,</div> - <div class='line'>God the betraying</div> - <div class='line'>Is poets' fable.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Our aims all are thwarted</div> - <div class='line'>By the World-wheel's blind roll:</div> - <div class='line'>"Doom," says the downhearted,</div> - <div class='line'>"Sport," says the fool.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The World-sport, all-ruling,</div> - <div class='line'>Mingles false with true:</div> - <div class='line'>The Eternally Fooling</div> - <div class='line'>Makes us play, too!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_358'>358</span> - <h3 class='c009'>THE POET'S CALL.</h3> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>As 'neath a shady tree I sat</div> - <div class='line in2'>After long toil to take my pleasure,</div> - <div class='line'>I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat"</div> - <div class='line in2'>Beat prettily in rhythmic measure.</div> - <div class='line'>Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The sound at length my sense entrapping</div> - <div class='line'>Forced me to speak like any bard,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And keep true time unto the tapping.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>As I made verses, never stopping,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Each syllable the bird went after,</div> - <div class='line'>Keeping in time with dainty hopping!</div> - <div class='line in2'>I burst into unmeasured laughter!</div> - <div class='line'>What, you a poet? You a poet?</div> - <div class='line in2'>Can your brains truly so addled be?</div> - <div class='line'>"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"</div> - <div class='line in2'>Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What doth me to these woods entice?</div> - <div class='line in2'>The chance to give some thief a trouncing?</div> - <div class='line'>A saw, an image? Ha, in a trice</div> - <div class='line in2'>My rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing!</div> - <div class='line'>All things that creep or crawl the poet</div> - <div class='line in2'>Weaves in his word-loom cunningly.</div> - <div class='line'>"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"</div> - <div class='line in2'>Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is,</div> - <div class='line in2'>See how it quivers, pricks and smarts</div> - <div class='line'>When shot full straight (no tender mercies!)</div> - <div class='line in2'>Into the reptile's nobler parts!</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_359'>359</span>Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or stagger like men that have drunk too free.</div> - <div class='line'>"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"</div> - <div class='line in2'>Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>So they go hurrying, stanzas malign,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!—</div> - <div class='line'>Till the whole company, line on line,</div> - <div class='line in2'>All on the rhythmic chain are hanging.</div> - <div class='line'>Has he really a cruel heart, your poet?</div> - <div class='line in2'>Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see?</div> - <div class='line'>"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"</div> - <div class='line in2'>Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces?</div> - <div class='line in2'>So sore indeed is the plight of my head?</div> - <div class='line'>And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is?</div> - <div class='line in2'>Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread!</div> - <div class='line'>Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poet</div> - <div class='line in2'>Rhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee.</div> - <div class='line'>"Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet,"</div> - <div class='line in2'>Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>IN THE SOUTH.<a id='r16' /><a href='#f16' class='c011'><sup>[16]</sup></a></h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I swing on a bough, and rest</div> - <div class='line'>My tired limbs in a nest,</div> - <div class='line'>In the rocking home of a bird,</div> - <div class='line'>Wherein I perch as his guest,</div> - <div class='line in8'>In the South!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_360'>360</span>I gaze on the ocean asleep,</div> - <div class='line'>On the purple sail of a boat;</div> - <div class='line'>On the harbour and tower steep,</div> - <div class='line'>On the rocks that stand out of the deep,</div> - <div class='line in8'>In the South!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>For I could no longer stay,</div> - <div class='line'>To crawl in slow German way;</div> - <div class='line'>So I called to the birds, bade the wind</div> - <div class='line'>Lift me up and bear me away</div> - <div class='line in8'>To the South!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>No reasons for me, if you please;</div> - <div class='line'>Their end is too dull and too plain;</div> - <div class='line'>But a pair of wings and a breeze,</div> - <div class='line'>With courage and health and ease,</div> - <div class='line'>And games that chase disease</div> - <div class='line in8'>From the South!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wise thoughts can move without sound,</div> - <div class='line'>But I've songs that I can't sing alone;</div> - <div class='line'>So birdies, pray gather around,</div> - <div class='line'>And listen to what I have found</div> - <div class='line in8'>In the South!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>* * *</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"You are merry lovers and false and gay,</div> - <div class='line'>In frolics and sport you pass the day;</div> - <div class='line'>Whilst in the North, I shudder to say,</div> - <div class='line'>I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray,</div> - <div class='line'>Her name was Truth, so I heard them say,</div> - <div class='line'>But I left her there and I flew away</div> - <div class='line in8'>To the South!"