{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_51935/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_51935","id":"gutenberg_51935","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51935","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Human beings"],"text":"HUMAN\n\nALL-TOO-HUMAN\n\n_A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS_\n\nPART I\n\nBy\n\nFRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nHELEN ZIMMERN\n\nWITH INTRODUCTION BY\n\nJ. M. KENNEDY\n\n\nThe Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche\n\nThe First Complete and Authorised English Translation\n\nEdited by Dr Oscar Levy\n\nVolume Six\n\nT.N. FOULIS\n\n13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET\n\nEDINBURGH: AND LONDON\n\n1909\n\n\n\n\n    CONTENTS.\n\n\n    INTRODUCTION\n\n    AUTHOR'S PREFACE\n\n    FIRST DIVISION: FIRST AND LAST THINGS\n    SECOND DIVISION: THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL\n        SENTIMENT\n    THIRD DIVISION: THE RELIGIOUS LIFE\n    FOURTH DIVISION: CONCERNING THE SOUL OF\n        ARTISTS AND AUTHORS\n    FIFTH DIVISION: THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND\n        LOWER CULTURE\n    SIXTH DIVISION: MAN IN SOCIETY\n    SEVENTH DIVISION: WIFE AND CHILD\n    EIGHTH DIVISION: A GLANCE AT THE STATE\n    AN EPODE--AMONG FRIENDS\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nNietzsche's essay, _Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,_ appeared in 1876,\nand his next publication was his present work, which was issued in\n1878. A comparison of the books will show that the two years of\nmeditation intervening had brought about a great change in Nietzsche's\nviews, his style of expressing them, and the form in which they\nwere cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives way to an\nApollonian thinker with a touch of pessimism. The long essay form is\nabandoned, and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some tinged with\nmelancholy, others with satire, several, especially towards the end,\nwith Nietzschian wit at its best, and a few at the beginning so very\nabstruse as to require careful study.\n\nSince the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche had gradually come to\nsee Wagner as he really was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had\npictured in his own mind turned out to be nothing more than a rather\ndilettante philosopher, an opportunistic decadent with a suspicious\ntendency towards Christianity. The young philosopher thereupon\nproceeded to shake off the influence which the musician had exercised\nupon him. He was successful in doing so, but not without a struggle,\njust as he had formerly shaken off the influence of Schopenhauer.\nHence he writes in his autobiography:[1] \"_Human, all-too-Human,_ is\nthe monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A book for _free_ spirits,'\nand almost every line in it represents a victory--in its pages I freed\nmyself from everything foreign to my real nature. Idealism is foreign\nto me: the title says, 'Where _you_ see ideal things, I see things\nwhich are only--human alas! all-too-human!' I know man _better_--the\nterm 'free spirit' must here be understood in no other sense than this:\na _freed_ man, who has once more taken possession of himself.\"\n\nThe form of this book will be better understood when it is remembered\nthat at this period Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach\ntrouble and headaches. As a cure for his complaints, he spent his time\nin travel when he could get a few weeks' respite from his duties at\nBasel University; and it was in the course of his solitary walks and\nhill-climbing tours that the majority of these thoughts occurred to\nhim and were jotted down there and then. A few of them, however, date\nfurther back, as he tells us in the preface to the second part of this\nwork. Many of them, he says, occupied his mind even before he published\nhis first book, _The Birth of Tragedy_ and several others, as we learn\nfrom his notebooks and posthumous writings, date from the period of the\n_Thoughts out of Season._\n\nIt must be clearly understood, however, that Nietzsche's disease must\nnot be looked upon in the same way as that of an ordinary man. People\nare inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous; but any one who rights\nwith and conquers his disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did,\nbenefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In the first place, he has\npassed through several stages of human psychology with which a healthy\nman is entirely unacquainted; _e.g._ he has learnt by introspection\nthe spiteful and revengeful spirit of the sick man and his religion.\nSecondly, in his moments of freedom from pain and gloom his thoughts\nwill be all the more brilliant.\n\nIn support of this last statement, one instance may be selected out of\nhundreds that could be adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater part\nof his life in exile from his native country, tortured by headaches,\nand finally dying in a foreign land as the result of a spinal disease.\nHis splendid works were composed in his moments of respite from\nillness, and during the last years of his life, when his health was\nat its worst, he gave to the world his famous _Romancero._ We would\nlikewise do well to recollect Goethe's saying:\n\n    Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen,\n    Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.[2]\n\nThus neither the form of this book--so startling at first to those who\nhave been brought up in the traditions of our own school--nor the\ntreat all men as equals, and proclaim the establishment of equal rights:\n\n    so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on\n    _justice_ is possible; but, as has been said, only within\n    the ranks of the governing classes, which in this case\n    _practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations. On\n    the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the\n    Socialists of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome\n    of justice, but of covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces\n    of flesh to a beast, and then withdraw them again until\n    it finally begins to roar, do you think that the roaring\n    implies justice?\n\nTheologians on the other hand, as may be expected, will find no such\nready help in their difficulties from Nietzsche. They must, on the\ncontrary, be on their guard against so alert an adversary--a duty\nwhich they are apparently not going to shirk; for theologians are\namongst the most ardent students of Nietzsche in this country. Their\nattention may therefore be drawn to aphorism 630 of this book, dealing\nwith convictions and their origin, which will no doubt be successfully\nrefuted by the defenders of the true faith. In fact, there is not a\nsingle paragraph in the book that does not deserve careful study by all\nserious thinkers.\n\nOn the whole, however, this is a calm book, and those who are\naccustomed to Nietzsche the out-spoken Immoralist, may be somewhat\nastonished at the calm tone of the present volume. The explanation is\nthat Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on his own philosophical\npath. His life-long aim, the uplifting of the type man, was still in\nview, but the way leading towards it was once more uncertain. Hence the\npeculiarly calm, even melancholic, and what Nietzsche himself would\ncall Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so different from\nthe style of his earlier and later writings. For this very reason,\nhowever, the book may appeal all the more to English readers, who are\nof course more Apollonian than Dionysian. Nietzsche is feeling his way,\nand these aphorisms represent his first steps. As such--besides having\na high intrinsic value of themselves--they are enormous aids to the\nstudy of his character and temperament.\n\n                                                    J. M. KENNEDY.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: _Ecce Homo,_ p. 75.]\n\n[Footnote 2: \"Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a dark\nand sombre background.\"--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\n1.\n\n\nI have been told frequently, and always with great surprise, that there\nis something common and distinctive in all my writings, from the _Birth\nof Tragedy_ to the latest published _Prelude to a Philosophy of the\nFuture._ They all contain, I have been told, snares and nets for unwary\nbirds, and an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the inversion\nof customary valuations and valued customs. What? _Everything_\nonly--human-all-too-human? People lay down my writings with this sigh,\nnot without a certain dread and distrust of morality itself, indeed\nalmost tempted and encouraged to become advocates of the _worst_\nthings: as being perhaps only the _best_ disparaged? My writings have\nbeen called a school of suspicion and especially of disdain, more\nhappily, also, a school of courage and even of audacity. Indeed, I\nmyself do not think that any one has ever looked at the world with such\na profound suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's Advocate, but\nequally also, to speak theologically, as enemy and impeacher of God;\nand he who realises something of the consequences involved, in every\nprofound suspicion, something of the chills and anxieties of loneliness\nto which every uncompromising _difference of outlook_ condemns him\nwho is affected therewith, will also understand how often I sought\nshelter in some kind of reverence or hostility, or scientificality\nor levity or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and, as it\nwere, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness; also why, when I did not\nfind what I _needed,_ I was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit\nand to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else have poets ever\ndone? And for what purpose has all the art in the world existed?).\nWhat I always required most, however, for my cure and self-recovery,\nwas the belief that I was _not_ isolated in such circumstances, that I\ndid not _see_ in an isolated manner--a magic suspicion of relationship\nand similarity to others in outlook and desire, a repose in the\nconfidence of friendship, a blindness in both parties without suspicion\nor note of interrogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces\nof the near and the nearest, of all that has colour, epidermis, and\noutside appearance. Perhaps I might be reproached in this respect\nfor much \"art\" and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily\nand knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will to\nmorality at a time when I had become sufficiently clear-sighted about\nmorality; also for deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable\nromanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an end; also about\nthe Greeks, also about the Germans and their future--and there would\nstill probably be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing however,\nthat this were all true and that I were reproached with good reason,\nwhat do _you_ know, what _could_ you know as to how much artifice of\nself-preservation, how much rationality and higher protection there is\nin such self-deception,--and how much falseness I still _require_ in\norder to allow myself again and again the luxury of _my_ sincerity?\n... In short, I still live; and life, in spite of ourselves, is not\ndevised by morality; it _demands_ illusion, it _lives_ by illusion\n... but----There! I am already beginning again and doing what I have\nalways done, old immoralist and bird-catcher that I am,--I am talking\nun-morally, ultra-morally, \"beyond good and evil\"?...\n\n\n2.\n\nThus then, when I found it necessary, I _invented_ once on a time the\n\"free spirits,\" to whom this discouragingly encouraging book with\nthe title _Human, all-too-Human,_ is dedicated. There are no such\n\"free spirits\" nor have there been such, but, as already said, I then\nrequired them for company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils\n(sickness, loneliness, foreignness,--_acedia,_ inactivity) as brave\ncompanions and ghosts with whom I could laugh and gossip when so\ninclined and send to the devil when they became bores,--as compensation\nfor the lack of friends. That such free spirits _will be possible_ some\nday, that our Europe _will_ have such bold and cheerful wights amongst\nher sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow, as the shadows of\na hermit's phantasmagoria--_I_ should be the last to doubt thereof.\nAlready I see them _coming,_ slowly, slowly; and perhaps I am doing\nsomething to hasten their coming when I describe in advance under what\nauspices I _see_ them originate, and upon what paths I _see_ them come.\n\n\n3.\n\nOne may suppose that a spirit in which the type \"free spirit\" is to\nbecome fully mature and sweet, has had its decisive event in a _great\nemancipation,_ and that it was all the more fettered previously and\napparently bound for ever to its corner and pillar. What is it that\nbinds most strongly? What cords are almost unrendable? In men of a\nlofty and select type it will be their duties; the reverence which is\nsuitable to youth, respect and tenderness for all that is time-honoured\nand worthy, gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand which\nled them, to the sanctuary where they learnt to adore,--their most\nexalted moments themselves will bind them most effectively, will lay\nupon them the most enduring obligations. For those who are thus bound\nthe great emancipation comes suddenly, like an earthquake; the young\nsoul is all at once convulsed, unloosened and extricated--it does not\nitself know what is happening. An impulsion and-compulsion sway and\nover-master it like a command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth\non their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent, dangerous curiosity\nabout an undiscovered world flames and flares in every sense. \"Better\nto die than live _here_\"--says the imperious voice and seduction, and\nthis \"here,\" this \"at home\" is all that the soul has hitherto loved! A\nsudden fear and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of disdain\nfor what was called its \"duty,\" a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanically\nthrobbing longing for travel, foreignness, estrangement, coldness,\ndisenchantment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious\nclutch and look _backwards,_ to where it hitherto adored and loved,\nperhaps a glow of shame at what it was just doing, and at the same\ntime a rejoicing _that_ it was doing it, an intoxicated, internal,\nexulting thrill which betrays a triumph--a triumph? Over what? Over\nwhom? An enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but the _first_\ntriumph nevertheless;--such evil and painful incidents belong to the\nhistory of the great emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease\nwhich may destroy the man, this first outbreak of power and will to\nself-decision, self-valuation, this will to _free_ will; and how much\ndisease is manifested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by which\nthe liberated and emancipated one now seeks to demonstrate his mastery\nover things! He roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; whatever\nhe captures has to suffer for the dangerous tension of his pride;\nhe tears to pieces whatever attracts him. With a malicious laugh he\ntwirls round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a sense of shame;\nhe tries how these things look when turned upside down. It is a matter\nof arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness, if he now\nperhaps bestow his favour on what had hitherto a bad repute,--if he\ninquisitively and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden. In the\nbackground of his activities and wanderings --for he is restless and\naimless in his course as in a desert--stands the note of interrogation\nof an increasingly dangerous curiosity. \"Cannot _all_ valuations be\nreversed? And is good perhaps evil? And God only an invention and\nartifice of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically false? And\nif we are the deceived, are we not thereby also deceivers? _Must_ we\nnot also be deceivers?\"--Such thoughts lead and mislead him more and\nmore, onward and away. Solitude encircles and engirdles him, always\nmore threatening, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that terrible\ngoddess and _mater s\u00e6va cupidinum_--but who knows nowadays what\n_solitude_ is?...\n\n\n4.\n\nFrom this morbid solitariness, from the desert of such years of\nexperiment, it is still a long way to the copious, overflowing safety\nand soundness which does not care to dispense with disease itself as\nan instrument and angling-hook of knowledge;--to that _mature_ freedom\nof spirit which is equally self-control and discipline of the heart,\nand gives access to many and opposed modes of thought;--to that inward\ncomprehensiveness and daintiness of superabundance, which excludes any\ndanger of the spirit's becoming enamoured and lost in its own paths,\nand lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that excess of\nplastic, healing, formative, and restorative powers, which is exactly\nthe sign of _splendid_ health, that excess which gives the free spirit\nthe dangerous prerogative of being entitled to live by _experiments_\nand offer itself to adventure; the free spirit's prerogative of\nmastership! Long years of convalescence may lie in between, years full\nof many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magical transformations, curbed\nand led by a tough _will to health,_ which often dares to dress and\ndisguise itself as actual health. There is a middle condition therein,\nwhich a man of such a fate never calls to mind later on without\nemotion; a pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are peculiar\nto him, a feeling of bird-like freedom, prospect, and haughtiness, a\n_tertium quid_ in which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined. A\n\"free spirit\"--this cool expression does good in every condition, it\nalmost warms. One no longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred,\nwithout Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near, voluntarily distant,\npreferring to escape, to turn aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and\naway; one is fastidious like every one who has once seen an immense\nvariety _beneath_ him,--and one has become the opposite of those who\ntrouble themselves about things which do not concern them. In fact, it\nis nothing but things which now concern the free spirit,--and how many\nthings!--which no longer _trouble_ him!\n\n\n5.\n\nA step further towards recovery, and the free spirit again draws\nnear to life; slowly, it is true, and almost stubbornly, almost\ndistrustfully. Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it were,\nyellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,. thawing winds of every\nkind pass lightly over him. He almost feels as if his eyes were now\nfirst opened to what is _near._ He marvels and is still; where has\nhe been? The near and nearest things, how changed they appear to\nhim! What a bloom and magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks\nback gratefully,--grateful to his wandering, his austerity and\nself-estrangement, his far-sightedness and his bird-like flights\nin cold heights. What a good thing that he did not always stay \"at\nhome,\" \"by himself,\" like a sensitive, stupid tenderling. He has been\n_beside himself,_ there is no doubt. He now sees himself for the first\ntime,--and what surprises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced\nhitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the old illness, in the\nrelapses of the convalescent! How he likes to sit still and suffer, to\npractise patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as he with the\njoy of winter, with the patch of sunshine upon the wall! They are the\nmost grateful animals in the world, and also the most unassuming, these\nlizards of convalescents with their faces half-turned towards life once\nmore:--there are those amongst them who never let a day pass without\nhanging a little hymn of praise on its trailing fringe. And, speaking\nseriously, it is a radical _cure_ for all pessimism (the well-known\ndisease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to become ill after\nthe manner of these free spirits, to remain ill a good while, and then\ngrow well (I mean \"better\") for a still longer period. It is wisdom,\npractical wisdom, to prescribe even health for one's self for a long\ntime only in small doses.\n\n\n6.\n\nAbout this time it may at last happen, under the sudden illuminations\nof still disturbed and changing health, that the enigma of that great\nemancipation begins to reveal itself to the free, and ever freer,\nspirit,--that enigma which had hitherto lain obscure, questionable,\nand almost intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he scarcely\ndared to ask himself, \"Why so apart? So alone? denying everything that\nI revered? denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this suspicion,\nthis severity towards my own virtues?\"--he now dares and asks the\nquestions aloud, and already hears something like an answer to them--\n\"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and master also of thine own\nvirtues. Formerly _they_ were thy masters; but they are only entitled\nto be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst obtain power over\nthy pro and contra, and learn how to put them forth and withdraw them\nagain in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou shouldst learn how\nto take the proper perspective of every valuation--the shifting,\ndistortion, and apparent teleology of the horizons and everything that\nbelongs to perspective; also the amount of stupidity which opposite\nvalues involve, and all the intellectual loss with which every pro\nand every contra has to be paid for. Thou shouldst learn how much\n_necessary_ injustice there is in every for and against, injustice\nas inseparable from life, and life itself as _conditioned_ by the\nperspective and its injustice. Above all thou shouldst see clearly\nwhere the injustice is always greatest:--namely, where life has\ndeveloped most punily, restrictedly, necessitously, and incipiently,\nand yet cannot help regarding _itself_ as the purpose and standard of\nthings, and for the sake of self-preservation, secretly, basely, and\ncontinuously wasting away and calling in question the higher, greater,\nand richer,--thou shouldst see clearly the problem of gradation of\nrank, and how power and right and amplitude of perspective grow up\ntogether. Thou shouldst----\" But enough; the free spirit _knows_\nhenceforth which \"thou shalt\" he has obeyed, and also what he _can_ now\n_do,_ what he only now--_may do_....