</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_361'>361</span> - <h3 class='c009'>BEPPA THE PIOUS.</h3> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>While beauty in my face is,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Be piety my care,</div> - <div class='line'>For God, you know, loves lasses,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And, more than all, the fair.</div> - <div class='line'>And if yon hapless monkling</div> - <div class='line in2'>Is fain with me to live,</div> - <div class='line'>Like many another monkling,</div> - <div class='line in2'>God surely will forgive.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>No grey old priestly devil,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But, young, with cheeks aflame—</div> - <div class='line'>Who e'en when sick with revel,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Can jealous be and blame.</div> - <div class='line'>To greybeards I'm a stranger,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And he, too, hates the old:</div> - <div class='line'>Of God, the world-arranger,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The wisdom here behold!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The Church has ken of living,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And tests by heart and face.</div> - <div class='line'>To me she'll be forgiving!</div> - <div class='line in2'>Who will not show me grace?</div> - <div class='line'>I lisp with pretty halting,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I curtsey, bid "good day,"</div> - <div class='line'>And with the fresh defaulting</div> - <div class='line in2'>I wash the old away!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Praise be this man-God's guerdon,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Who loves all maidens fair,</div> - <div class='line'>And his own heart can pardon</div> - <div class='line in2'>The sin he planted there.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_362'>362</span>While beauty in my face is,</div> - <div class='line in2'>With piety I'll stand,</div> - <div class='line'>When age has killed my graces,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Let Satan claim my hand!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>THE BOAT OF MYSTERY.</h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yester-eve, when all things slept—</div> - <div class='line in2'>Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—</div> - <div class='line'>I a restless vigil kept,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Nor from pillows sleep could gain,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor from poppies nor—most sure</div> - <div class='line'>Of opiates—a conscience pure.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Rose and walked along the strand,</div> - <div class='line'>Found, in warm and moonlit air,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Man and boat upon the sand,</div> - <div class='line'>Drowsy both, and drowsily</div> - <div class='line'>Did the boat put out to sea.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Passed an hour or two perchance,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or a year? then thought and sense</div> - <div class='line'>Vanished in the engulfing trance</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of a vast Indifference.</div> - <div class='line'>Fathomless, abysses dread</div> - <div class='line'>Opened—then the vision fled.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Morning came: becalmed, the boat</div> - <div class='line in2'>Rested on the purple flood:</div> - <div class='line'>"What had happened?" every throat</div> - <div class='line in2'>Shrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"</div> - <div class='line'>Naught had happened! On the swell</div> - <div class='line'>We had slumbered, oh, so well!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_363'>363</span> - <h3 class='c009'>AN AVOWAL OF LOVE<br /> <br />(<i>during which, however, the poet fell into a pit</i>).</h3> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>Oh marvel! there he flies</div> - <div class='line'>Cleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what force</div> - <div class='line in4'>Impels him, bids him rise,</div> - <div class='line'>What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>Like stars and time eterne</div> - <div class='line'>He liveth now in heights that life forswore,</div> - <div class='line in4'>Nor envy's self doth spurn:</div> - <div class='line'>A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>Oh albatross, great bird,</div> - <div class='line'>Speeding me upward ever through the blue!</div> - <div class='line in4'>I thought of her, was stirred</div> - <div class='line'>To tears unending—yea, I love her true!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>SONG OF A THEOCRITEAN GOATHERD.</h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Here I lie, my bowels sore,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Hosts of bugs advancing,</div> - <div class='line'>Yonder lights and romp and roar!</div> - <div class='line in2'>What's that sound? They're dancing!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>At this instant, so she prated,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Stealthily she'd meet me:</div> - <div class='line'>Like a faithful dog I've waited,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Not a sign to greet me!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>She promised, made the cross-sign, too,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Could her vows be hollow?</div> - <div class='line'>Or runs she after all that woo,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Like the goats I follow?