\n\n\n7.\n\nThus doth the free spirit answer himself with regard to the riddle of\nemancipation, and ends therewith, while he generalises his case, in\norder thus to decide with regard to his experience. \"As it has happened\nto _me_,\" he says to himself, \"so must it happen to every one in whom\na _mission_ seeks to embody itself and to 'come into the world.'\" The\nsecret power and necessity of this mission will operate in and upon\nthe destined individuals like an unconscious pregnancy,--long before\nthey have had the mission itself in view and have known its name. Our\ndestiny rules over us, even when we are not yet aware of it; it is\nthe future that makes laws for our to-day. Granted that it is _the\nproblem of the gradations of rank,_ of which we may say that it is\n_our_ problem, we free spirits; now only in the midday of our life do\nwe first understand what preparations, detours, tests, experiments,\nand disguises the problem needed, before it _was permitted_ to rise\nbefore us, and how we had first to experience the most manifold and\nopposing conditions of distress and happiness in soul and body, as\nadventurers and circumnavigators of the inner world called \"man,\" as\nsurveyors of all the \"higher\" and the \"one-above-another,\" also called\n\"man\"--penetrating everywhere, almost without fear, rejecting nothing,\nlosing nothing, tasting everything, cleansing everything from all that\nis accidental, and, as it were, sifting it out--until at last we could\nsay, we free spirits, \"Here--a _new_ problem! Here a long ladder,\nthe rungs of which we ourselves have sat upon and mounted,--which we\nourselves at some time have _been_! Here a higher place, a lower place,\nan under-us, an immeasurably long order, a hierarchy which we _see;_\nhere--_our_ problem!\"\n\n\n8.\n\nNo psychologist or augur will be in doubt for a moment as to what stage\nof the development just described the following book belongs (or is\nassigned to). But where are these psychologists nowadays? In France,\ncertainly; perhaps in Russia; assuredly not in Germany. Reasons are\nnot lacking why the present-day Germans could still even count this\nas an honour to them--bad enough, surely, for one who in this respect\nis un-German in disposition and constitution! This _German_ book,\nwhich has been able to find readers in a wide circle of countries\nand nations--it has been about ten years going its rounds--and must\nunderstand some sort of music and piping art, by means of which\neven coy foreign ears are seduced into listening,--it is precisely\nin Germany that this book has been most negligently read, and worst\n_listened to;_ what is the reason?\" It demands too much, \"I have been\ntold,\" it appeals to men free from the pressure of coarse duties, it\nwants refined and fastidious senses, it needs superfluity--superfluity\nof time, of clearness of sky and heart, of _otium_ in the boldest\nsense of the term:--purely good things, which we Germans of to-day do\nnot possess and therefore cannot give.\" After such a polite answer\nmy philosophy advises me to be silent and not to question further;\nbesides, in certain cases, as the proverb points out, one only\n_remains_ a philosopher by being--silent.[1]\n\nNICE, _Spring_ 1886.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: An allusion to the medi\u00e6val Latin distich:\n\nO si tacuisses,\nPhilosophus mansisses.--J.M.K.\n]\n\n\n\n\nHUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST DIVISION.\n\n\nFIRST AND LAST THINGS.\n\n\n\n1.\n\nCHEMISTRY OF IDEAS AND SENSATIONS.--Philosophical problems adopt in\nalmost all matters the same form of question as they did two thousand\nyears ago; how can anything spring from its opposite? for instance,\nreason out of unreason, the sentient out of the dead, logic out of\nunlogic, disinterested contemplation out of covetous willing, life for\nothers out of egoism, truth out of error? Metaphysical philosophy has\nhelped itself over those difficulties hitherto by denying the origin of\none thing in another, and assuming a miraculous origin for more highly\nvalued things, immediately out of the kernel and essence of the \"thing\nin itself.\" Historical philosophy, on the contrary, which is no longer\nto be thought of as separate from physical science, the youngest of all\nphilosophical methods, has ascertained in single cases (and presumably\nthis will happen in everything) that there are no opposites except in\nthe usual exaggeration of the popular or metaphysical point of view,\nand that an error of reason lies at the bottom of the opposition:\naccording to this explanation, strictly understood, there is neither\nan unegoistical action nor an entirely disinterested point of view,\nthey are both only sublimations in which the fundamental element\nappears almost evaporated, and is only to be discovered by the closest\nobservation. All that we require, and which can only be given us by the\npresent advance of the single sciences, is a _chemistry_ of the moral,\nreligious, \u00e6sthetic ideas and sentiments, as also of those emotions\nwhich we experience in ourselves both in the great and in the small\nphases of social and intellectual intercourse, and even in solitude;\nbut what if this chemistry should result in the fact that also in this\ncase the most beautiful colours have been obtained from base, even\ndespised materials? Would many be inclined to pursue such examinations?\nHumanity likes to put all questions as to origin and beginning out\nof its mind; must one not be almost dehumanised to feel a contrary\ntendency in one's self?\n\n\n2.\n\nINHERITED FAULTS OF PHILOSOPHERS.--All philosophers have the common\nfault that they start from man in his present state and hope to attain\ntheir end by an analysis of him. Unconsciously they look upon \"man\"\nas an _cetema Veritas,_ as a thing unchangeable in all commotion, as\na sure standard of things. But everything that the philosopher says\nabout man is really nothing more than testimony about the man of a\n_very limited_ space of time. A lack of the historical sense is the\nhereditary fault of all philosophers; many, indeed, unconsciously\nmistake the very latest variety of man, such as has arisen under the\ninfluence of certain religions, certain political events, for the\npermanent form from which one must set out. They will not learn that\nman has developed, that his faculty of knowledge has developed also;\nwhilst for some of them the entire world is spun out of this faculty\nof knowledge. Now everything _essential_ in human development happened\nin pre-historic times, long before those four thousand years which we\nknow something of; man may not have changed much during this time. But\nthe philosopher sees \"instincts\" in the present man and takes it for\ngranted that this is one of the unalterable facts of mankind, and,\nconsequently, can furnish a key to the understanding of the world; the\nentire teleology is so constructed that man of the last four thousand\nyears is spoken of as an _eternal_ being, towards which all things in\nthe world have from the beginning a natural direction. But everything\nhas evolved; there are _no eternal facts,_ as there are likewise no\nabsolute truths. Therefore, _historical philosophising_ is henceforth\nnecessary, and with it the virtue of diffidence.\n\n\n3.\n\nAPPRECIATION OF UNPRETENTIOUS TRUTHS.--It is a mark of a higher\nculture to value the little unpretentious truths, which have been\nfound by means of strict method, more highly than the joy-diffusing\nand dazzling errors which spring from metaphysical and artistic times\nand peoples. First of all one has scorn on the lips for the former,\nas if here nothing could have equal privileges with anything else,\nso unassuming, simple, bashful, apparently discouraging are they,\nso beautiful, stately, intoxicating, perhaps even animating, are\nthe others. But the hardly attained, the certain, the lasting, and\ntherefore of great consequence for all wider knowledge, is still\nthe higher; to keep one's self to that is manly and shows bravery,\nsimplicity, and forbearance. Gradually not only single individuals\nbut the whole of mankind will be raised to this manliness, when\nit has at last accustomed itself to the higher appreciation of\ndurable, lasting knowledge, and has lost all belief in inspiration\nand the miraculous communication of truths. Respecters of _forms,_\ncertainly, with their standard of the beautiful and noble, will first\nof all have good reasons for mockery, as soon as the appreciation of\nunpretentious truths, and the scientific spirit, begin to obtain the\nmastery; but only because their eye has either not yet recognised the\ncharm of the _simplest_ form, or because men educated in that spirit\nare not yet completely and inwardly saturated by it, so that they\nstill thoughtlessly imitate old forms (and badly enough, as one does\nwho no longer cares much about the matter). Formerly the spirit was\nnot occupied with strict thought, its earnestness then lay in the\nspinning out of symbols and forms. This is changed; that earnestness\nin the symbolical has become the mark of a lower culture. As our arts\nthemselves grow evermore intellectual, our senses more spiritual, and\nas, for instance, people now judge concerning what sounds well to the\nsenses quite differently from how they did a hundred years ago, so the\nforms of our life grow ever more _spiritual,_ to the eye of older ages\nperhaps _uglier,_ but only because it is incapable of perceiving how\nthe kingdom of the inward, spiritual beauty constantly grows deeper\nand wider, and to what extent the inner intellectual look may be of\nmore importance to us all than the most beautiful bodily frame and the\nnoblest architectural structure.\n\n\n4.\n\nASTROLOGY AND THE LIKE.--It is probable that the objects of religious,\nmoral, \u00e6sthetic and logical sentiment likewise belong only to the\nsurface of things, while man willingly believes that here, at least,\nhe has touched the heart of the world; he deceives himself, because\nthose things enrapture him so profoundly, and make him so profoundly\nunhappy, and he therefore shows the same pride here as in astrology.\nFor astrology believes that the firmament moves round the destiny of\nman; the moral man, however, takes it for granted that what he has\nessentially at heart must also be the essence and heart of things.\n\n\n5.\n\nMISUNDERSTANDING OF DREAMS.--In the ages of a rude and primitive\ncivilisation man believed that in dreams he became acquainted with\na _second actual world_; herein lies the origin of all metaphysics.\nWithout dreams there could have been found no reason for a division of\nthe world. The distinction, too, between soul and body is connected\nwith the most ancient comprehension of dreams, also the supposition of\nan imaginary soul-body, therefore the origin of all belief in spirits,\nand probably also the belief in gods. \"The dead continues to live,\n_for_ he appears to the living in a dream\": thus men reasoned of old\nfor thousands and thousands of years.\n\n\n6.\n\nTHE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT PARTIALLY BUT NOT WHOLLY POWERFUL.--The\n_smallest_ subdivisions of science taken separately are dealt with\npurely in relation to themselves,--the general, great sciences, on the\ncontrary, regarded as a whole, call up the question--certainly a very\nnon-objective one--\"Wherefore? To what end?\" It is this utilitarian\nconsideration which causes them to be dealt with less impersonally\nwhen taken as a whole than when considered in their various parts.\nIn philosophy, above all, as the apex of the entire, pyramid of\nscience, the question as to the utility of knowledge is involuntarily\nbrought forward, and every philosophy has the unconscious intention of\nascribing to it the _greatest_ usefulness. For this reason there is so\nmuch high-flying metaphysics in all philosophies and such a shyness of\nthe apparently unimportant solutions of physics; for the importance\nof knowledge for life _must_ appear as great as possible. Here is the\nantagonism between the separate provinces of science and philosophy.\nThe latter desires, what art does, to give the greatest possible depth\nand meaning to life and actions; in the former one seeks knowledge and\nnothing further, whatever may emerge thereby. So far there has been no\nphilosopher in whose hands philosophy has not grown into an apology\nfor knowledge; on this point, at least, every one is an optimist, that\nthe greatest usefulness must be ascribed to knowledge. They are all\ntyrannised over by logic, and this is optimism--in its essence.\n\n\n7.\n\nTHE KILL-JOY IN SCIENCE.--Philosophy separated from science when it\nasked the question, \"Which is the knowledge of the world and of life\nwhich enables man to live most happily?\" This happened in the Socratic\nschools; the veins of scientific investigation were bound up by the\npoint of view of _happiness,_--and are so still.\n\n\n8.\n\nPNEUMATIC EXPLANATION OF NATURE.--Metaphysics explains the writing of\nNature, so to speak, _pneumatically,_ as the Church and her learned men\nformerly did with the Bible. A great deal of understanding is required\nto apply to Nature the same method of strict interpretation as the\nphilologists have now established for all books with the intention\nof clearly understanding what the text means, but not suspecting a\n_double_ sense or even taking it for granted. Just, however, as with\nregard to books, the bad art of interpretation is by no means overcome,\nand in the most cultivated society one still constantly comes across\nthe remains of allegorical and mystic interpretation, so it is also\nwith regard to Nature, indeed it is even much worse.\n\n\n9.\n\nTHE METAPHYSICAL WORLD.--It is true that there _might_ be a\nmetaphysical world; the absolute possibility of it is hardly to be\ndisputed. We look at everything through the human head and cannot cut\nthis head off; while the question remains, What would be left of the\nworld if it had been cut off? This is a purely scientific problem,\nand one not very likely to trouble mankind; but everything which\nhas hitherto made metaphysical suppositions _valuable, terrible,\ndelightful_ for man, what has produced them, is passion, error, and\nself-deception; the very worst methods of knowledge, not the best,\nhave taught belief therein. When these methods have been discovered as\nthe foundation of all existing religions and metaphysics, they have\nbeen refuted. Then there still always remains that possibility; but\nthere is nothing to be done with it, much less is it possible to let\nhappiness, salvation, and life depend on the spider-thread of such a\npossibility. For nothing could be said of the metaphysical world but\nthat it would be a different condition, a condition inaccessible and\nincomprehensible to us; it would be a thing of negative qualities.\nWere the existence of such a world ever so well proved, the fact would\nnevertheless remain that it would be precisely the most irrelevant\nof all forms of knowledge: more irrelevant than the knowledge of the\nchemical analysis of water to the sailor in danger in a storm.\n\n\n10.\n\nTHE HARMLESSNESS OF METAPHYSICS IN THE FUTURE.--Directly the origins\nof religion, art, and morals have been so described that one can\nperfectly explain them without having recourse to metaphysical concepts\nat the beginning and in the course of the path, the strongest interest\nin the purely theoretical problem of the \"thing-in-itself\" and the\n\"phenomenon\" ceases. For however it may be here, with religion, art,\nand morals we do not touch the \"essence of the world in itself\"; we are\nin the domain of representation, no \"intuition\" can carry us further.\nWith the greatest calmness we shall leave the question as to how our\nown conception of the world can differ so widely from the revealed\nessence of the world, to physiology and the history of the evolution of\norganisms and ideas.\n\n\n11.\n\nLANGUAGE AS A PRESUMPTIVE SCIENCE.--The importance of language for\nthe development of culture lies in the fact that in language man has\nplaced a world of his own beside the other, a position which he deemed\nso fixed that he might therefrom lift the rest of the world off its\nhinges, and make himself master of it. Inasmuch as man has believed in\nthe ideas and names of things as _\u00e6tern\u00e6 veritates_ for a great length\nof time, he has acquired that pride by which he has raised himself\nabove the animal; he really thought that in language he possessed\nthe knowledge of the world. The maker of language was not modest\nenough to think that he only gave designations to things, he believed\nrather that with his words he expressed the widest knowledge of the\nthings; in reality language is the first step in the endeavour after\nscience. Here also it is belief in ascertained truth, from which the\nmightiest sources of strength have flowed. Much later--only now--it\nis dawning upon men that they have propagated a tremendous error in\ntheir belief in language. Fortunately it is now too late to reverse\nthe development of reason, which is founded upon that belief. _Logic,_\nalso, is founded upon suppositions to which nothing in the actual\nworld corresponds,--for instance, on the supposition of the equality\nof things, and the identity of the same thing at different points of\ntime,--but that particular science arose out of the contrary belief\n(that such things really existed in the actual world). It is the same\nwith mathematics, which would certainly not have arisen if it had been\nknown from the beginning that in Nature there are no exactly straight\nlines, no real circle, no absolute standard of size.\n\n\n12.\n\nDREAM AND CULTURE.--The function of the brain which is most influenced\nby sleep is the memory; not that it entirely ceases; but it is brought\nback to a condition of imperfection, such as everyone may have\nexperienced in pre-historic times, whether asleep or awake. Arbitrary\nand confused as it is, it constantly confounds things on the ground\nof the most fleeting resemblances; but with the same arbitrariness\nand confusion the ancients invented their mythologies, and even at\nthe present day travellers are accustomed to remark how prone the\nsavage is to forgetfulness, how, after a short tension of memory, his\nmind begins to sway here and there from sheer weariness and gives\nforth lies and nonsense. But in dreams we all resemble the savage;\nbad recognition and erroneous comparisons are the reasons of the\nbad conclusions, of which we are guilty in dreams: so that, when we\nclearly recollect what we have dreamt, we are alarmed at ourselves at\nharbouring so much foolishness within us. The perfect distinctness of\nall dream-representations, which pre-suppose absolute faith in their\nreality, recall the conditions that appertain, to primitive man,\nin whom hallucination was extraordinarily frequent, and sometimes\nsimultaneously seized entire communities, entire nations. Therefore, in\nsleep and in dreams we once more carry out the task of early humanity.\n\n\n13.\n\nTHE LOGIC OF DREAMS.--In sleep our nervous system is perpetually\nexcited by numerous inner occurrences; nearly all the organs are\ndisjointed and in a state of activity, the blood runs its turbulent\ncourse, the position of the sleeper causes pressure on certain limbs,\nhis coverings influence his sensations in various ways, the stomach\ndigests and by its movements it disturbs other organs, the intestines\nwrithe, the position of the head occasions unaccustomed play of\nmuscles, the feet, unshod, not pressing upon the floor with the soles,\noccasion the feeling of the unaccustomed just as does the different\nclothing of the whole body: all this, according to its daily change\nand extent, excites by its extraordinariness the entire system to the\nvery functions of the brain, and thus there are a hundred occasions\nfor the spirit to be surprised and to seek for the _reasons_ of this\nexcitation;--the dream, however, is _the seeking and representing of\nthe causes_ of those excited sensations,--that is, of the supposed\ncauses. A person who, for instance, binds his feet with two straps\nwill perhaps dream that two serpents are coiling round his feet; this\nis first hypothesis, then a belief, with an accompanying _mental_\npicture and interpretation--\" These serpents must be the _causa_ of\nthose sensations which I, the sleeper, experience,\"--so decides the\nmind of the sleeper. The immediate past, so disclosed, becomes to him\nthe present through his excited imagination. Thus every one knows\nfrom experience how quickly the dreamer weaves into his dream a\nloud sound that he hears, such as the ringing of bells or the firing\nof cannon, that is to say, explains it from _afterwards_ so that he\nfirst _thinks_ he experiences the producing circumstances and then\nthat sound. But how does it happen that the mind of the dreamer is\nalways so mistaken, while the same mind when awake is accustomed to be\nso temperate, careful, and sceptical with regard to its hypotheses?\nso that the first random hypothesis for the explanation of a feeling\nsuffices for him to believe immediately in its truth? (For in dreaming\nwe believe in the dream as if it were a reality, _i.e._ we think our\nhypothesis completely proved.) I hold, that as man now still reasons in\ndreams, so men reasoned also _when awake_ through thousands of years;\nthe first _causa_ which occurred to the mind to explain anything that\nrequired an explanation, was sufficient and stood for truth. (Thus,\naccording to travellers' tales, savages still do to this very day.)