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_364'>364</span>Whence your silken gown, my maid?</div> - <div class='line in2'>Ah, you'd fain be haughty,</div> - <div class='line'>Yet perchance you've proved a jade</div> - <div class='line in2'>With some satyr naughty!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Waiting long, the lovelorn wight</div> - <div class='line in2'>Is filled with rage and poison:</div> - <div class='line'>Even so on sultry night</div> - <div class='line in2'>Toadstools grow in foison.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Pinching sore, in devil's mood,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Love doth plague my crupper:</div> - <div class='line'>Truly I can eat no food:</div> - <div class='line in2'>Farewell, onion-supper!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Seaward sinks the moon away,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The stars are wan, and flare not:</div> - <div class='line'>Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Let Death come! I care not!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>"SOULS THAT LACK DETERMINATION."</h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Souls that lack determination</div> - <div class='line in2'>Rouse my wrath to white-hot flame!</div> - <div class='line'>All their glory's but vexation,</div> - <div class='line in2'>All their praise but self-contempt and shame!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Since I baffle their advances,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Will not clutch their leading-string,</div> - <div class='line'>They would wither me with glances</div> - <div class='line in2'>Bitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Let them with fell curses shiver,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Curl their lip the livelong day!</div> - <div class='line'>Seek me as they will, forever</div> - <div class='line in2'>Helplessly their eyes shall go astray!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_365'>365</span> - <h2 class='c013'>THE FOOL'S DILEMMA.</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c003'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Ah, what I wrote on board and wall</div> - <div class='line'>With foolish heart, in foolish scrawl,</div> - <div class='line'>I meant but for their decoration!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yet say you, "Fools' abomination!</div> - <div class='line'>Both board and wall require purgation,</div> - <div class='line'>And let no trace our eyes appal!"</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Well, I will help you, as I can,</div> - <div class='line'>For sponge and broom are my vocation,</div> - <div class='line'>As critic and as waterman.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But when the finished work I scan,</div> - <div class='line'>I'm glad to see each learned owl</div> - <div class='line'>With "wisdom" board and wall defoul.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>RIMUS REMEDIUM<br /> <br />(<i>or a Consolation to Sick Poets</i>).</h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>From thy moist lips,</div> - <div class='line'>O Time, thou witch, beslavering me,</div> - <div class='line'>Hour upon hour too slowly drips</div> - <div class='line'>In vain—I cry, in frenzy's fit,</div> - <div class='line'>"A curse upon that yawning pit,</div> - <div class='line in2'>A curse upon Eternity!"</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>The world's of brass,</div> - <div class='line'>A fiery bullock, deaf to wail:</div> - <div class='line'>Pain's dagger pierces my cuirass,</div> - <div class='line'>Wingéd, and writes upon my bone:</div> - <div class='line'>"Bowels and heart the world hath none,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Why scourge her sins with anger's flail?"</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'><span class='pageno' id='Page_366'>366</span>Pour poppies now,</div> - <div class='line'>Pour venom, Fever, on my brain!</div> - <div class='line'>Too long you test my hand and brow:</div> - <div class='line'>What ask you? "What—reward is paid?"</div> - <div class='line'>A malediction on you, jade,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And your disdain!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>No, I retract,</div> - <div class='line'>'Tis cold—I hear the rain importune—</div> - <div class='line'>Fever, I'll soften, show my tact:</div> - <div class='line'>Here's gold—a coin—see it gleam!</div> - <div class='line'>Shall I with blessings on you beam,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Call you "good fortune"?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>The door opes wide,</div> - <div class='line'>And raindrops on my bed are scattered,</div> - <div class='line'>The light's blown out—woes multiplied!</div> - <div class='line'>He that hath not an hundred rhymes,</div> - <div class='line'>I'll wager, in these dolorous times</div> - <div class='line in2'>We'd see him shattered!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>MY BLISS.</h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Once more, St Mark, thy pigeons meet my gaze,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The Square lies still, in slumbering morning mood:</div> - <div class='line'>In soft, cool air I fashion idle lays,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Speeding them skyward like a pigeon's brood:</div> - <div class='line in4'>And then recall my minions</div> - <div class='line'>To tie fresh rhymes upon their willing pinions.</div> - <div class='line in6'>My bliss! My bliss!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Calm heavenly roof of azure silkiness,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Guarding with shimmering haze yon house divine!</div> - <div class='line'>Thee, house, I love, fear—envy, I'll confess,</div> - <div class='line in2'><span class='pageno' id='Page_367'>367</span>And gladly would suck out that soul of thine!