\nThis ancient element in human nature still manifests itself in our\ndreams, for it is the foundation upon which the higher reason has\ndeveloped and still develops in every individual; the dream carries\nus back into remote conditions of human culture, and provides a ready\nmeans of understanding them better. Dream-thinking is now so easy to\nus because during immense periods of human development we have been\nso well drilled in this form of fantastic and cheap explanation,\nby means of the first agreeable notions. In so far, dreaming is a\nrecreation for the brain, which by day has to satisfy the stern\ndemands of thought, as they are laid down by the higher culture. We\ncan at once discern an allied process even in our awakened state, as\nthe door and ante-room of the dream. If we shut our eyes, the brain\nproduces a number of impressions of light and colour, probably as a\nkind of after-play and echo of all those effects of light which crowd\nin upon it by day. Now, however, the understanding, together with\nthe imagination, instantly works up this play of colour, shapeless\nin itself, into definite figures, forms, landscapes, and animated\ngroups. The actual accompanying process thereby is again a kind of\nconclusion from the effect to the cause: since the mind asks, \"Whence\ncome these impressions of light and colour?\" it supposes those figures\nand forms as causes; it takes them for the origin of those colours and\nlights, because in the daytime, with open eyes, it is accustomed to\nfind a producing cause for every colour, every effect of light. Here,\ntherefore, the imagination constantly places pictures before the mind,\nsince it supports itself on the visual impressions of the day in their\nproduction, and the dream-imagination does just the same thing,--that\nis, the supposed cause is deduced from the effect and represented after\nthe effect; all this happens with extraordinary rapidity, so that here,\nas with the conjuror, a confusion of judgment may arise and a sequence\nmay look like something simultaneous, or even like a reversed sequence.\nFrom these circumstances we may gather _how lately_ the more acute\nlogical thinking, the strict discrimination of cause and effect has\nbeen developed, when our reasoning and understanding faculties _still_\ninvoluntarily hark back to those primitive forms of deduction, and\nwhen we pass about half our life in this condition. The poet, too, and\nthe artist assign causes for their moods and conditions which are by\nno means the true ones; in this they recall an older humanity and can\nassist us to the understanding of it.\n\n\n14.\n\nCO-ECHOING.--All _stronger_ moods bring with them a co-echoing of\nkindred sensations and moods, they grub up the memory, so to speak.\nAlong with them something within us remembers and becomes conscious\nof similar conditions and their origin. Thus there are formed quick\nhabitual connections of feelings and thoughts, which eventually, when\nthey follow each other with lightning speed, are no longer felt as\ncomplexes but as _unities._ In this sense one speaks of the moral\nfeeling, of the religious feeling, as if they were absolute unities: in\nreality they are streams with a hundred sources and tributaries. Here\nalso, as so often happens, the unity of the word is no security for the\nunity of the thing.\n\n\n15.\n\nNO INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL IN THE WORLD.--As Democritus transferred the\nconcepts \"above\" and \"below\" to endless space where they have no sense,\nso philosophers in general have transferred the concepts \"Internal\"\nand \"External\" to the essence and appearance of the world; they think\nthat with deep feelings one can penetrate deeply into the internal and\napproach the heart of Nature. But these feelings are only deep in so\nfar as along with them, barely noticeable, certain complicated groups\nof thoughts, which we call deep, are regularly excited; a feeling\nis deep because we think that the accompanying thought is deep. But\nthe \"deep\" thought can nevertheless be very far from the truth, as,\nfor instance, every metaphysical one; if one take away from the deep\nfeeling the commingled elements of thought, then the _strong_ feeling\nremains, and this guarantees nothing for knowledge but itself, just\nas strong faith proves only its strength and not the truth of what is\nbelieved in.\n\n\n16.\n\nPHENOMENON AND THING-IN-ITSELF.--Philosophers are in the habit of\nsetting themselves before life and experience--before that which they\ncall the world of appearance--as before a picture that is once for\nall unrolled and exhibits unchangeably fixed the same process,--this\nprocess, they think, must be rightly interpreted in order to come to\na conclusion about the being that produced the picture: about the\nthing-in-itself, therefore, which is always accustomed to be regarded\nas sufficient ground for the world of phenomenon. On the other hand,\nsince one always makes the idea of the metaphysical stand definitely\nas that of the unconditioned, _consequently_ also unconditioning, one\nmust directly disown all connection between the unconditioned (the\nmetaphysical world) and the world which is known to us; so that the\nthing-in-itself should most certainly _not_ appear in the phenomenon,\nand every conclusion from the former as regards the latter is to be\nrejected. Both sides overlook the fact that that picture--that which\nwe now call human life and experience--has gradually evolved,--nay,\nis still in the full process of evolving,--and therefore should not\nbe regarded as a fixed magnitude from which a conclusion about its\noriginator might be deduced (the sufficing cause) or even merely\nneglected. It is because for thousands of years we have looked into\nthe world with moral, \u00e6sthetic, and religious pretensions, with blind\ninclination, passion, or fear, and have surfeited ourselves in the\nvices of illogical thought, that this world has gradually _become_ so\nmarvellously motley, terrible, full of meaning and of soul, it has\nacquired colour--but we were the colourists; the human intellect,\non the basis of human needs, of human emotions, has caused this\n\"phenomenon\" to appear and has carried its erroneous fundamental\nconceptions into things. Late, very late, it takes to thinking, and\nnow the world of experience and the thing-in-itself seem to it so\nextraordinarily different and separated, that it gives up drawing\nconclusions from the former to the latter--or in a terribly mysterious\nmanner demands the renunciation of our intellect, of our personal\nwill, in order _thereby_ to reach the essential, that one may _become\nessential._ Again, others have collected all the characteristic\nfeatures of our world of phenomenon,--that is, the idea of the world\nspun out of intellectual errors and inherited by us,--and _instead of\naccusing the intellect_ as the offenders, they have laid the blame on\nthe nature of things as being the cause of the hard fact of this very\nsinister character of the world, and have preached the deliverance\nfrom Being. With all these conceptions the constant and laborious\nprocess of science (which at last celebrates its greatest triumph in a\n_history of the origin of thought_) becomes completed in various ways,\nthe result of which might perhaps run as follows:--\"That which we now\ncall the world is the result of a mass of errors and fantasies which\narose gradually in the general development of organic being, which\nare inter-grown with each other, and are now inherited by us as the\naccumulated treasure of all the past,--as a treasure, for the value of\nour humanity depends upon it. From this world of representation strict\nscience is really only able to liberate us to a very slight extent--as\nit is also not at all desirable--inasmuch as it cannot essentially\nbreak the power of primitive habits of feeling; but it can gradually\nelucidate the history of the rise of that world as representation,--and\nlift us, at least for moments, above and beyond the whole process.\nPerhaps we shall then recognise that the thing in itself is worth a\nHomeric laugh; that it _seemed_ so much, indeed everything, and _is_\nreally empty, namely, empty of meaning.\"\n\n\n17.\n\nMETAPHYSICAL EXPLANATIONS.--The young man values metaphysical\nexplanations, because they show him something highly significant\nin things which he found unpleasant or despicable, and if he is\ndissatisfied with himself, the feeling becomes lighter when he\nrecognises the innermost world-puzzle or world-misery in that which he\nso strongly disapproves of in himself. To feel himself less responsible\nand at the same time to find things more interesting--that seems to\nhim a double benefit for which he has to thank metaphysics. Later on,\ncertainly, he gets distrustful of the whole metaphysical method of\nexplanation; then perhaps it grows clear to him that those results can\nbe obtained equally well and more scientifically in another way: that\nphysical and historical explanations produce the feeling of personal\nrelief to at least the same extent, and that the interest in life and\nits problems is perhaps still more aroused thereby.\n\n\n18.\n\nFUNDAMENTAL QUESTIONS OF METAPHYSICS.--When the history of the rise\nof thought comes to be written, a new light will be thrown on the\nfollowing statement of a distinguished logician:--\"The primordial\ngeneral law of the cognisant subject consists in the inner necessity\nof recognising every object in itself in its own nature, as a thing\nidentical with itself, consequently self-existing and at bottom\nremaining ever the same and unchangeable: in short, in recognising\neverything as a substance.\" Even this law, which is here called\n\"primordial,\" has evolved: it will some day be shown how gradually this\ntendency arises in the lower organisms, how the feeble mole-eyes of\ntheir organisations at first see only the same thing,--;how then, when\nthe various awakenings of pleasure and displeasure become noticeable,\nvarious substances are gradually distinguished, but each with one\nattribute, _i.e._ one single relation to such an organism. The first\nstep in logic is the judgment,--the nature of which, according to the\ndecision of the best logicians, consists in belief. At the bottom of\nall belief lies _the sensation of the pleasant or the painful_ in\nrelation to the _sentient subject._ A new third sensation as the result\nof two previous single sensations is the judgment in its simplest\nform. We organic beings have originally no interest in anything but\nits relation to _us_ in connection with pleasure and pain. Between\nthe moments (the states of feeling) when we become conscious of\nthis connection, lie moments of rest, of non-feeling; the world and\neverything is then without interest for us, we notice no change in it\n(as even now a deeply interested person does not notice when any one\npasses him). To the plant, things are as a rule tranquil and eternal,\neverything like itself. From the period of the lower organisms man\nhas inherited the belief that _similar things_ exist (this theory\nis only contradicted by the matured experience of the most advanced\nscience). The primordial belief of everything organic from the\nbeginning is perhaps even this, that all the rest of the world is one\nand immovable. The point furthest removed from those early beginnings\nof logic is the idea of _Causality,_--indeed we still really think\nthat all sensations and activities are acts of the free will; when the\nsentient individual contemplates himself, he regards every sensation,\nevery alteration as something _isolated,_ that is to say, unconditioned\nand disconnected,--it rises up in us without connection with anything\nforegoing or following. We are hungry, but do not originally think that\nthe organism must be nourished; the feeling seems to make itself felt\n_without cause and purpose,_ it isolates itself and regards itself as\narbitrary. Therefore, belief in the freedom of the will is an original\nerror of everything organic, as old as the existence of the awakenings\nof logic in it; the belief in unconditioned substances and similar\nthings is equally a primordial as well as an old error of everything\norganic. But inasmuch as all metaphysics has concerned itself chiefly\nwith substance and the freedom of will, it may be designated as the\nscience which treats of the fundamental errors of mankind, but treats\nof them as if they were fundamental truths.\n\n\n19.\n\nNUMBER.--The discovery of the laws of numbers is made upon the ground\nof the original, already prevailing error, that there are many similar\nthings (but in reality there is nothing similar), at least, that there\nare things (but there is no \"thing\"). The supposition of plurality\nalways presumes that there is something which appears frequently,--but\nhere already error reigns, already we imagine beings, unities,\nwhich do not exist. Our sensations of space and time are false, for\nthey lead--examined in sequence--to logical contradictions. In all\nscientific determinations we always reckon inevitably with certain\nfalse quantities, but as these quantities are at least constant, as,\nfor instance, our sensation of time and space, the conclusions of\nscience have still perfect accuracy and certainty in their connection\nwith one another; one may continue to build upon them--until that final\nlimit where the erroneous original suppositions, those constant faults,\ncome into conflict with the conclusions, for instance in the doctrine\nof atoms. There still we always feel ourselves compelled to the\nacceptance of a \"thing\" or material \"sub-stratum\" that is moved, whilst\nthe whole scientific procedure has pursued the very task of resolving\neverything substantial (material) into motion; here, too, we still\nseparate with our sensation the mover and the moved and cannot get\nout of this circle, because the belief in things has from immemorial\ntimes been bound up with our being. When Kant says, \"The understanding\ndoes not derive its laws from Nature, but dictates them to her,\" it is\nperfectly true with regard to the idea of Nature which we are compelled\nto associate with her (Nature = World as representation, that is to\nsay as error), but which is the summing up of a number of errors of\nthe understanding. The laws of numbers are entirely inapplicable to a\nworld which is not our representation--these laws obtain only in the\nhuman world.\n\n\n20.\n\nA FEW STEPS BACK.--A degree of culture, and assuredly a very high one,\nis attained when man rises above superstitious and religious notions\nand fears, and, for instance, no longer believes in guardian angels or\nin original sin, and has also ceased to talk of the salvation of his\nsoul,--if he has attained to this degree of freedom, he has still also\nto overcome metaphysics with the greatest exertion of his intelligence.\nThen, however, a _retrogressive movement_ is necessary; he must\nunderstand the historical justification as well as the psychological in\nsuch representations, he must recognise how the greatest advancement\nof humanity has come therefrom, and how, without such a retrocursive\nmovement, we should have been robbed of the best products of hitherto\nexisting mankind. With regard to philosophical metaphysics, I always\nsee increasing numbers who have attained to the negative goal (that\nall positive metaphysics is error), but as yet few who climb a few\nrungs backwards; one ought to look out, perhaps, over the last steps of\nthe ladder, but not try to stand upon them. The most enlightened only\nsucceed so far as to free themselves from metaphysics and look back\nupon it with superiority, while it is necessary here, too, as in the\nhippodrome, to turn round the end of the course.\n\n\n21.\n\nCONJECTURAL VICTORY OF SCEPTICISM.--For once let the sceptical\nstarting-point be accepted,--granted that there were no other\nmetaphysical world, and all explanations drawn from metaphysics about\nthe only world we know were useless to us, in what light should we\nthen look upon men and things? We can think this out for ourselves, it\nis useful, even though the question whether anything metaphysical has\nbeen scientifically proved by Kant and Schopenhauer were altogether set\naside. For it is quite possible, according to historical probability,\nthat some time or other man, as a general rule, may grow _sceptical;_\nthe question will then be this: What form will human society take under\nthe influence of such a mode of thought? Perhaps the _scientific proof_\nof some metaphysical world or other is already so _difficult_ that\nmankind will never get rid of a certain distrust of it. And when there\nis distrust of metaphysics, there are on the whole the same results as\nif it had been directly refuted and _could_ no longer be believed in.\nThe historical question with regard to an unmetaphysical frame of mind\nin mankind remains the same in both cases.\n\n\n22.\n\nUNBELIEF IN THE \"_MONUMENTUM \u00c6RE PERENNIUS._\"--An actual drawback\nwhich accompanies the cessation of metaphysical views lies in the fact\nthat the individual looks upon his short span of life too exclusively\nand receives no stronger incentives to build durable institutions\nintended to last for centuries,--he himself wishes to pluck the fruit\nfrom the tree which he plants, and therefore he no longer plants those\ntrees which require regular care for centuries, and which are destined\nto afford shade to a long series of generations. For metaphysical\nviews furnish the belief that in them the last conclusive foundation\nhas been given, upon which henceforth all the future of mankind is\ncompelled to settle down and establish itself; the individual furthers\nhis salvation, when, for instance, he founds a church or convent, he\nthinks it will be reckoned to him and recompensed to him in the eternal\nlife of the soul, it is work for the soul's eternal salvation. Can\nscience also arouse such faith in its results? As a matter of fact, it\nneeds doubt and distrust as its most faithful auxiliaries; nevertheless\nin the course of time, the sum of inviolable truths--those, namely,\nwhich have weathered all the storms of scepticism, and all destructive\nanalysis--may have become so great (in the regimen of health, for\ninstance), that one may determine to found thereupon \"eternal\" works.\nFor the present the _contrast_ between our excited ephemeral existence\nand the long-winded repose of metaphysical ages still operates too\nstrongly, because the two ages still stand too closely together;\nthe individual man himself now goes through too many inward and\noutward developments for him to venture to arrange his own lifetime\npermanently, and once and for all. An entirely modern man, for\ninstance, who is going to build himself a house, has a feeling as if\nhe were going to immure himself alive in a mausoleum.\n\n\n23.\n\nTHE AGE OF COMPARISON.--The less men are fettered by tradition, the\ngreater becomes the inward activity of their motives; the greater,\nagain, in proportion thereto, the outward restlessness, the confused\nflux of mankind, the polyphony of strivings. For whom is there still an\nabsolute compulsion to bind himself and his descendants to one place?\nFor whom is there still anything strictly compulsory? As all styles of\narts are imitated simultaneously, so also are all grades and kinds of\nmorality, of customs, of cultures. Such an age obtains its importance\nbecause in it the various views of the world, customs, and cultures can\nbe compared and experienced simultaneously,--which was formerly not\npossible with the always localised sway of every culture, corresponding\nto the rooting of all artistic styles in place and time. An increased\n\u00e6sthetic feeling will now at last decide amongst so many forms\npresenting themselves for comparison; it will allow the greater number,\nthat is to say all those rejected by it, to die out. In the same way\na selection amongst the forms and customs of the higher moralities is\ntaking place, of which the aim can be nothing else than the downfall of\nthe lower moralities. It is the age of comparison! That is its pride,\nbut more justly also its grief. Let us not be afraid of this grief!\nRather will we comprehend as adequately as possible the task our age\nsets us: posterity will bless us for doing so,--a posterity which knows\nitself to be as much above the terminated original national cultures as\nabove the culture of comparison, but which looks back with gratitude on\nboth kinds of culture as upon antiquities worthy of veneration.\n\n\n24.\n\nTHE POSSIBILITY OF PROGRESS.--When a scholar of the ancient culture\nforswears the company of men who believe in progress, he does quite\nright. For the greatness and goodness of ancient culture lie behind\nit, and historical education compels one to admit that they can never\nbe fresh again; an unbearable stupidity or an equally insufferable\nfanaticism would be necessary to deny this. But men can _consciously_\nresolve to develop themselves towards a new culture; whilst formerly\nthey only developed unconsciously and by chance, they can now create\nbetter conditions for the rise of human beings, for their nourishment,\neducation and instruction; they can administer the earth economically\nas a whole, and can generally weigh and restrain the powers of man.\nThis new, conscious culture kills the old, which, regarded as a whole,\nhas led an unconscious animal and plant life; it also kills distrust\nin progress,--progress is _possible._ I must say that it is over-hasty\nand almost nonsensical to believe that progress must _necessarily_\nfollow; but how could one deny that it is possible? On the other hand,\nprogress in the sense and on the path of the old culture is not even\nthinkable. Even if romantic fantasy has also constantly used the word\n\"progress\" to denote its aims (for instance, circumscribed primitive\nnational cultures), it borrows the picture of it in any case from the\npast; its thoughts and ideas on this subject are entirely without\noriginality.\n\n\n25.\n\nPRIVATE AND \u0152CUMENICAL MORALITY.--Since the belief has ceased that\na God directs in general the fate of the world and, in spite of all\napparent crookedness in the path of humanity, leads it on gloriously,\nmen themselves must set themselves \u0153cumenical aims embracing the\nwhole earth. The older morality, especially that of Kant, required\nfrom the individual actions which were desired from all men,--that was\na delightfully na\u00efve thing, as if each one knew off-hand what course\nof action was beneficial to the whole of humanity, and consequently\nwhich actions in general were desirable; it is a theory like that\nof free trade, taking for granted that the general harmony _must_\nresult of itself according to innate laws of amelioration. Perhaps a\nfuture contemplation of the needs of humanity will show that it is\nby no means desirable that all men should act alike; in the interest\nof \u0153cumenical aims it might rather be that for whole sections of\nmankind, special, and perhaps under certain circumstances even evil,\ntasks would have to be set. In any case, if mankind is not to destroy\nitself by such a conscious universal rule, there must previously be\nfound, as a scientific standard for \u0153cumenical aims, a _knowledge of\nthe conditions of culture_ superior to what has hitherto been attained.\nHerein lies the enormous task of the great minds of the next century.\n\n\n26.\n\nREACTION AS PROGRESS.--Now and again there appear rugged, powerful,\nimpetuous, but nevertheless backward-lagging minds which conjure up\nonce more a past phase of mankind; they serve to prove that the new\ntendencies against which they are working are not yet sufficiently\nstrong, that they still lack something, otherwise they would show\nbetter opposition to those exorcisers. Thus, for example, Luther's\nReformation bears witness to the fact that in his century all the\nmovements of the freedom of the spirit were still uncertain, tender,\nand youthful; science could not yet lift up its head. Indeed the whole\nRenaissance seems like an early spring which is almost snowed under\nagain. But in this century also, Schopenhauer's Metaphysics showed\nthat even now the scientific spirit is not yet strong enough; thus the\nwhole medi\u00e6val Christian view of the world and human feeling could\ncelebrate its resurrection in Schopenhauer's doctrine, in spite of\nthe long achieved destruction of all Christian dogmas. There is much\nscience in his doctrine, but it does not dominate it: it is rather\nthe old well-known \"metaphysical requirement\" that does so. It is\ncertainly one of the greatest and quite invaluable advantages which\nwe gain from Schopenhauer, that he occasionally forces our sensations\nback into older, mightier modes of contemplating the world and man, to\nwhich no other path would so easily lead us. The gain to history and\njustice is very great,--I do not think that any one would so easily\nsucceed now in doing justice to Christianity and its Asiatic relations\nwithout Schopenhauer's assistance, which is specially impossible\nfrom the basis of still existing Christianity. Only after this great\n_success of justice,_ only after we have corrected so essential a point\nas the historical mode of contemplation which the age of enlightenment\nbrought with it, may we again bear onward the banner of enlightenment,\nthe banner with the three names, Petrarch, Erasmus, Voltaire. We have\nturned reaction into progress.\n\n\n27.\n\nA SUBSTITUTE FOR RELIGION.--It is believed that something good\nis said of philosophy when it is put forward as a substitute for\nreligion for the people. As a matter of fact, in the spiritual economy\nthere is need, at times, of an _intermediary_ order of thought: the\ntransition from religion to scientific contemplation is a violent,\ndangerous leap, which is not to be recommended. To this extent the\nrecommendation is justifiable. But one should eventually learn that\nthe needs which have been satisfied by religion and are now to be\nsatisfied by philosophy are not unchangeable; these themselves can be\n_weakened_ and _eradicated._ Think, for instance, of the Christian's\ndistress of soul, his sighing over inward corruption, his anxiety\nfor salvation,--all notions which originate only in errors of reason\nand deserve not satisfaction but destruction. A philosophy can serve\neither to _satisfy_ those needs or to _set them aside_; for they are\nacquired, temporally limited needs, which are based upon suppositions\ncontradictory to those of science. Here, in order to make a transition,\n_art_ is far rather to be employed to relieve the mind overburdened\nwith emotions; for those notions receive much less support from it than\nfrom a metaphysical philosophy. It is easier, then, to pass over from\nart to a really liberating philosophical science.\n\n\n28.\n\nILL-FAMED WORDS.--Away with those wearisomely hackneyed terms\nOptimism and Pessimism! For the occasion for using them becomes less\nand less from day to day; only the chatterboxes still find them so\nabsolutely necessary. For why in all the world should any one wish to\nbe an optimist unless he had a God to defend who _must_ have created\nthe best of worlds if he himself be goodness and perfection,--what\nthinker, however, still needs the hypothesis of a God? But every\noccasion for a pessimistic confession of faith is also lacking when\none has no interest in being annoyed at the advocates of God (the\ntheologians, or the theologising philosophers), and in energetically\ndefending the opposite view, that evil reigns, that pain is greater\nthan pleasure, that the world is a bungled piece of work, the\nmanifestation of an ill-will to life. But who still bothers about the\ntheologians now--except the theologians? Apart from all theology and\nits contentions, it is quite clear that the world is not good and not\nbad (to say nothing of its being the best or the worst), and that the\nterms \"good\" and \"bad\" have only significance with respect to man, and\nindeed, perhaps, they are not justified even here in the way they are\nusually employed; in any case we must get rid of both the calumniating\nand the glorifying conception of the world.\n\n\n29.\n\nINTOXICATED BY THE SCENT OF THE BLOSSOMS.--It is supposed that the ship\nof humanity has always a deeper draught, the heavier it is laden; it is\nbelieved that the deeper a man thinks, the more delicately he feels,\nthe higher he values himself, the greater his distance from the other\nanimals,--the more he appears as a genius amongst the animals,--all\nthe nearer will he approach the real essence of the world and its\nknowledge; this he actually does too, through science, but he _means_\nto do so still more through his religions and arts. These certainly\nare blossoms of the world, but by no means any _nearer to the root of\nthe world_ than the stalk; it is not possible to understand the nature\nof things better through them, although almost every one believes he\ncan. _Error_ has made man so deep, sensitive, and inventive that he has\nput forth such blossoms as religions and arts. Pure knowledge could\nnot have been capable of it. Whoever were to unveil for us the essence\nof the world would give us all the most disagreeable disillusionment.\nNot the world as thing-in-itself, but the world as representation (as\nerror) is so full of meaning, so deep, so wonderful, bearing happiness\nand unhappiness in its bosom. This result leads to a philosophy of the\nlogical denial of the world, which, however, can be combined with a\npractical world-affirming just as well as with its opposite.\n\n\n30.\n\nBAD HABITS IN REASONING.--The usual false conclusions of mankind are\nthese: a thing exists, therefore it has a right to exist. Here there\nis inference from the ability to live to its suitability; from its\nsuitability to its rightfulness. Then: an opinion brings happiness;\ntherefore it is the true opinion. Its effect is good; therefore it is\nitself good and true. To the effect is here assigned the predicate\nbeneficent, good, in the sense of the useful, and the cause is then\nfurnished with the same predicate good, but here in the sense of the\nlogically valid. The inversion of the sentences would read thus: an\naffair cannot be carried through, or maintained, therefore it is\nwrong; an opinion causes pain or excites, therefore it is false. The\nfree spirit who learns only too often the faultiness of this mode\nof reasoning, and has to suffer from its consequences, frequently\ngives way to the temptation to draw the very opposite conclusions,\nwhich, in general, are naturally just as false: an affair cannot be\ncarried through, therefore it is good; an opinion is distressing and\ndisturbing, therefore it is true.\n\n\n31.\n\nTHE ILLOGICAL NECESSARY.--One of those things that may drive a thinker\ninto despair is the recognition of the fact that the illogical is\nnecessary for man, and that out of the illogical comes much that is\ngood. It is so firmly rooted in the passions, in language, in art,\nin religion, and generally in everything that gives value to life,\nthat it cannot be withdrawn without thereby hopelessly injuring these\nbeautiful things. It is only the all-too-na\u00efve people who can believe\nthat the nature of man can be changed into a purely logical one; but\nif there were degrees of proximity to this goal, how many things would\nnot have to be lost on this course! Even the most rational man has need\nof nature again from time to time, _i.e._ his _illogical fundamental\nattitude_ towards all things.\n\n\n32.\n\nINJUSTICE NECESSARY.--All judgments on the value of life are\nillogically developed, and therefore unjust. The inexactitude of\nthe judgment lies, firstly, in the manner in which the material is\npresented, namely very imperfectly; secondly, in the manner in which\nthe conclusion is formed out of it; and thirdly, in the fact that every\nseparate element of the material is again the result of vitiated\nrecognition, and this, too, of necessity. For instance, no experience\nof an individual, however near he may stand to us, can be perfect, so\nthat we could have a logical right to make a complete estimate of him;\nall estimates are rash, and must be so. Finally, the standard by which\nwe measure, our nature, is not of unalterable dimensions,--we have\nmoods and vacillations, and yet we should have to recognise ourselves\nas a fixed standard in order to estimate correctly the relation of any\nthing whatever to ourselves. From this it will, perhaps, follow that\nwe should make no judgments at all; if one could only live without\nmaking estimations, without having likes and dislikes! For all dislike\nis connected with an estimation, as well as all inclination. An\nimpulse towards or away from anything without a feeling that something\nadvantageous is desired, something injurious avoided, an impulse\nwithout any kind of conscious valuation of the worth of the aim does\nnot exist in man. We are from the beginning illogical, and therefore\nunjust beings, _and can recognise this_; it is one of the greatest and\nmost inexplicable discords of existence.\n\n\n33.\n\nERROR ABOUT LIFE NECESSARY FOR LIFE.--Every belief in the value and\nworthiness of life is based on vitiated thought; it is only possible\nthrough the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of\nmankind is very weakly developed in the individual. Even the rarer\npeople who think outside themselves do not contemplate this general\nlife, but only a limited part of it. If one understands how to direct\none's attention chiefly to the exceptions,--I mean to the highly gifted\nand the rich souls,--if one regards the production of these as the aim\nof the whole world-development and rejoices in its operation, then\none may believe in the value of life, because one thereby _overlooks_\nthe other men--one consequently thinks fallaciously. So too, when\none directs one's attention to all mankind, but only considers _one_\nspecies of impulses in them, the less egoistical ones, and excuses\nthem with regard to the other instincts, one may then again entertain\nhopes of mankind in general and believe so far in the value of life,\nconsequently in this case also through fallaciousness of thought. Let\none, however, behave in this or that manner: with such behaviour one\nis an _exception_ amongst men. Now, most people bear life without any\nconsiderable grumbling, and consequently _believe_ in the value of\nexistence, but precisely because each one is solely self-seeking and\nself-affirming, and does not step out of himself like those exceptions;\neverything extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or at most seems\nonly a faint shadow. Therefore on this alone is based the value of\nlife for the ordinary everyday man, that he regards himself as more\nimportant than the world. The great lack of imagination from which\nhe suffers is the reason why he cannot enter into the feelings of\nother beings, and therefore sympathises as little as possible with\ntheir fate and suffering. He, on the other hand, who really _could_\nsympathise therewith, would have to despair of the value of life; were\nhe to succeed in comprehending and feeling in himself the general\nconsciousness of mankind, he would collapse with a curse on existence;\nfor mankind as a whole has _no_ goals, consequently man, in considering\nhis whole course, cannot find in it his comfort and support, but his\ndespair. If, in all that he does, he considers the final aimlessness\nof man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the character of\nwastefulness. But to feel one's self just as much wasted as humanity\n(and not only as an individual) as we see the single blossom of nature\nwasted, is a feeling above all other feelings. But who is capable\nof it? Assuredly only a poet, and poets always know how to console\nthemselves.\n\n\n34.\n\nFOR TRANQUILLITY.--But does not our philosophy thus become a tragedy?\nDoes not truth become hostile to life, to improvement? A question seems\nto weigh upon our tongue and yet hesitate to make itself heard: whether\none _can_ consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing one were\n_obliged_ to do this, would not death be preferable? For there is no\nlonger any \"must\"; morality, in so far as it had any \"must\" or \"shalt\",\nhas been destroyed by our mode of contemplation, just as religion has\nbeen destroyed. Knowledge can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and\ninjury to subsist as motives; but how will these motives agree with\nthe sense of truth? They also contain errors (for, as already said,\ninclination and aversion, and their very incorrect determinations,\npractically regulate our pleasure and pain). The whole of human life\nis deeply immersed in untruthfulness; the individual cannot draw it\nup out of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to his\nwhole past, without finding his present motives--those of honour,\nfor instance--inconsistent, and without opposing scorn and disdain\nto the passions which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it true\nthat there remains but one sole way of thinking which brings after it\ndespair as a personal experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy\nof dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I believe that\nthe decision with regard to the after-effects of the knowledge will\nbe given through the _temperament_ of a man; I could imagine another\nafter-effect, just as well as that one described, which is possible in\ncertain natures, by means of which a life would arise much simpler,\nfreer from emotions than is the present one, so that though at first,\nindeed, the old motives of passionate desire might still have strength\nfrom old hereditary habit, they would gradually become weaker under\nthe influence--of purifying knowledge. One would live at last amongst\nmen, and with one's self as with _Nature,_ without praise, reproach,\nor agitation, feasting one's eyes, as if it were a _play,_ upon much\nof which one was formerly afraid. One would be free from the emphasis,\nand would no longer feel the goading, of the thought that one is not\nonly nature or more than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a\ngood temperament would be necessary for this, an even, mild, and\nnaturally joyous soul, a disposition which would not always need to be\non its guard against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would not convey\nin its utterances anything of a grumbling or sudden nature,--those\nwell-known vexatious qualities of old dogs and men who have been long\nchained up. On the contrary, a man from whom the ordinary fetters of\nlife have so far fallen that he continues to live only for the sake of\never better knowledge must be able to renounce without envy and regret:\nmuch, indeed almost everything that is precious to other men, he must\nregard as the _all-sufficing_ and the most desirable condition; the\nfree, fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the traditional\nvaluations of things. The joy of this condition he imparts willingly,\nand he _has_ perhaps nothing else to impart,--wherein, to be sure,\nthere is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless, more is\ndemanded from him, he will point with a friendly shake of his head to\nhis brother, the free man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a\nlittle derision, for as regards this \"freedom\" it is a very peculiar\ncase.\n\n\n\n\nSECOND DIVISION.\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS.\n\n\n\n35.\n\nADVANTAGES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATION.--That reflection on the human,\nall-too-human--or, according to the learned expression, psychological\nobservation--is one of the means by which one may lighten the burden\nof life, that exercise in this art produces presence of mind in\ndifficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome surroundings, even\nthat from the most thorny and unpleasant periods of one's own life\none may gather maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this\nwas believed, was known in former centuries. Why was it forgotten\nby our century, when in Germany at least, even in all Europe, the\npoverty of psychological observation betrays itself by many signs? Not\nexactly in novels, tales, and philosophical treatises,--they are the\nwork of exceptional individuals,--rather in the judgments on public\nevents and personalities; but above all there is a lack of the art of\npsychological analysis and summing-up in every rank of society, in\nwhich a great deal is talked about men, but nothing about _man._ Why\ndo we allow the richest and most harmless subject of conversation to\nescape us? Why are not the great masters of psychological maxims more\nread? For, without any exaggeration, the educated man in Europe who has\nread La Rochefoucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely found,\nand still more rare is he who knows them and does not blame them. It\nis probable, however, that even this exceptional reader will find much\nless pleasure in them than the form of this artist should afford him;\nfor even the clearest head is not capable of rightly estimating the\nart of shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really been brought\nup to it and has competed in it. Without this practical teaching one\ndeems this shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one has not\na sufficient perception of fitness and charm. For this reason the\npresent readers of maxims find in them a comparatively small pleasure,\nhardly a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble the people who\ngenerally look at cameos, who praise because they cannot love, and are\nvery ready to admire, but still more ready to run away.\n\n\n36.\n\nOBJECTION.--Or should there be a counter-reckoning to that theory\nthat places psychological observation amongst the means of charming,\ncuring, and relieving existence? Should one have sufficiently convinced\none's self of the unpleasant consequences of this art to divert from\nit designedly the attention of him who is educating himself in it? As\na matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the goodness of human\nnature, an innate aversion to the analysis of human actions, a kind\nof shame-facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul may\nreally be more desirable for the general well-being of a man than that\nquality, useful in isolated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness;\nand perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men and deeds, in an\nabundance of impersonal goodwill in the world, has made men better\ninasmuch as it has made them less distrustful. When one imitates\nPlutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and turns with disgust from a\nsuspicious examination of the motives for their actions, it is not\ntruth which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human society; the\npsychological mistake and, generally speaking, the insensibility\non this matter helps humanity forwards, while the recognition of\ntruth gains more through the stimulating power of hypothesis than La\nRochefoucauld has said in his preface to the first edition of his\n\"_Sentences et maximes morales.\" ... \"Ce que le monde nomme vertu n'est\nd'ordinaire qu'un fant\u00f4me form\u00e9 par nos passions, \u00e0 qui on donne un\nnom honn\u00eate pour faire impun\u00e9ment ce qu'on veut.\"_ La Rochefoucauld\nand those other French masters of soul-examination who have lately\nbeen joined by a German, the author of _Psychological Observations_[1]\nresemble good marksmen who again and again hit the bull's-eye; but it\nis the bull's-eye of human nature. Their art arouses astonishment; but\nin the end a spectator who is not led by the spirit of science, but\nby humane intentions, will probably execrate an art which appears to\nimplant in the soul the sense of the disparagement and suspicion of\nmankind.\n\n\n37.\n\nNEVERTHELESS.--However it may be with reckoning and counter-reckoning,\nin the present condition of philosophy the awakening of moral\nobservation is necessary. Humanity can no longer be spared the cruel\nsight of the psychological dissecting-table with its knives and\nforceps. For here rules that science which inquires into the origin and\nhistory of the so-called moral sentiments, and which, in its progress,\nhas to draw up and solve complicated sociological problems:--the older\nphilosophy knows the latter one not at all, and has always avoided the\nexamination of the origin and history of moral sentiments on any feeble\npretext. With what consequences it is now very easy to see, after\nit has been shown by many examples how the mistakes of the greatest\nphilosophers generally have their starting-point in a wrong explanation\nof certain human actions and sensations, just as on the ground of an\nerroneous analysis--for instance, that of the so-called unselfish\nactions a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with this again,\nreligion and mythological confusion are brought in to assist, and\nfinally the shades of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and\nthe general mode of regarding the world. If it is certain, however,\nthat superficiality in psychological observation has laid, and still\nlays, the most dangerous snares for human judgments and conclusions,\nthen there is need now of that endurance of work which does not grow\nweary of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble; there is need of\ncourage not to be ashamed of such humble work and to turn a deaf ear\nto scorn. And this is also true,--numberless single observations on\nthe human and all-too-human have first been discovered, and given\nutterance to, in circles of society which were accustomed to offer\nsacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please, and not to scientific\nknowledge,--and the odour of that old home of the moral maxim, a very\nseductive odour, has attached itself almost inseparably to the whole\nspecies, so that on its account the scientific man involuntarily\nbetrays a certain distrust of this species and its earnestness. But\nit is sufficient to point to the consequences, for already it begins\nto be seen what results of a serious kind spring from the ground of\npsychological observation. What, after all, is the principal axiom\nto which the boldest and coldest thinker, the author of the book\n_On the Origin of Moral Sensations_[2] has attained by means of his\nincisive and decisive analyses of human actions? \"The moral man,\" he\nsays, \"is no nearer to the intelligible (metaphysical) world than\nis the physical man.