</div> - <div class='line in4'>"Should I give back the prize?"</div> - <div class='line'>Ask not, great pasture-ground for human eyes!</div> - <div class='line in6'>My bliss! My bliss!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Stern belfry, rising as with lion's leap</div> - <div class='line in2'>Sheer from the soil in easy victory,</div> - <div class='line'>That fill'st the Square with peal resounding, deep,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Wert thou in French that Square's "accent aigu"?</div> - <div class='line in4'>Were I for ages set</div> - <div class='line'>In earth like thee, I know what silk-meshed net....</div> - <div class='line in6'>My bliss! My bliss!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Hence, music! First let darker shadows come,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And grow, and merge into brown, mellow night!</div> - <div class='line'>'Tis early for your pealing, ere the dome</div> - <div class='line in2'>Sparkle in roseate glory, gold-bedight</div> - <div class='line in4'>While yet 'tis day, there's time</div> - <div class='line'>For strolling, lonely muttering, forging rhyme—</div> - <div class='line in6'>My bliss! My bliss!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>COLUMBUS REDIVIVUS.</h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Thither I'll travel, that's my notion,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I'll trust myself, my grip,</div> - <div class='line'>Where opens wide and blue the ocean</div> - <div class='line in2'>I'll ply my Genoa ship.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>New things on new the world unfolds me,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Time, space with noonday die:</div> - <div class='line'>Alone thy monstrous eye beholds me,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Awful Infinity!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_368'>368</span> - <h3 class='c009'>SILS-MARIA.</h3> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Here sat I waiting, waiting, but for naught!</div> - <div class='line'>Beyond all good and evil—now by light wrought</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>To joy, now by dark shadows—all was leisure,</div> - <div class='line'>All lake, all noon, all time sans aim, sans measure.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then one, dear friend, was swiftly changed to twain,</div> - <div class='line'>And Zarathustra left my teeming brain....</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c009'>A DANCING SONG TO THE MISTRAL<br />WIND.<a id='r17' /><a href='#f17' class='c011'><sup>[17]</sup></a></h3> -<div class='lg-container-b c000'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wildly rushing, clouds outleaping,</div> - <div class='line'>Care-destroying, Heaven sweeping,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Mistral wind, thou art my friend!</div> - <div class='line'>Surely 'twas one womb did bear us,</div> - <div class='line'>Surely 'twas one fate did pair us,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Fellows for a common end.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>From the crags I gaily greet you,</div> - <div class='line'>Running fast I come to meet you,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Dancing while you pipe and sing.</div> - <div class='line'>How you bound across the ocean,</div> - <div class='line'>Unimpeded, free in motion,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Swifter than with boat or wing!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_369'>369</span>Through my dreams your whistle sounded,</div> - <div class='line'>Down the rocky stairs I bounded</div> - <div class='line in2'>To the golden ocean wall;</div> - <div class='line'>Saw you hasten, swift and glorious,</div> - <div class='line'>Like a river, strong, victorious,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Tumbling in a waterfall.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Saw you rushing over Heaven,</div> - <div class='line'>With your steeds so wildly driven,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Saw the car in which you flew;</div> - <div class='line'>Saw the lash that wheeled and quivered,</div> - <div class='line'>While the hand that held it shivered,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Urging on the steeds anew.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Saw you from your chariot swinging,</div> - <div class='line'>So that swifter downward springing</div> - <div class='line in2'>Like an arrow you might go</div> - <div class='line'>Straight into the deep abysses,</div> - <div class='line'>As a sunbeam falls and kisses</div> - <div class='line in2'>Roses in the morning glow.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dance, oh! dance on all the edges,</div> - <div class='line'>Wave-crests, cliffs and mountain ledges,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Ever finding dances new!</div> - <div class='line'>Let our knowledge be our gladness,</div> - <div class='line'>Let our art be sport and madness,</div> - <div class='line in2'>All that's joyful shall be true!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Let us snatch from every bower,</div> - <div class='line'>As we pass, the fairest flower,</div> - <div class='line in2'>With some leaves to make a crown;</div> - <div class='line'>Then, like minstrels gaily dancing,</div> - <div class='line'>Saint and witch together prancing,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Let us foot it up and down.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_370'>370</span>Those who come must move as quickly</div> - <div class='line'>As the wind—we'll have no sickly,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Crippled, withered, in our crew;</div> - <div class='line'>Off with hypocrites and preachers,</div> - <div class='line'>Proper folk and prosy teachers,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Sweep them from our heaven blue.