\" This theory, hardened and sharpened under the\nhammer-blow of historical knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps\nin some future period, serve as the axe which is applied to the root\nof the \"metaphysical need\" of man,--whether _more_ as a blessing than\na curse to the general welfare it is not easy to say, but in any case\nas a theory with the most important consequences, at once fruitful and\nterrible, and looking into the world with that Janus-face which all\ngreat knowledge possesses.\n\n\n38.\n\nHOW FAR USEFUL.--It must remain for ever undecided whether\npsychological observation is advantageous or disadvantageous to\nman; but it is certain that it is necessary, because science cannot\ndo without it. Science, however, has no consideration for ultimate\npurposes, any more than Nature has, but just as the latter occasionally\nachieves things of the greatest suitableness without intending to do\nso, so also true science, as the _imitator of nature in ideas,_ will\noccasionally and in many ways further the usefulness and welfare of\nman,--_but also without intending to do so._\n\nBut whoever feels too chilled by the breath of such a reflection has\nperhaps too little fire in himself; let him look around him meanwhile\nand he will become aware of illnesses which have need of ice-poultices,\nand of men who are so \"kneaded together\" of heat and spirit that\nthey can hardly find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough.\nMoreover, as individuals and nations that are too serious have need of\nfrivolities, as others too mobile and excitable have need occasionally\nof heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their health, should not\nwe, the more _intellectual_ people of this age, that grows visibly more\nand more inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means that exist, in\norder that we may at least remain as constant, harmless, and moderate\nas we still are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other as mirror\nand self-contemplation for this age?\n\n\n39.\n\nTHE FABLE OF INTELLIGIBLE FREEDOM.--The history of the sentiments by\nmeans of which we make a person responsible consists of the following\nprincipal phases. First, all single actions are called good or bad\nwithout any regard to their motives, but only on account of the useful\nor injurious consequences which result for the community. But soon the\norigin of these distinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the\nqualities \"good\" or \"bad\" are contained in the action itself without\nregard to its consequences, by the same error according to which\nlanguage describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,--with which,\nin short, the result is regarded as the cause. Then the goodness or\nbadness is implanted in the motive, and the action in itself is looked\nupon as morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further, and applies\nthe predicate good or bad no longer to single motives, but to the\nwhole nature of an individual, out of whom the motive grows as the\nplant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man is made responsible\nfor his operations, then for his actions, then for his motives, and\nfinally for his nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this\nnature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an absolutely necessary\nconsequence concreted out of the elements and influences of past and\npresent things,--that man, therefore, cannot be made responsible for\nanything, neither for his nature, nor his motives, nor his actions, nor\nhis effects. It has therewith come to be recognised that the history\nof moral valuations is at the same time the history of an error, the\nerror of responsibility, which is based upon the error of the freedom\nof will. Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because certain actions\nbring ill humour (\"consciousness of guilt\") in their train, there\nmust be a responsibility; for there would be _no reason_ for this ill\nhumour if not only all human actions were not done of necessity,--which\nis actually the case and also the belief of this philosopher,--but\nman himself from the same necessity is precisely the _being_ that\nhe is--which Schopenhauer denies. From the fact of that ill humour\nSchopenhauer thinks he can prove a liberty which man must somehow\nhave had, not with regard to actions, but with regard to nature;\nliberty, therefore, to _be_ thus or otherwise, not to _act_ thus or\notherwise. From the _esse,_ the sphere of freedom and responsibility,\nthere results, in his opinion, the _operari,_ the sphere of strict\ncausality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This ill humour is\napparently directed to the _operari,_--in so far it is erroneous,--but\nin reality it is directed to the _esse,_ which is the deed of a free\nwill, the fundamental cause of the existence of an individual, man\nbecomes that which he _wishes_ to be, his will is anterior to his\nexistence. Here the mistaken conclusion is drawn that from the fact\nof the ill humour, the justification, the reasonable _admissableness_\nof this ill humour is presupposed; and starting from this mistaken\nconclusion, Schopenhauer arrives at his fantastic sequence of the\nso-called intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the deed is\nnot necessarily reasonable, indeed it is assuredly not reasonable, for\nit is based upon the erroneous presumption that the action need _not_\nhave inevitably followed. Therefore, it is only because man _believes_\nhimself to be free, not because he is free, that he experiences remorse\nand pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill humour is a habit that can\nbe broken off; in many people it is entirely absent in connection with\nactions where others experience it. It is a very changeable thing, and\none which is connected with the development of customs and culture,\nand probably only existing during a comparatively short period of the\nworld's history. Nobody is responsible for his actions, nobody for his\nnature; to judge is identical with being unjust. This also applies when\nan individual judges himself. The theory is as clear as sunlight, and\nyet every one prefers to go back into the shadow and the untruth, for\nfear of the consequences.\n\n\n40.\n\nTHE SUPER-ANIMAL.--The beast in us wishes to be deceived; morality is\na lie of necessity in order that we may not be torn in pieces by it.\nWithout the errors which lie in the assumption of morality, man would\nhave remained an animal. Thus, however, he has considered himself as\nsomething higher and has laid strict laws upon himself. Therefore he\nhates the grades which have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the\nformer scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to be explained as a\nfact.\n\n\n41.\n\nTHE UNCHANGEABLE CHARACTER.--That the character is unchangeable is\nnot true in a strict sense; this favourite theory means, rather, that\nduring the short lifetime of an individual the new influencing motives\ncannot penetrate deeply enough to destroy the ingrained marks of many\nthousands of years. But if one were to imagine a man of eighty thousand\nyears, one would have in him an absolutely changeable character, so\nthat a number of different individuals would gradually develop out\nof him. The shortness of human life misleads us into forming many\nerroneous ideas about the qualities of man.\n\n\n42.\n\nTHE ORDER OF POSSESSIONS AND MORALITY.--The once-accepted hierarchy\nof possessions, according as this or the other is coveted by a lower,\nhigher, or highest egoism, now decides what is moral or immoral. To\nprefer a lesser good (for instance, the gratification of the senses)\nto a more highly valued good (for instance, health) is accounted\nimmoral, and also to prefer luxury to liberty. The hierarchy of\npossessions, however, is not fixed and equal at all times; if any one\nprefers vengeance to justice he is moral according to the standard of\nan earlier civilisation, but immoral according to the present one. To\nbe \"immoral,\" therefore, denotes that an individual has not felt, or\nnot felt sufficiently strongly, the higher, finer, spiritual motives\nwhich have come in with a new culture; it marks one who has remained\nbehind, but only according to the difference of degrees. The order of\npossessions itself is _not_ raised and lowered according to a moral\npoint of view; but each time that it is fixed it supplies the decision\nas to whether an action is moral or immoral.\n\n\n43.\n\nCRUEL PEOPLE AS THOSE WHO HAVE REMAINED BEHIND.--People who are\ncruel nowadays must be accounted for by us as the grades of earlier\ncivilisations which have survived; here are exposed those deeper\nformations in the mountain of humanity which usually remain concealed.\nThey are backward people whose brains, through all manner of accidents\nin the course of inheritance, have not been developed in so delicate\nand manifold a way. They show us what we all _were_ and horrify us, but\nthey themselves are as little responsible as is a block of granite for\nbeing granite. There must, too, be grooves and twists in our brains\nwhich answer to that condition of mind, as in the form of certain\nhuman organs there are supposed to be traces of a fish-state. But these\ngrooves and twists are no longer the bed through which the stream of\nour sensation flows.\n\n\n44.\n\nGRATITUDE AND REVENGE.--The reason why the powerful man is grateful\nis this: his benefactor, through the benefit he confers, has mistaken\nand intruded into the sphere of the powerful man,--now the latter,\nin return, penetrates into the sphere of the benefactor by the act of\ngratitude. It is a milder form of revenge. Without the satisfaction of\ngratitude, the powerful man would have shown himself powerless, and\nwould have been reckoned as such ever after. Therefore every society of\nthe good, which originally meant the powerful, places gratitude amongst\nthe first duties.--Swift propounded the maxim that men were grateful in\nthe same proportion as they were revengeful.\n\n\n45.\n\nTHE TWOFOLD EARLY HISTORY OF GOOD AND EVIL.--The conception of good\nand evil has a twofold early history, namely, _once_ in the soul of\nthe ruling tribes and castes. Whoever has the power of returning\ngood for good, evil for evil, and really practises requital, and who\nis, therefore, grateful and revengeful, is called good; whoever is\npowerless, and unable to requite, is reckoned as bad. As a good man one\nis reckoned among the \"good,\" a community which has common feelings\nbecause the single individuals are bound to one another by the sense\nof requital. As a bad man one belongs to the \"bad,\" to a party of\nsubordinate, powerless people who have no common feeling. The good are\na caste, the bad are a mass like dust. Good and bad have for a long\ntime meant the same thing as noble and base, master and slave. On the\nother hand, the enemy is not looked upon as evil, he can requite. In\nHomer the Trojan and the Greek are both good. It is not the one who\ninjures us, but the one who is despicable, who is called bad. Good is\ninherited in the community of the good; it is impossible that a bad man\ncould spring from such good soil. If, nevertheless, one of the good\nones does something which is unworthy of the good, refuge is sought in\nexcuses; the guilt is thrown upon a god, for instance; it is said that\nhe has struck the good man with blindness and madness.--\n\n_Then_ in the soul of the oppressed and powerless. Here every _other_\nman is looked upon as hostile, inconsiderate, rapacious, cruel,\ncunning, be he noble or base; evil is the distinguishing word for man,\neven for every conceivable living creature, _e.g._ for a god; human,\ndivine, is the same thing as devilish, evil. The signs of goodness,\nhelpfulness, pity, are looked upon with fear as spite, the prelude to\na terrible result, stupefaction and out-witting,--in short, as refined\nmalice. With such a disposition in the individual a community could\nhardly exist, or at most it could exist only in its crudest form, so\nthat in all places where this conception of good and evil obtains,\nthe downfall of the single individuals, of their tribes and races, is\nat hand.--Our present civilisation has grown up on the soil of the\n_ruling_ tribes and castes.\n\n\n46.\n\nSYMPATHY STRONGER THAN SUFFERING.--There are cases when sympathy is\nstronger than actual suffering. For instance, we are more pained when\none of our friends is guilty of something shameful than when we do\nit ourselves. For one thing, we have more faith in the purity of his\ncharacter than he has himself; then our love for him, probably on\naccount of this very faith, is stronger than his love for himself. And\neven if his egoism suffers more thereby than our egoism, inasmuch as it\nhas to bear more of the bad consequences of his fault, the un-egoistic\nin us--this word is not to be taken too seriously, but only as a\nmodification of the expression--is more deeply wounded by his guilt\nthan is the un-egoistic in him.\n\n\n47.\n\nHYPOCHONDRIA.--There are people who become hypochondriacal through\ntheir sympathy and concern for another person; the kind of sympathy\nwhich results therefrom is nothing but a disease. Thus there is\nalso a Christian hypochondria, which afflicts those solitary,\nreligiously-minded people who keep constantly before their eyes the\nsufferings and death of Christ.\n\n\n48.\n\nECONOMY OF GOODNESS.--Goodness and love, as the most healing herbs and\npowers in human intercourse, are such costly discoveries that one would\nwish as much economy as possible to be exercised in the employment of\nthese balsamic means; but this is impossible. The economy of goodness\nis the dream of the most daring Utopians.\n\n\n49.\n\nGOODWILL.--Amongst the small, but countlessly frequent and therefore\nvery effective, things to which science should pay more attention than\nto the great, rare things, is to be reckoned goodwill; I mean that\nexhibition of a friendly disposition in intercourse, that smiling\neye, that clasp of the hand, that cheerfulness with which almost all\nhuman actions are usually accompanied. Every teacher, every official,\nadds this to whatever is his duty; it is the perpetual occupation\nof humanity, and at the same time the waves of its light, in which\neverything grows; in the narrowest circle, namely, within the family,\nlife blooms and flourishes only through that goodwill. Kindliness,\nfriendliness, the courtesy of the heart, are ever-flowing streams of\nun-egoistic impulses, and have given far more powerful assistance to\nculture than even those much more famous demonstrations which are\ncalled pity, mercy, and self-sacrifice. But they are thought little\nof, and, as a matter of fact, there is not much that is un-egoistic\nin them. The _sum_ of these small doses is nevertheless mighty, their\nunited force is amongst the strongest forces. Thus one finds much more\nhappiness in the world than sad eyes see, if one only reckons rightly,\nand does not forget all those moments of comfort in which every day is\nrich, even in the most harried of human lives.\n\n\n50.\n\nTHE WISH TO AROUSE PITY.--In the most remarkable passage of his\nauto--portrait (first printed in 1658), La Rochefoucauld assuredly\nhits the nail on the head when he warns all sensible people against\npity, when he advises them to leave that to those orders of the people\nwho have need of passion (because it is not ruled by reason), and to\nreach the point of helping the suffering and acting energetically in an\naccident; while pity, according to his (and Plato's) judgment, weakens\nthe soul. Certainly we should _exhibit_ pity, but take good care not\nto _feel_ it, for the unfortunate are so _stupid_ that to them the\nexhibition of pity is the greatest good in the world. One can, perhaps,\ngive a more forcible warning against this feeling of pity if one looks\nupon that need of the unfortunate not exactly as stupidity and lack of\nintellect, a kind of mental derangement which misfortune brings with\nit (and as such, indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to regard it), but\nas something quite different and more serious. Observe children, who\ncry and scream _in order_ to be pitied, and therefore wait for the\nmoment when they will be noticed; live in intercourse with the sick and\nmentally oppressed, and ask yourself whether that ready complaining and\nwhimpering, that making a show of misfortune, does not, at bottom, aim\nat _making the spectators miserable;_ the pity which the spectators\nthen exhibit is in so far a consolation for the weak and suffering in\nthat the latter recognise therein that they _possess still one power,_\nin spite of their weakness, _the power of giving pain._ The unfortunate\nderives a sort of pleasure from this feeling of superiority, of which\nthe exhibition of pity makes him conscious; his imagination is exalted,\nhe is still powerful enough to give the world pain. Thus the thirst for\npity is the thirst for self-gratification, and that, moreover, at the\nexpense of his fellow-men; it shows man in the whole inconsiderateness\nof his own dear self, but not exactly in his \"stupidity,\" as La\nRochefoucauld thinks. In society-talk three-fourths of all questions\nasked and of all answers given are intended to cause the interlocutor\na little pain; for this reason so many people pine for company; it\nenables them to feel their power. There is a powerful charm of life\nin such countless but very small doses in which malice makes itself\nfelt, just as goodwill, spread in the same way throughout the world, is\nthe ever-ready means of healing. But are there many honest people who\nwill admit that it is pleasing to give pain? that one not infrequently\namuses one's self--and amuses one's self very well--in causing\nmortifications to others, at least in thought, and firing off at them\nthe grape-shot of petty malice? Most people are too dishonest, and a\nfew are too good, to know anything of this _pudendum_ these will always\ndeny that Prosper M\u00e9rim\u00e9e is right when he says, \"_Sachez aussi qu'il\nn'y a rien de plus commun que de faire le mal pour le plaisir de le\nfaire._\"\n\n\n51.\n\nHOW APPEARANCE BECOMES ACTUALITY.--The actor finally reaches such a\npoint that even in the deepest sorrow he cannot cease from thinking\nabout the impression made by his own person and the general scenic\neffect; for instance, even at the funeral of his child, he will weep\nover his own sorrow and its expression like one of his own audience.\nThe hypocrite, who always plays one and the same part, ceases at\nlast to be a hypocrite; for instance, priests, who as young men are\ngenerally conscious or unconscious hypocrites, become at last natural,\nand are then really without any affectation, just priests; or if the\nfather does not succeed so far, perhaps the son does, who makes use\nof his father's progress and inherits his habits. If any one long and\nobstinately desires to _appear_ something, he finds it difficult at\nlast to _be_ anything else. The profession of almost every individual,\neven of the artist, begins with hypocrisy, with an imitating from\nwithout, with a copying of the effective. He who always wears the\nmask of a friendly expression must eventually obtain a power over\nwell-meaning dispositions without which the expression of friendliness\nis not to be compelled,--and finally, these, again, obtain a power\nover him, he _is_ well-meaning.\n\n\n52.\n\nTHE POINT OF HONOUR IN DECEPTION.--In all great deceivers one thing\nis noteworthy, to which they owe their power. In the actual act of\ndeception, with all their preparations, the dreadful voice, expression,\nand mien, in the midst of their effective scenery they are overcome\nby their _belief in themselves_ it is this, then, which speaks so\nwonderfully and persuasively to the spectators. The founders of\nreligions are distinguished from those great deceivers in that they\nnever awake from their condition of self-deception; or at times, but\nvery rarely, they have an enlightened moment when doubt overpowers\nthem; they generally console themselves, however, by ascribing these\nenlightened moments to the influence of the Evil One. There must\nbe self-deception in order that this and that may _produce_ great\n_effects._ For men believe in the truth of everything that is visibly,\nstrongly believed in.\n\n\n53.\n\nTHE NOMINAL DEGREES OF TRUTH.--One of the commonest mistakes is this:\nbecause some one is truthful and honest towards us, he must speak the\ntruth. Thus the child believes in its parents' judgment, the Christian\nin the assertions of the Founder of the Church. In the same way men\nrefuse to admit that all those things which men defended in former ages\nwith the sacrifice of life and happiness were nothing but errors; it\nis even said, perhaps, that they were degrees of the truth. But what\nis really meant is that when a man has honestly believed in something,\nand has fought and died for his faith, it would really be too _unjust_\nif he had only been inspired by an error. Such a thing seems a\ncontradiction of eternal justice; therefore the heart of sensitive man\never enunciates against his head the axiom: between moral action and\nintellectual insight there must absolutely be a necessary connection.\nIt is unfortunately otherwise; for there is no eternal justice.\n\n\n54.\n\nFALSEHOOD.--Why do people mostly speak the truth in daily\nlife?