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Sweep away all sad grimaces,</div> - <div class='line'>Whirl the dust into the faces</div> - <div class='line in2'>Of the dismal sick and cold!</div> - <div class='line'>Hunt them from our breezy places,</div> - <div class='line'>Not for them the wind that braces,</div> - <div class='line in2'>But for men of visage bold.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Off with those who spoil earth's gladness,</div> - <div class='line'>Blow away all clouds of sadness,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Till our heaven clear we see;</div> - <div class='line'>Let me hold thy hand, best fellow,</div> - <div class='line'>Till my joy like tempest bellow!</div> - <div class='line in2'>Freest thou of spirits free!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>When thou partest, take a token</div> - <div class='line'>Of the joy thou hast awoken,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Take our wreath and fling it far;</div> - <div class='line'>Toss it up and catch it never,</div> - <div class='line'>Whirl it on before thee ever,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Till it reach the farthest star.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='footnotes'> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c013'>FOOTNOTES:</h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f1'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. This means literally to put the numeral X instead of the -numeral V (formerly U); hence it means to double a number -unfairly, to exaggerate, humbug, cheat.—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f2'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. An allusion to Schiller's poem: "The Veiled Image of -Sais."—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f3'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. Translated by Miss M. D. Petre.</p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f4'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r4'>4</a>. A and O, suggestive of Ah! and Oh! refer of course to -Alpha and Omega, the first and last letters of the Greek -alphabet.—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f5'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r5'>5</a>. Translated by Miss M. D. Petre.</p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f6'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r6'>6</a>. Translated by Miss M. D. Petre.</p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f7'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r7'>7</a>. Allusions to the song of Clara in Goethe's "Egmont."—TR.</p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f8'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r8'>8</a>. Schiller's poem, "The Veiled Image of Sais," is again -referred to here.—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f9'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r9'>9</a>. This means that true love does not look for reciprocity.—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f10'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r10'>10</a>. The distinction between ethos and pathos in Aristotle -is, broadly, that between internal character and external -circumstance.—P. V. C.</p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f11'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r11'>11</a>. In German the expression <i>Kopf zu waschen</i>, besides -the literal sense, also means "to give a person a sound -drubbing."—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f12'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r12'>12</a>. "<i>Germany, Germany, above all</i>": the first line of the -German national song.—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f13'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r13'>13</a>. An allusion to the German Proverb, "Handwerk hat -einen goldenen Boden."—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f14'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r14'>14</a>. Title of the well-known poem of Uhland.—<span class='sc'>Tr.</span></p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f15'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r15'>15</a>. This poem is a parody of the "Chorus Mysticus" which -concludes the second part of Goethe's "Faust." Bayard -Taylor's translation of the passage in "Faust" runs as -follows:—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>"All things transitory</div> - <div class='line'>But as symbols are sent,</div> - <div class='line'>Earth's insufficiency</div> - <div class='line'>Here grows to Event:</div> - <div class='line'>The Indescribable</div> - <div class='line'>Here it is done:</div> - <div class='line'>The Woman-Soul leadeth us</div> - <div class='line'>Upward and on!"</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f16'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r16'>16</a>. Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. Inserted by permission -of the editor of the <i>Nation</i>, in which it appeared -on April 17, 1909.</p> -</div> -<div class='footnote' id='f17'> -<p class='c012'><a href='#r17'>17</a>. Translated by Miss M. D. Petre. Inserted by permission -of the editor of the <i>Nation</i>, in which it appeared -on May 15, 1909.</p> -</div> - -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c004'>Transcriber's Note</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c014'>The original spelling and punctuation has been retained.</p> - -<p class='c012'>Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been -preserved.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Joyful Wisdom, by Friedrich Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JOYFUL WISDOM *** - -***** This file should be named 52881-h.htm or 52881-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/8/8/52881/ - -Produced by Thierry Alberto, readbueno and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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