--Assuredly not because a god has forbidden falsehood. But,\nfirstly, because it is more convenient, as falsehood requires\ninvention, deceit, and memory. (As Swift says, he who tells a lie is\nnot sensible how great a task he undertakes; for in order to uphold\none lie he must invent twenty others.) Therefore, because it is\nadvantageous in upright circumstances to say straight out, \"I want\nthis, I have done that,\" and so on; because, in other words, the path\nof compulsion and authority is surer than that of cunning. But if a\nchild has been brought up in complicated domestic circumstances, he\nemploys falsehood, naturally and unconsciously says whatever best suits\nhis interests; a sense of truth and a hatred of falsehood are quite\nforeign and unknown to him, and so he lies in all innocence.\n\n\n55.\n\nTHROWING SUSPICION ON MORALITY FOR FAITH'S SAKE.--No power can be\nmaintained when it is only represented by hypocrites; no matter how\nmany \"worldly\" elements the Catholic Church possesses, its strength\nlies in those still numerous priestly natures who render life hard\nand full of meaning for themselves, and whose glance and worn bodies\nspeak of nocturnal vigils, hunger, burning prayers, and perhaps even of\nscourging; these move men and inspire them with fear. What if it were\n_necessary_ to live thus? This is the terrible question which their\naspect brings to the lips. Whilst they spread this doubt they always\nuprear another pillar of their power; even the free-thinker does not\ndare to withstand such unselfishness with hard words of truth, and to\nsay, \"Thyself deceived, deceive not others!\" Only the difference of\nviews divides them from him, certainly no difference of goodness or\nbadness; but men generally treat unjustly that which they do not like.\nThus we speak of the cunning and the infamous art of the Jesuits, but\noverlook the self-control which every individual Jesuit practises, and\nthe fact that the lightened manner of life preached by Jesuit books\nis by no means for their benefit, but for that of the laity. We may\neven ask whether, with precisely similar tactics and organisation,\nwe enlightened ones would make equally good tools, equally admirable\nthrough self-conquest, indefatigableness, and renunciation.\n\n\n56.\n\nVICTORY OF KNOWLEDGE OVER RADICAL EVIL.--It is of great advantage to\nhim who desires to be wise to have witnessed for a time the spectacle\nof a thoroughly evil and degenerate man; it is false, like the contrary\nspectacle, but for whole long periods it held the mastery, and its\nroots have even extended and ramified themselves to us and our world.\nIn order to understand _ourselves_ we must understand _it_ but then, in\norder to mount higher we must rise above it. We recognise, then, that\nthere exist no sins in the metaphysical sense; but, in the same sense,\nalso no virtues; we recognise that the entire domain of ethical ideas\nis perpetually tottering, that there are higher and deeper conceptions\nof good and evil, of moral and immoral. He who does not desire much\nmore from things than a knowledge of them easily makes peace with his\nsoul, and will make a mistake (or commit a sin, as the world calls\nit) at the most from ignorance, but hardly from covetousness. He will\nno longer wish to excommunicate and exterminate desires; but his\nonly, his wholly dominating ambition, to _know_ as well as possible\nat all times, will make him cool and will soften all the savageness\nin his disposition. Moreover, he has been freed from a number of\ntormenting conceptions, he has no more feeling at the mention of the\nwords \"punishments of hell,\" \"sinfulness,\" \"incapacity for good,\" he\nrecognises in them only the vanishing shadow-pictures of false views of\nthe world and of life.\n\n\n57.\n\nMORALITY AS THE SELF-DISINTEGRATION OF MAN.--A good author, who\nreally has his heart in his work, wishes that some one could come\nand annihilate him by representing the same thing in a clearer way\nand answering without more ado the problems therein proposed. The\nloving girl wishes she could prove the self-sacrificing faithfulness\nof her love by the unfaithfulness of her beloved. The soldier hopes\nto die on the field of battle for his victorious fatherland; for his\nloftiest desires triumph in the victory of his country. The mother\ngives to the child that of which she deprives herself--sleep, the best\nfood, sometimes her health and fortune. But are all these un-egoistic\nconditions? Are these deeds of morality _miracles,_ because, to use\nSchopenhauer's expression, they are \"impossible and yet performed\"? Is\nit not clear that in all four cases the individual loves _something\nof himself,_ a thought, a desire, a production, better than _anything\nelse of himself;_ that he therefore divides his nature and to one part\nsacrifices all the rest? Is it something _entirely_ different when an\nobstinate man says, \"I would rather be shot than move a step out of\nmy way for this man\"? The _desire for something_ (wish, inclination,\nlonging) is present in all the instances mentioned; to give way to it,\nwith all its consequences, is certainly not \"un-egoistic.\"--In ethics\nman does not consider himself as _Individuum_ but as _dividuum._\n\n\n58.\n\nWHAT ONE MAY PROMISE.--One may promise actions, but no sentiments, for\nthese are involuntary. Whoever promises to love or hate a person, or be\nfaithful to him for ever, promises something which is not within his\npower; he can certainly promise such actions as are usually the results\nof love, hate, or fidelity, but which may also spring from other\nmotives; for many ways and motives lead to one and the same action.\nThe promise to love some one for ever is, therefore, really: So long\nas I love you I will act towards you in a loving way; if I cease to\nlove you, you will still receive the same treatment from me, although\ninspired by other motives, so that our fellow-men will still be deluded\ninto the belief that our love is unchanged and ever the same. One\npromises, therefore, the continuation of the semblance of love, when,\nwithout self-deception, one speaks vows of eternal love.\n\n\n59.\n\nINTELLECT AND MORALITY.--One must have a good memory to be able to keep\na given promise. One must have a strong power of imagination to be\nable to feel pity. So closely is morality bound to the goodness of the\nintellect.\n\n\n60.\n\nTO WISH FOR REVENGE AND TO TAKE REVENGE.--To have a revengeful thought\nand to carry it into effect is to have a violent attack of fever,\nwhich passes off, however,--but to have a revengeful thought without\nthe strength and courage to carry it out is a chronic disease, a\npoisoning of body and soul which we have to bear about with us.\nMorality, which only takes intentions into account, considers the\ntwo cases as equal; usually the former case is regarded as the worse\n(because of the evil consequences which may perhaps result from the\ndeed of revenge). Both estimates are short-sighted.\n\n\n61.\n\nTHE POWER OF WAITING.--Waiting is so difficult that even great poets\nhave not disdained to take incapability of waiting as the motive for\ntheir works. Thus Shakespeare in Othello or Sophocles in Ajax, to whom\nsuicide, had he been able to let his feelings cool down for one day,\nwould no longer have seemed necessary, as the oracle intimated; he\nwould probably have snapped his fingers at the terrible whisperings\nof wounded vanity, and said to himself, \"Who has not already, in\nmy circumstances, mistaken a fool for a hero? Is it something so\nvery extraordinary?\" On the contrary, it is something very commonly\nhuman; Ajax might allow himself that consolation. Passion will not\nwait; the tragedy in the lives of great men frequently lies _not_ in\ntheir conflict with the times and the baseness of their fellow-men,\nbut in their incapacity of postponing their work for a year or two;\nthey cannot wait. In all duels advising friends have one thing to\ndecide, namely whether the parties concerned can still wait awhile;\nif this is not the case, then a duel is advisable, inasmuch as each\nof the two says, \"Either I continue to live and that other man must\ndie immediately, or _vice versa_.\" In such case waiting would mean a\nprolonged suffering of the terrible martyrdom of wounded honour in the\nface of the insulter, and this may entail more suffering than life is\nworth.\n\n\n62.\n\nREVELLING IN VENGEANCE.--Coarser individuals who feel themselves\ninsulted, make out the insult to be as great as possible, and relate\nthe affair in greatly exaggerated language, in order to be able to\nrevel thoroughly in the rarely awakened feelings of hatred and revenge.\n\n\n63.\n\nTHE VALUE OF DISPARAGEMENT.--In order to maintain their self-respect\nin their own eyes and a certain thoroughness of action, not a few men,\nperhaps even the majority, find it absolutely necessary to run down and\ndisparage all their acquaintances. But as mean natures are numerous,\nand since it is very important whether they possess that thoroughness\nor lose it, hence----\n\n\n64.\n\nTHE MAN IN A PASSION.--We must beware of one who is in a passion\nagainst us as of one who has once sought our life; for the fact that\nwe still live is due to the absence of power to kill,--if looks would\nsuffice, we should have been dead long ago. It is a piece of rough\ncivilisation to force some one into silence by the exhibition of\nphysical savageness and the inspiring of fear. That cold glance which\nexalted persons employ towards their servants is also a relic of that\ncaste division between man and man, a piece of rough antiquity; women,\nthe preservers of ancient things, have also faithfully retained this\n_survival_ of an ancient habit.\n\n\n65.\n\nWHITHER HONESTY CAN LEAD.--Somebody had the bad habit of occasionally\ntalking quite frankly about the motives of his actions, which were as\ngood and as bad as the motives of most men. He first gave offence,\nthen aroused suspicion, was then gradually excluded from society and\ndeclared a social outlaw, until at last justice remembered such an\nabandoned creature, on occasions when it would otherwise have had no\neyes, or would have closed them. The lack of power to hold his tongue\nconcerning the common secret, and the irresponsible tendency to see\nwhat no one wishes to see--himself--brought him to a prison and an\nearly death.\n\n\n66.\n\nPUNISHABLE, BUT NEVER PUNISHED.--Our crime against criminals lies in\nthe fact that we treat them like rascals.\n\n\n67.\n\n_SANCTA SIMPLICITAS_ OF VIRTUE.--Every virtue has its privileges; for\nexample, that of contributing its own little faggot to the scaffold of\nevery condemned man.\n\n\n68.\n\nMORALITY AND CONSEQUENCES.--It is not only the spectators of a deed\nwho frequently judge of its morality or immorality according to its\nconsequences, but the doer of the deed himself does so. For the motives\nand intentions are seldom sufficiently clear and simple, and sometimes\nmemory itself seems clouded by the consequences of the deed, so that\none ascribes the deed to false motives or looks upon unessential\nmotives as essential. Success often gives an action the whole honest\nglamour of a good conscience; failure casts the shadow of remorse\nover the most estimable deed. Hence arises the well-known practice\nof the politician, who thinks, \"Only grant me success, with that I\nbring all honest souls over to my side and make myself honest in my\nown eyes.\" In the same way success must replace a better argument.\nMany educated people still believe that the triumph of Christianity\nover Greek philosophy is a proof of the greater truthfulness of\nthe former,--although in this case it is only the coarser and more\npowerful that has triumphed over the more spiritual and delicate.\nWhich possesses the greater truth may be seen from the fact that the\nawakening sciences have agreed with Epicurus' philosophy on point after\npoint, but on point after point have rejected Christianity.\n\n\n69.\n\nLOVE AND JUSTICE.--Why do we over-estimate love to the disadvantage\nof justice, and say the most beautiful things about it, as if it were\nsomething very much higher than the latter? Is it not visibly more\nstupid than justice? Certainly, but precisely for that reason all the\n_pleasanter_ for every one. It is blind, and possesses an abundant\ncornucopia, out of which it distributes its gifts to all, even if they\ndo not deserve them, even if they express no thanks for them. It is as\nimpartial as the rain, which, according to the Bible and experience,\nmakes not only the unjust, but also occasionally the just wet through\nto the skin.\n\n\n70.\n\nEXECUTION.--How is it that every execution offends us more than does a\nmurder? It is the coldness of the judges, the painful preparations, the\nconviction that a human being is here being used as a warning to scare\nothers. For the guilt is not punished, even if it existed--it lies with\neducators, parents, surroundings, in ourselves, not in the murderer--I\nmean the determining circumstances.\n\n\n71.\n\nHOPE.--Pandora brought the box of ills and opened it. It was the gift\nof the gods to men, outwardly a beautiful and seductive gift, and\ncalled the Casket of Happiness. Out of it flew all the evils, living\nwinged creatures, thence they now circulate and do men injury day and\nnight. One single evil had not yet escaped from the box, and by the\nwill of Zeus Pandora closed the lid and it remained within. Now for\never man has the casket of happiness in his house and thinks he holds a\ngreat treasure; it is at his disposal, he stretches out his hand for it\nwhenever he desires; for he does not know the box which Pandora brought\nwas the casket of evil, and he believes the ill which remains within to\nbe the greatest blessing,--it is hope. Zeus did not wish man, however\nmuch he might be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his life,\nbut to go on letting himself be tormented again and again. Therefore he\ngives man hope,--in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it\nprolongs the torments of man.\n\n\n72.\n\nTHE DEGREE OF MORAL INFLAMMABILITY UNKNOWN.--According to whether we\nhave or have not had certain disturbing views and impressions--for\ninstance, an unjustly executed, killed, or martered father; a faithless\nwife; a cruel hostile attack--it depends whether our passions reach\nfever heat and influence our whole life or not. No one knows to\nwhat he may be driven by circumstances, pity, or indignation; he\ndoes not know the degree of his own inflammability. Miserable little\ncircumstances make us miserable; it is generally not the quantity of\nexperiences, but their quality, on which lower and higher man depends,\nin good and evil.\n\n\n73.\n\nTHE MARTYR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.--There was a man belonging to a party\nwho was too nervous and cowardly ever to contradict his comrades; they\nmade use of him for everything, they demanded everything from him,\nbecause he was more afraid of the bad opinion of his companions than\nof death itself; his was a miserable, feeble soul. They recognised\nthis, and on the ground of these qualities they made a hero of him, and\nfinally even a martyr. Although the coward inwardly always said No,\nwith his lips he always said Yes, even on the scaffold, when he was\nabout to die for the opinions of his party; for beside him stood one of\nhis old companions, who so tyrannised over him by word and look that\nhe really suffered death in the most respectable manner, and has ever\nsince been celebrated as a martyr and a great character.\n\n\n74.\n\nI THE EVERY-DAY STANDARD.--One will seldom go wrong if one attributes\nextreme actions to vanity, average ones to habit, and petty ones to\nfear.\n\n\n75.\n\nMISUNDERSTANDING CONCERNING VIRTUE.--Whoever has known immorality\nin connection with pleasure, as is the case with a man who has a\npleasure-seeking youth behind him, imagines that virtue must be\nconnected with absence of pleasure.--Whoever, on the contrary, has been\nmuch plagued by his passions and vices, longs to find in virtue peace\nand the soul's happiness. Hence it is possible for two virtuous persons\nnot to understand each other at all.\n\n\n76.\n\nTHE ASCETIC.--The ascetic makes a necessity of virtue.\n\n\n77.\n\nTRANSFERRING HONOUR FROM THE PERSON TO THE THING.--Deeds of love and\nsacrifice for the benefit of one's neighbour are generally honoured,\nwherever they are manifested. Thereby we multiply the valuation of\nthings which are thus loved, or for which we sacrifice ourselves,\nalthough perhaps they are not worth much in themselves. A brave army is\nconvinced of the cause for which it fights.\n\n\n78.\n\nAMBITION A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE MORAL SENSE.--The moral sense must not be\nlacking in those natures which have no ambition. The ambitious manage\nwithout it, with almost the same results. For this reason the sons of\nunpretentious, unambitious families, when once they lose the moral\nsense, generally degenerate very quickly into complete scamps.\n\n\n79.\n\nVANITY ENRICHES.--How poor would be the human mind without vanity!\nThus, however, it resembles a well-stocked and constantly replenished\nbazaar which attracts buyers of every kind. There they can find almost\neverything, obtain almost everything, provided that they bring the\nright sort of coin, namely admiration.\n\n\n80.\n\nOLD AGE AND DEATH.--Apart from the commands of religion, the question\nmay well be asked, Why is it more worthy for an old man who feels his\npowers decline, to await his slow exhaustion and extinction than with\nfull consciousness to set a limit to his life? Suicide in this case is\na perfectly natural, obvious action, which should justly arouse respect\nas a triumph of reason, and did arouse it in those times when the heads\nof Greek philosophy and the sturdiest patriots used to seek death\nthrough suicide. The seeking, on the contrary, to prolong existence\nfrom day to day, with anxious consultation of doctors and painful mode\nof living, without the power of drawing nearer to the actual aim of\nlife, is far less worthy. Religion is rich in excuses to reply to the\ndemand for suicide, and thus it ingratiates itself with those who wish\nto cling to life.\n\n\n81.\n\nERRORS OF THE SUFFERER AND THE DOER.--When a rich man deprives a poor\nman of a possession (for instance, a prince taking the sweetheart of\na plebeian), an error arises in the mind of the poor man; he thinks\nthat the rich man must be utterly infamous to take away from him the\nlittle that he has. But the rich man does not estimate so highly the\nvalue of a _single_ possession, because he is accustomed to have many;\nhence he cannot imagine himself in the poor man's place, and does not\ncommit nearly so great a wrong as the latter supposes. They each have a\nmistaken idea of the other. The injustice of the powerful, which, more\nthan anything else, rouses indignation in history, is by no means so\ngreat as it appears. Alone the mere inherited consciousness of being a\nhigher creation, with higher claims, produces a cold temperament, and\nleaves the conscience quiet; we all of us feel no injustice when the\ndifference is very great between ourselves and another creature, and\nkill a fly, for instance, without any pricks of conscience. Therefore\nit was no sign of badness in Xerxes (whom even all Greeks describe\nas superlatively noble) when he took a son away from his father and\nhad him cut in pieces, because he had expressed a nervous, ominous\ndistrust of the whole campaign; in this case the individual is put out\nof the way like an unpleasant insect; he is too lowly to be allowed\nany longer to cause annoyance to a ruler of the world. Yes, every\ncruel man is not so cruel as the ill-treated one imagines the idea of\npain is not the same as its endurance. It is the same thing in the\ncase of unjust judges, of the journalist who leads public opinion\nastray by small dishonesties. In all these cases cause and effect are\nsurrounded by entirely different groups of feelings and thoughts; yet\none unconsciously takes it for granted that doer and sufferer think and\nfeel alike, and according to this supposition we measure the guilt of\nthe one by the pain of the other.\n\n\n82.\n\nTHE SKIN OF THE SOUL.--As the bones, flesh, entrails, and blood-vessels\nare enclosed within a skin, which makes the aspect of man endurable, so\nthe emotions and passions of the soul are enwrapped with vanity,--it is\nthe skin of the soul.\n\n\n83.\n\nTHE SLEEP OF VIRTUE.--When virtue has slept, it will arise again all\nthe fresher.\n\n\n84.\n\nTHE REFINEMENT OF SHAME.--People are not ashamed to think something\nfoul, but they are ashamed when they think these foul thoughts are\nattributed to them.\n\n\n85.\n\nMALICE IS RARE.--Most people are far too much occupied with themselves\nto be malicious.\n\n\n86.\n\nTHE TONGUE IN THE BALANCE.--We praise or blame according as the one or\nthe other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment.\n\n\n87.\n\nST. LUKE XVIII. 14, IMPROVED.--He that humbleth himself wishes to be\nexalted.\n\n\n88.\n\nTHE PREVENTION OF SUICIDE.--There is a certain right by which we may\ndeprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death;\nthis is mere cruelty.\n\n\n89.\n\nVANITY.--We care for the good opinion of men, firstly because they are\nuseful to us, and then because we wish to please them (children their\nparents, pupils their teachers, and well-meaning people generally their\nfellow-men). Only where the good opinion of men is of importance to\nsome one, apart from the advantage thereof or his wish to please, can\nwe speak of vanity. In this case the man wishes to please himself,\nbut at the expense of his fellow-men, either by misleading them into\nholding a false opinion about him, or by aiming at a degree of \"good\nopinion\" which must be painful to every one else (by arousing envy).\nThe individual usually wishes to corroborate the opinion he holds of\nhimself by the opinion of others, and to strengthen it in his own\neyes; but the strong habit of authority--a habit as old as man himself\n--induces many to support by authority their belief in themselves: that\nis to say, they accept it first from others; they trust the judgment\nof others more than their own. The interest in himself, the wish to\nplease himself, attains to such a height in a vain man that he misleads\nothers into having a false, all too elevated estimation of him, and yet\nnevertheless sets store by their authority,--thus causing an error and\nyet believing in it. It must be confessed, therefore, that vain people\ndo not wish to please others so much as themselves, and that they go\nso far therein as to neglect their advantage, for they often endeavour\nto prejudice their fellow-men unfavourably, inimicably, enviously,\nconsequently injuriously against themselves, merely in order to have\npleasure in themselves, personal pleasure.\n\n\n90.\n\nTHE LIMITS OF HUMAN LOVE.--A man who has declared that another is an\nidiot and a bad companion, is angry when the latter eventually proves\nhimself to be otherwise.\n\n\n91.\n\n_MORALIT\u00c9 LARMOYANTE._--What a great deal of pleasure morality gives!\nOnly think what a sea of pleasant tears has been shed over descriptions\nof noble and unselfish deeds! This charm of life would vanish if the\nbelief in absolute irresponsibility were to obtain supremacy.\n\n\n92.\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE.--Justice (equity) has, its origin amongst powers\nwhich are fairly equal, as Thucydides (in the terrible dialogue between\nthe Athenian and Melian ambassadors) rightly comprehended: that is to\nsay, where there is no clearly recognisable supremacy, and where a\nconflict would be useless and would injure both sides, there arises the\nthought of coming to an understanding and settling the opposing claims;\nthe character of _exchange_ is the primary character of justice. Each\nparty satisfies the other, as each obtains what he values more than the\nother. Each one receives that which he desires, as his own henceforth,\nand whatever is desired is received in return. Justice, therefore,\nis recompense and exchange based on the hypothesis of a fairly equal\ndegree of power,--thus, originally, revenge belongs to the province\nof justice, it is an exchange. Also gratitude.--Justice naturally is\nbased on the point of view of a judicious self-preservation, on the\negoism, therefore, of that reflection, \"Why should I injure myself\nuselessly and perhaps not attain my aim after all?\" So much about the\n_origin_ of justice. Because man, according to his intellectual custom,\nhas _forgotten_ the original purpose of so-called just and reasonable\nactions, and particularly because for hundreds of years children have\nbeen taught to admire and imitate such actions, the idea has gradually\narisen that such an action is un-egoistic; upon this idea, however, is\nbased the high estimation in which it is held: which, moreover, like\nall valuations, is constantly growing, for something that is valued\nhighly is striven after, imitated, multiplied, and increases, because\nthe value of the output of toil and enthusiasm of each individual is\nadded to the value of the thing itself. How little moral would the\nworld look without this forgetfulness! A poet might say that God had\nplaced forgetfulness as door-keeper in the temple of human dignity.\n\n\n93.\n\nTHE RIGHT OF THE WEAKER.--When any one submits under certain\nconditions to a greater power, as a besieged town for instance, the\ncounter-condition is that one can destroy one's self, burn the town,\nand so cause the mighty one a great loss. Therefore there is a kind of\n_equalisation_ here, on the basis of which rights may be determined.\nThe enemy has his advantage in maintaining it. In so far there are\nalso rights between slaves and masters, that is, precisely so far as\nthe possession of the slave is useful and important to his master. The\n_right_ originally extends _so far as_ one _appears_ to be valuable to\nthe other, essentially unlosable, unconquerable, and so forth. In so\nfar the weaker one also has rights, but lesser ones. Hence the famous\n_unusquisque tantum juris habet, quantum potentia valet_ (or more\nexactly, _quantum potentia valere creditur_).\n\n\n94.\n\nTHE THREE PHASES OF HITHERTO EXISTING MORALITY.--It is the first\nsign that the animal has become man when its actions no longer have\nregard only to momentary welfare, but to what is enduring, when it\ngrows _useful_ and _practical_; there the free rule of reason first\nbreaks out. A still higher step is reached when he acts according to\nthe principle of _honour_ by this means he brings himself into order,\nsubmits to common feelings, and that exalts him still higher over\nthe phase in which he was led only by the idea of usefulness from a\npersonal point of view; he respects and wishes to be respected, _i.e._\nhe understands usefulness as dependent upon what he thinks of others\nand what others think of him. Eventually he acts, on the highest step\nof the _hitherto_ existing--morality, according to _his_ standard of\nthings and men; he himself decides for himself and others what is\nhonourable, what is useful; he has become the law-giver of opinions,\nin accordance with the ever more highly developed idea of what is\nuseful and honourable. Knowledge enables him to place that which is\nmost useful, that is to say the general, enduring usefulness, above the\npersonal, the honourable recognition of general, enduring validity\nabove the momentary; he lives and acts as a collective individual.\n\n\n95.\n\nTHE MORALITY OF THE MATURE INDIVIDUAL.--The impersonal has hitherto\nbeen looked upon as the actual distinguishing mark of moral action; and\nit has been pointed out that in the beginning it was in consideration\nof the common good that all impersonal actions were praised and\ndistinguished. Is not an important change in these views impending,\nnow when it is more and more recognised that it is precisely in the\n_most personal_ possible considerations that the common good is the\ngreatest, so that a _strictly personal_ action now best illustrates\nthe present idea of morality, as utility for the mass? To make a\nwhole _personality_ out of ourselves, and in all that we do to keep\nthat personality's _highest good_ in view, carries us further than\nthose sympathetic emotions and actions for the benefit of others. We\nall still suffer, certainly, from the too small consideration of the\npersonal in us; it is badly developed,--let us admit it; rather has\nour mind been forcibly drawn away from it and offered as a sacrifice\nto the State, to science, or to those who stand in need of help, as if\nit were the bad part which must be sacrificed. We are still willing to\nwork for our fellow-men, but only so far as we find our own greatest\nadvantage in this work, no more and no less. It is only a question of\nwhat we understand as _our advantage;_ the unripe, undeveloped, crude\nindividual will understand it in the crudest way.\n\n\n96.\n\nCUSTOM AND MORALITY.--To be moral, correct, and virtuous is to be\nobedient to an old-established law and custom. Whether we submit\nwith difficulty or willingly is immaterial, enough that we do so. He\nis called \"good\" who, as if naturally, after long precedent, easily\nand willingly, therefore, does what is right, according to whatever\nthis may be (as, for instance, taking revenge, if to take revenge be\nconsidered as right, as amongst the ancient Greeks). He is called\ngood because he is good \"for something\"; but as goodwill, pity,\nconsideration, moderation, and such like, have come, with the change\nin manners, to be looked upon as \"good for something,\" as useful, the\ngood-natured and helpful have, later on, come to be distinguished\nspecially as \"good.\" (In the beginning other and more important kinds\nof usefulness stood in the foreground.) To be evil is to be \"not\nmoral\" (immoral), to be immoral is to be in opposition to tradition,\nhowever sensible or stupid it may be; injury to the community (the\n\"neighbour\" being understood thereby) has, however, been looked upon\nby the social laws of all different ages as being eminently the actual\n\"immorality,\" so that now at the word \"evil\" we immediately think of\nvoluntary injury to one's neighbour. The fundamental antithesis which\nhas taught man the distinction between moral and immoral, between good\nand evil, is not the \"egoistic\" and \"un-egoistic,\" but the being bound\nto the tradition, law, and solution thereof. How the tradition has\n_arisen_ is immaterial, at all events without regard to good and evil\nor any immanent categorical imperative, but above all for the purpose\nof preserving a _community,_ a generation, an association, a people;\nevery superstitious custom that has arisen on account of some falsely\nexplained accident, creates a tradition, which it is moral to follow;\nto separate one's self from it is dangerous, but more dangerous for the\n_community_ than for the individual (because the Godhead punishes the\ncommunity for every outrage and every violation of its rights, and the\nindividual only in proportion). Now every tradition grows continually\nmore venerable, the farther off lies its origin, the more this is\nlost sight of; the veneration paid it accumulates from generation to\ngeneration, the tradition at last becomes holy and excites awe; and\nthus in any case the morality of piety is a much older morality than\nthat which requires un-egoistic actions.\n\n\n97.\n\nPLEASURE IN TRADITIONAL CUSTOM.--An important species of pleasure,\nand therewith the source of morality, arises out of habit. Man does\nwhat is habitual to him more easily, better, and therefore more\nwillingly; he feels a pleasure therein, and knows from experience\nthat the habitual has been tested, and is therefore useful; a custom\nthat we can live with is proved to be wholesome and advantageous in\ncontrast to all new and not yet tested experiments. According to\nthis, morality is the union of the pleasant and the useful; moreover,\nit requires no reflection. As soon as man can use compulsion, he uses\nit to introduce and enforce his _customs_; for in his eyes they are\nproved as the wisdom of life. In the same way a company of individuals\ncompels each single one to adopt the same customs. Here the inference\nis wrong; because we feel at ease with a morality, or at least\nbecause we are able to carry on existence with it, therefore this\nmorality is necessary, for it seems to be the _only_ possibility of\nfeeling at ease; the ease of life seems to grow out of it alone. This\ncomprehension of the habitual as a necessity of existence is pursued\neven to the smallest details of custom,--as insight into genuine\ncausality is very small with lower peoples and civilisations, they\ntake precautions with superstitious fear that everything should go in\nits same groove; even where custom is difficult, hard, and burdensome,\nit is preserved on account of its apparent highest usefulness. It is\nnot known that the same degree of well-being can also exist with other\ncustoms, and that even higher degrees may be attained. We become aware,\nhowever, that all customs, even the hardest, grow pleasanter and milder\nwith time, and that the severest way of life may become a habit and\ntherefore a pleasure.\n\n\n98.\n\nPLEASURE AND SOCIAL INSTINCT.--Out of his relations with other men, man\nobtains a new species of _pleasure_ in addition to those pleasurable\nsensations which he derives from himself; whereby he greatly increases\nthe scope of enjoyment. Perhaps he has already taken too many of the\npleasures of this sphere from animals, which visibly feel pleasure\nwhen they play with each other, especially the mother with her young.\nThen consider the sexual relations, which make almost every female\ninteresting to a male with regard to pleasure, and _vice versa._ The\nfeeling of pleasure on the basis of human relations generally makes\nman better; joy in common, pleasure enjoyed together is increased, it\ngives the individual security, makes him good-tempered, and dispels\nmistrust and envy, for we feel ourselves at ease and see others at\nease. _Similar manifestations of pleasure_ awaken the idea of the same\nsensations, the feeling of being like something; a like effect is\nproduced by common sufferings, the same bad weather, dangers, enemies.\nUpon this foundation is based the oldest alliance, the object of which\nis the mutual obviating and averting of a threatening danger for the\nbenefit of each individual. And thus the social instinct grows out of\npleasure.\n\n\n99.\n\nTHE INNOCENT SIDE OF SO-CALLED EVIL ACTIONS.--All \"evil\" actions are\nprompted by the instinct of preservation, or, more exactly, by the\ndesire for pleasure and the avoidance of pain on the part of the\nindividual; thus prompted, but not evil. \"To cause pain _per se_\" does\nnot exist, except in the brains of philosophers, neither does \"to give\npleasure _per se_\" (pity in Schopenhauer's meaning). In the social\ncondition _before_ the State we kill the creature, be it ape or man,\nwho tries to take from us the fruit of a tree when we are hungry and\napproach the tree, as we should still do with animals in inhospitable\ncountries. The evil actions which now most rouse our indignation, are\nbased upon the error that he who causes them has a free will, that he\nhad the option, therefore, of not doing us this injury. This belief in\noption arouses hatred, desire for revenge, spite, and the deterioration\nof the whole imagination, while we are much less angry with an animal\nbecause we consider it irresponsible. To do injury, not from the\ninstinct of preservation, but as _requital,_ is the consequence of a\nfalse judgment and therefore equally innocent. The individual can in\nthe condition which lies before the State, act sternly and cruelly\ntowards other creatures for the purpose of _terrifying,_ to establish\nhis existence firmly by such terrifying proofs of his power. Thus\nact the violent, the mighty, the original founders of States, who\nsubdue the weaker to themselves. They have the right to do so, such\nas the State still takes for itself; or rather, there is no right\nthat can hinder this. The ground for all-morality can only be made\nready when a stronger individual or a collective individual, for\ninstance society or the State, subdues the single individuals,.draws\nthem out of their singleness, and forms them into an association..\n_Compulsion_ precedes morality, indeed morality itself is compulsion\nfor a time, to which one submits for the avoidance of pain. Later on\nit becomes custom,--later still, free obedience, and finally almost\ninstinct,--then, like everything long accustomed and natural, it is\nconnected with pleasure--and is henceforth called _virtue_.\n\n\n100.\n\nSHAME.--Shame exists everywhere where there is a \"mystery\"; this,\nhowever, is a religious idea, which was widely extended in the older\ntimes of human civilisation. Everywhere were found bounded domains\nto which access was forbidden by divine right, except under certain\nconditions ; at first locally, as, for example, certain spots that\nought not to be trodden by the feet of the uninitiated, in the\nneighbourhood of which these latter experienced horror and fear.\nThis feeling was a good deal carried over into other relations, for\ninstance, the sex relations, which, as a privilege and _\u1f03\u03b4o\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd_ of\nriper years, had to be withheld from the knowledge of the young for\ntheir advantage, relations for the protection and sanctification of\nwhich many gods were invented and were set up as guardians in the\nnuptial chamber. (In Turkish this room is on this account called harem,\n\"sanctuary,\" and is distinguished with the same name, therefore, that\nis used for the entrance courts of the mosques.) Thus the kingdom is as\na centre from which radiate power and glory, to the subjects a mystery\nfull of secrecy and shame, of which many after-effects may still be\nfelt among nations which otherwise do not by any means belong to the\nbashful type. Similarly, the whole world of inner conditions, the\nso-called \"soul,\" is still a mystery for all who are not philosophers,\nafter it has been looked upon for endless ages as of divine origin and\nas worthy of divine intercourse; according to this it is an _\u1f03\u03b4o\u03c5\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd_\nand arouses shame.\n\n\n101.\n\nJUDGE NOT.--In considering earlier periods, care must be taken not\nto fall into unjust abuse. The injustice in slavery, the cruelty in\nthe suppression of persons and nations, is not to be measured by our\nstandard. For the instinct of justice was not then so far developed.\nWho dares to reproach the Genevese Calvin with the burning of the\nphysician Servet? It was an action following and resulting from his\nconvictions, and in the same way the Inquisition had a good right;\nonly the ruling views were false, and produced a result which seems\nhard to us because those views have now grown strange to us. Besides,\nwhat is the burning of a single individual compared with eternal\npains of hell for almost all! And yet this idea was universal at that\ntime, without essentially injuring by its dreadfulness the conception\nof a God. With us, too, political sectarians are hardly and cruelly\ntreated, but because one is accustomed to believe in the necessity of\nthe State, the cruelty is not so deeply felt here as it is where we\nrepudiate the views. Cruelty to animals in children and Italians is\ndue to ignorance, _i.e._ the animal, through the interests of Church\nteaching, has been placed too far behind man. Much that is dreadful and\ninhuman in history, much that one hardly likes to believe, is mitigated\nby the reflection that the one who commands and the one who carries\nout are different persons,--the former does not behold the right and\ntherefore does not experience the strong impression on the imagination;\nthe latter obeys a superior and therefore feels no responsibility. Most\nprinces and military heads, through lack of imagination, easily appear\nhard and cruel without really being so. _Egoism is not evil,_ because\nthe idea of the \"neighbour\"--the word is of Christian origin and does\nnot represent the truth--is very weak in us; and we feel ourselves\nalmost as free and irresponsible towards him as towards plants and\nstones. We have yet to _learn_ that others suffer, and this can never\nbe completely learnt.\n\n\n102.\n\n\"MAN ALWAYS ACTS RIGHTLY.\"--We do not complain of nature as immoral\nbecause it sends a thunderstorm and makes us wet,--why do we call those\nwho injure us immoral? Because in the latter case we take for granted\na free will functioning voluntarily; in the former we see necessity.\nBut this distinction is an error. Thus we do not call even intentional\ninjury immoral in all circumstances; for instance, we kill a fly\nunhesitatingly and intentionally, only because its buzzing annoys us;\nwe punish a criminal intentionally and hurt him in order to protect\nourselves and society. In the first case it is the individual who, in\norder to preserve himself, or even to protect himself from worry, does\nintentional injury; in the second case it is the State. All morals\nallow intentional injury _in the case of necessity,_ that is, when\nit is a matter of _self-preservation_! But these two points of view\nsuffice to explain all evil actions committed by men against men, we\nare desirous of obtaining pleasure or avoiding pain; in any case it is\nalways a question of self-preservation. Socrates and Plato are right:\nwhatever man does he always does well, that is, he does that which\nseems to him good (useful) according to the degree of his intellect,\nthe particular standard of his reasonableness.\n\n\n103.\n\nTHE HARMLESSNESS OF MALICE.--The aim of malice is _not_ the suffering\nof others in itself, but our own enjoyment; for instance, as the\nfeeling of revenge, or stronger nervous excitement. All teasing,\neven, shows the pleasure it gives to exercise our power on others and\nbring it to an enjoyable feeling of preponderance. Is it _immoral_ to\ntaste pleasure at the expense of another's pain? Is malicious joy[3]\ndevilish, as Schopenhauer says? We give ourselves pleasure in nature\nby breaking off twigs, loosening stones, fighting with wild animals,\nand do this in order to become thereby conscious of our strength. Is\nthe knowledge, therefore, that another suffers through us, the same\nthing concerning which we otherwise feel irresponsible, supposed to\nmake us immoral? But if we did not know this we would not thereby have\nthe enjoyment of our own superiority, which can only _manifest_ itself\nby the suffering of others, for instance in teasing. All pleasure\n_per se_ is neither good nor evil; whence should come the decision\nthat in order to have pleasure ourselves we may not cause displeasure\nto others? From the point of view of usefulness alone, that is, out\nof consideration for the _consequences,_ for _possible_ displeasure,\nwhen the injured one or the replacing State gives the expectation of\nresentment and revenge: this only can have been the original reason\nfor denying ourselves such actions. _Pity_ aims just as little at\nthe pleasure of others as malice at the pain of others _per se._ For\nit contains at least two (perhaps many more) elements of a personal\npleasure, and is so far self-gratification; in the first place as the\npleasure of emotion, which is the kind of pity that exists in tragedy,\nand then, when it impels to action, as the pleasure of satisfaction\nin the exercise of power. If, besides this, a suffering person is\nvery dear to us, we lift a sorrow from ourselves by the exercise of\nsympathetic actions. Except by a few philosophers, pity has always been\nplaced very low in the scale of moral feelings, and rightly so.\n\n\n104.\n\nSELF-DEFENCE.--If self-defence is allowed to pass as moral, then almost\nall manifestations of the so-called immoral egoism must also stand;\nmen injure, rob, or kill in order to preserve or defend themselves,\nto prevent personal injury; they lie where cunning and dissimulation\nare the right means of self-preservation. _Intentional injury,_ when\nour existence or safety (preservation of our comfort) is concerned, is\nconceded to be moral; the State itself injures, according to this point\nof view, when it punishes. In unintentional injury, of course, there\ncan be nothing immoral, that is ruled by chance. Is there, then, a kind\nof intentional injury where our existence or the preservation of our\ncomfort is _not_ concerned? Is there an injuring out of pure _malice,_\nfor instance in cruelty? If one does not know how much an action hurts,\nit is no deed of malice; thus the child is not malicious towards the\nanimal, not evil; he examines and destroys it like a toy. But _do_ we\never know entirely how an action hurts another? As far as our nervous\nsystem extends we protect ourselves from pain; if it extended farther,\nto our fellow-men, namely, we should do no one an injury (except in\nsuch cases as we injure ourselves, where we cut ourselves for the\nsake of cure, tire and exert ourselves for the sake of health). We\n_conclude_ by analogy that something hurts somebody, and through memory\nand the strength of imagination we may suffer from it ourselves. But\nstill what a difference there is between toothache and the pain (pity)\nthat the sight of toothache calls forth! Therefore, in injury out of\nso-called malice the _degree_ of pain produced is always unknown to\nus; but inasmuch as there is _pleasure_ in the action (the feeling of\none's own power, one's own strong excitement), the action is committed,\nin order to preserve the comfort of the individual, and is regarded,\ntherefore, from a similar point of view as defence and falsehood in\nnecessity. No life without pleasure; the struggle for pleasure is the\nstruggle for life. Whether the individual so fights this fight that\nmen call him good, or so that they call him evil, is determined by the\nmeasure and the constitution of his _intellect._\n\n\n105.\n\nRECOMPENSING JUSTICE.--Whoever has completely comprehended the doctrine\nof absolute irresponsibility can no longer include the so-called\npunishing and recompensing justice in the idea of justice, should this\nconsist of giving to each man his due. For he who is punished does\nnot deserve the punishment, he is only used as a means of henceforth\nwarning away from certain actions; equally so, he who is rewarded\ndoes not merit this reward, he could not act otherwise than he did.\nTherefore the reward is meant only as an encouragement to him and\nothers, to provide a motive for subsequent actions; words of praise are\nflung to the runners on the course, not to the one who has reached\nthe goal. Neither punishment nor reward is anything that comes to one\nas _one's own;_ they are given from motives of usefulness, without one\nhaving a right to claim them. Hence we must say, \"The wise man gives\nno reward because the deed has been well done,\" just as we have said,\n\"The wise man does not punish because evil has been committed, but in\norder that evil shall not be committed.\" If punishment and reward no\nlonger existed, then the strongest motives which deter men from certain\nactions and impel them to certain other actions, would also no longer\nexist; the needs of mankind require their continuance; and inasmuch as\npunishment and reward, blame and praise, work most sensibly on vanity,\nthe same need requires the continuance of vanity.\n\n\n106.\n\nAT THE WATERFALL.--In looking at a water-fall we imagine that there is\nfreedom of will and fancy in the countless turnings, twistings, and\nbreakings of the waves; but everything is compulsory, every movement\ncan be mathematically calculated. So it is also with human actions;\none would have to be able to calculate every single action beforehand\nif one were all-knowing; equally so all progress of knowledge, every\nerror, all malice. The one who acts certainly labours under the\nillusion of voluntariness; if the world's wheel were to stand still\nfor a moment and an all-knowing, calculating reason were there to make\nuse of this pause, it could foretell the future of every creature to\nthe remotest times, and mark out every track upon which that wheel\nwould continue to roll. The delusion of the acting agent about himself,\nthe supposition of a free will, belongs to this mechanism which still\nremains to be calculated.\n\n\n107.\n\nIRRESPONSIBILITY AND INNOCENCE.--The complete irresponsibility of\nman for his actions and his nature is the bitterest drop which he\nwho understands must swallow if he was accustomed to see the patent\nof nobility of his humanity in responsibility and duty. All his\nvaluations, distinctions, disinclinations, are thereby deprived of\nvalue and become false,--his deepest feeling for the sufferer and\nthe hero was based on an error; he may no longer either praise or\nblame, for it is absurd to praise and blame nature and necessity. In\nthe same way as he loves a fine work of art, but does not praise it,\nbecause it can do nothing for itself; in the same way as he regards\nplants, so must he regard his own actions and those of mankind. He can\nadmire strength, beauty, abundance, in themselves; but must find no\nmerit therein,--the chemical progress and the strife of the elements,\nthe torments of the sick person who thirsts after recovery, are all\nequally as little merits as those struggles of the soul and states of\ndistress in which we are torn hither and thither by different impulses\nuntil we finally decide for the strongest--as we say (but in reality\nit is the strongest motive which decides for us). All these motives,\nhowever, whatever fine names we may give them, have all grown out of\nthe same root, in which we believe the evil poisons to be situated;\nbetween good and evil actions there is no difference of species, but\nat most of degree. Good actions are sublimated evil ones; evil actions\nare vulgarised and stupefied good ones. The single longing of the\nindividual for self-gratification (together with the fear of losing it)\nsatisfies itself in all circumstances: man may act as he can, that is\nas he must, be it in deeds of vanity, revenge, pleasure, usefulness,\nmalice, cunning; be it in deeds of sacrifice, of pity, of knowledge.\nThe degrees of the power of judgment determine whither any one lets\nhimself be drawn through this longing; to every society, to every\nindividual, a scale of possessions is continually present, according to\nwhich he determines his actions and judges those of others. But this\nstandard changes constantly; many actions are called evil and are only\nstupid, because the degree of intelligence which decided for them was\nvery low. In a certain sense, even, _all_ actions are still stupid;\nfor the highest degree of human intelligence which can now be attained\nwill assuredly be yet surpassed, and then, in a retrospect, all our\nactions and judgments will appear as limited and hasty as the actions\nand judgments of primitive wild peoples now appear limited and hasty to\nus. To recognise all this may be deeply painful, but consolation comes\nafter; such pains are the pangs of birth. The butterfly wants to break\nthrough its chrysalis: it rends and tears it, and is then blinded and\nconfused by the unaccustomed light, the kingdom of liberty. In such\npeople as are _capable_ of such sadness--and how few are!--the first\nexperiment made is to see whether _mankind can change itself_ from a\n_moral_ into a _wise_ mankind. The sun of a new gospel throws its rays\nupon the highest point in the soul of each single individual, then\nthe mists gather thicker than ever, and the brightest light and the\ndreariest shadow lie side by side. Everything is necessity--so says the\nnew knowledge, and this knowledge itself is necessity. Everything is\ninnocence, and knowledge is the road to insight into this innocence.\nAre pleasure, egoism, vanity _necessary_ for the production of the\nmoral phenomena and their highest result, the sense for truth and\njustice in knowledge; were error and the confusion of the imagination\nthe only means through which mankind could raise itself gradually to\nthis degree of self-enlightenment and self-liberation--who would dare\nto undervalue these means? Who would dare to be sad if he perceived the\ngoal to which those roads led? Everything in the domain of morality\nhas evolved, is changeable, unstable, everything is dissolved, it is\ntrue; but _everything is also streaming towards one goal._ Even if\nthe inherited habit of erroneous valuation, love and hatred, continue\nto reign in us, yet under the influence of growing knowledge it will\nbecome weaker; a new habit, that of comprehension, of not loving, not\nhating, of overlooking, is gradually implanting itself in us upon the\nsame ground, and in thousands of years will perhaps be powerful enough\nto give humanity the strength to produce wise, innocent (consciously\ninnocent) men, as it now produces unwise, guilt-conscious men,--_that\nis the necessary preliminary step, not its opposite._\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Dr. Paul R\u00e9e.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Dr. Paul R\u00e9e.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 3: This is the untranslatable word _Schadenfreude,_ which\nmeans joy at the misfortune of others.--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD DIVISION.\n\n\nTHE RELIGIOUS LIFE.\n\n\n\n108.\n\nTHE DOUBLE FIGHT AGAINST EVIL.--When misfortune overtakes us we can\neither pass over I it so lightly that its cause is removed, or so\nthat the result which it has on our temperament is altered, through a\nchanging, therefore, of the evil into a good, the utility of which is\nperhaps not visible until later on. Religion and art (also metaphysical\nphilosophy) work upon the changing of the temperament, partly through\nthe changing of our judgment on events (for instance, with the help\nof the phrase \"whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth\"), partly through\nthe awakening of a pleasure in pain, in emotion generally (whence\nthe tragic art takes its starting-point). The more a man is inclined\nto twist and arrange meanings the less he will grasp the causes of\nevil and disperse them; the momentary mitigation and influence of\na narcotic, as for example in toothache, suffices him even in more\nserious sufferings. The more the dominion of creeds and all arts\ndispense with narcotics, the more strictly men attend to the actual\nremoving of the evil, which is certainly bad for writers of tragedy;\nfor the material for tragedy is growing scarcer because the domain of\npitiless, inexorable fate is growing ever narrower,--but worse still\nfor the priests, for they have hitherto lived on the narcotisation of\nhuman woes.\n\n\n109.\n\nSORROW IS KNOWLEDGE.--How greatly we should like to exchange the\nfalse assertions of the priests, that there is a god who desires good\nfrom us, a guardian and witness of every action, every moment, every\nthought, who loves us and seeks our welfare in all misfortune,--how\ngreatly we would like to exchange these ideas for truths which would be\njust as healing, pacifying and beneficial as those errors! But there\nare no such truths; at most philosophy can oppose to them metaphysical\nappearances (at bottom also untruths). The tragedy consists in the fact\nthat we cannot _believe_ those dogmas of religion and metaphysics,\nif we have strict methods of truth in heart and brain: on the other\nhand, mankind has, through development, become so delicate, irritable\nand suffering, that it has need of the highest means of healing and\nconsolation; whence also the danger arises that man would bleed to\ndeath from recognised truth, or, more correctly, from discovered error.\nByron has expressed this in the immortal lines:--\n\n    Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most\n    Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,\n    The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.\n\nFor such troubles there is no better help than to recall the stately\nlevity of Horace, at least for the worst hours and eclipses of the\nsoul, and to say with him:\n\n          ... quid \u00e6ternis minorem\n          consiliis animum fatigas?\n    cur non sub alta vel platano vel hac\n    pinu jacentes.[1]\n\nBut assuredly frivolity or melancholy of every degree is better than\na romantic retrospection and desertion of the flag, an approach to\nChristianity in any form; for according to the present condition of\nknowledge it is absolutely impossible to approach it without hopelessly\nsoiling our _intellectual conscience_ and giving ourselves away to\nourselves and others. Those pains may be unpleasant enough, but we\ncannot become leaders and educators of mankind without pain; and woe\nto him who would wish to attempt this and no longer have that clear\nconscience!\n\n\n110.\n\nTHE TRUTH IN RELIGION.--In the period of rationalism justice was not\ndone to the importance of religion, of that there is no doubt, but\nequally there is no doubt that in the reaction that followed this\nrationalism justice was far overstepped; for religions were treated\nlovingly, even amorously, and, for instance, a deeper, even the\nvery deepest, understanding of the world was ascribed to them; which\nscience has only to strip of its dogmatic garment in order to possess\nthe \"truth\" in unmythical form. Religions should, therefore,--this\nwas the opinion of all opposers of rationalism,--_sensu allegorico,_\nwith all consideration for the understanding of the masses, give\nutterance to that ancient wisdom which is wisdom itself, inasmuch\nas all true science of later times has always led up to it instead\nof away from it, so that between the oldest wisdom of mankind and\nall later harmonies similarity of discernment and a progress of\nknowledge--in case one should wish to speak of such a thing--rests\nnot upon the nature but upon the way of communicating it. This whole\nconception of religion and science is thoroughly erroneous, and none\nwould still dare to profess it if Schopenhauer's eloquence had not\ntaken it under its protection; this resonant eloquence which, however,\nonly reached its hearers a generation later. As surely as from\nSchopenhauer's religious-moral interpretations of men and the world\nmuch may be gained for the understanding of the Christian and other\nreligions, so surely also is he mistaken about the _value of religion\nfor knowledge._ Therein he himself was only a too docile pupil of the\nscientific teachers of his time, who all worshipped romanticism and had\nforsworn the spirit of enlightenment; had he been born in our present\nage he could not possibly have talked about the _sensus allegoricus_\nof religion; he would much rather have given honour to truth, as he\nused to do, with the words, \"_no religion, direct or indirect, either\nas dogma or as allegory, has ever contained a truth._\" For each has\nbeen born of fear and necessity, through the byways of reason did it\nslip into existence; once, perhaps, when imperilled by science, some\nphilosophic doctrine has lied itself into its system in order that\nit may be found there later, but this is a theological trick of the\ntime when a religion already doubts itself. These tricks of theology\n(which certainly were practised in the early days of Christianity,\nas the religion of a scholarly period steeped in philosophy) have\nled to that superstition of the _sensus allegoricus,_ but yet more\nthe habits of the philosophers (especially the half-natures, the\npoetical philosophers and the philosophising artists), to treat all the\nsensations which they discovered in _themselves_ as the fundamental\nnature of man in general, and hence to allow their own religious\nfeelings an important influence in the building up of their systems.\nAs philosophers frequently philosophised under the custom of religious\nhabits, or at least under the anciently inherited power of that\n\"metaphysical need,\" they developed doctrinal opinions which really\nbore a great resemblance to the Jewish or Christian or Indian religious\nviews,--a resemblance, namely, such as children usually bear to their\nmothers, only that in this case the fathers were not clear about that\nmotherhood, as happens sometimes,--but in their innocence romanced\nabout a family likeness between all religion and science. In reality,\nbetween religions and real science there exists neither relationship\nnor friendship, nor even enmity; they live on different planets. Every\nphilosophy which shows a religious comet's tail shining in the darkness\nof its last prospects makes all the science it contains suspicious; all\nthis is presumably also religion, even though in the guise of science.\nMoreover, if all nations were to agree about certain religious matters,\nfor instance the existence of a God (which, it may be remarked, is not\nthe case with regard to this point), this would only be an argument\n_against_ those affirmed matters, for instance the existence of a God;\nthe _consensus gentium_ and _hominum_ in general can only take place in\ncase of a huge folly. On the other hand, there is no _consensus omnium\nsapientium,_ with regard to any single thing, with that exception\nmentioned in Goethe's lines:\n\n    \"Alle die Weisesten aller der Zeiten\n    L\u00e4cheln und winken und stimmen mit ein:\n    Th\u00f6richt, auf Bess'rung der Thoren zu harren!\n    Kinder der Klugheit, o habet die Narren\n    Eben zum Narren auch, wie sich's geh\u00f6rt!\"[2]\n\nSpoken without verse and rhyme and applied to our case, the _consensus\nsapientium_ consists in this: that the _consensus gentium_ counts as a\nfolly.\n\n\n111.\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF THE RELIGIOUS CULT.--If we go back to the times in\nwhich the religious life flourished to the greatest extent, we find a\nfundamental conviction, which we now no longer share, and whereby the\ndoors leading to a religious life are closed to us once for all,--it\nconcerns Nature and intercourse with her. In those times people knew\nnothing of natural laws; neither for earth nor for heaven is there a\n\"must\"; a season, the sunshine, the rain may come or may not come. In\nshort, every idea of natural causality is lacking. When one rows, it\nis not the rowing that moves the boat, but rowing is only a magical\nceremony by which one compels a _d\u00e6mon_ to move the boat. All maladies,\neven death itself, are the result of magical influences. Illness\nand death never happen naturally; the whole conception of \"natural\nsequence\" is lacking,--it dawned first amongst the older Greeks, that\nis, in a very late phase of humanity, in the conception of _Moira,_\nenthroned above the gods. When a man shoots with a bow, there is still\nalways present an irrational hand and strength; if the wells suddenly\ndry up, men think first of subterranean _d\u00e6mons_ and their tricks; it\nmust be the arrow of a god beneath whose invisible blow a man suddenly\nsinks down. In India (says Lubbock) a carpenter is accustomed to offer\nsacrifice to his hammer, his hatchet, and the rest of his tools; in\nthe same way a Brahmin treats the pen with which he writes, a soldier\nthe weapons he requires in the field of battle, a mason his trowel, a\nlabourer his plough. In the imagination of religious people all nature\nis a summary of the actions of conscious and voluntary creatures,\nan enormous complex of _arbitrariness._ No conclusion may be drawn\nwith regard to everything that is outside of us, that anything will\n_be_ so and so, _must_ be so and so; the approximately sure, reliable\nare _we,_--man is the _rule,_ nature is _irregularity,_--this theory\ncontains the fundamental conviction which obtains in rude, religiously\nproductive primitive civilisations. We latter-day men feel just\nthe contrary,--the richer man now feels himself inwardly, the more\npolyphonous is the music and the noise of his soul the more powerfully\nthe symmetry of nature works upon him; we all recognise with Goethe\nthe great means in nature for the appeasing of the modern soul; we\nlisten to the pendulum swing of this greatest of clocks with a longing\nfor rest, for home and tranquillity, as if we could absorb this\nsymmetry into ourselves and could only thereby arrive at the enjoyment\nof ourselves. Formerly it was otherwise; if we consider the rude,\nearly condition of nations, or contemplate present-day savages' at\nclose quarters, we find them most strongly influenced by _law_ and by\n_tradition_: the individual is almost automatically bound to them, and\nmoves with the uniformity of a pendulum. To him Nature--uncomprehended,\nterrible, mysterious Nature--must appear as the _sphere of liberty,_\nof voluntariness, of the higher power, even as a superhuman degree\nof existence, as God. In those times and conditions, however, every\nindividual felt that his existence, his happiness, and that of the\nfamily and the State, and the success of all undertakings, depended\non those spontaneities of nature; certain natural events must appear\nat the right time, others be absent at the right time. How can one\nhave any influence on these terrible unknown things, how can one\nbind the sphere of liberty? Thus he asks himself, thus he inquires\nanxiously;--is there, then, no means of making those powers as regular\nthrough tradition and law as you are yourself? The aim of those who\nbelieve in magic and miracles is to _impose a law on nature,_--and,\nbriefly, the religious cult is a result of this aim. The problem which\nthose people have set themselves is closely related to this: how can\nthe _weaker_ race dictate laws to the _stronger,_ rule it, and guide\nits actions (in relation to the weaker)? One would first remember the\nmost harmless sort of compulsion, that compulsion which one exercises\nwhen one has gained any one's affection. By imploring and praying, by\nsubmission, by the obligation of regular taxes and gifts, by flattering\nglorifications, it is also possible to exercise an influence upon the\npowers of nature, inasmuch as one gains the affections; love binds and\nbecomes bound. Then one can make compacts by which one is mutually\nbound to a certain behaviour, where one gives pledges and exchanges\nvows. But far more important is a species of more forcible compulsion,\nby magic and witchcraft. As with the sorcerer's help man is able to\ninjure a more powerful enemy and keep him in fear, as the love-charm\nworks at a distance, so the weaker man believes he can influence the\nmightier spirits of nature. The principal thing in all witchcraft\nis that we must get into our possession something that belongs to\nsome one, hair, nails, food from their table, even their portrait,\ntheir name. With such apparatus we can then practise sorcery; for the\nfundamental rule is, to everything spiritual there belongs something\ncorporeal; with the help of this we are able to bind the spirit, to\ninjure it, and destroy it; the corporeal furnishes the handles with\nwhich we can grasp the spiritual. As man controls man, so he controls\nsome natural spirit or other; for this has also its corporeal part\nby which it may be grasped. The tree and, compared with it, the seed\nfrom which it sprang,--this enigmatical contrast seems to prove that\nthe same spirit embodied itself in both forms, now small, now large.\nA stone that begins to roll suddenly is the body in which a spirit\noperates; if there is an enormous rock lying on a lonely heath it seems\nimpossible to conceive human strength sufficient to have brought it\nthere, consequently the stone must have moved there by itself, that\nis, it must be possessed by a spirit. Everything that has a body is\nsusceptible to witchcraft, therefore also the natural spirits. If a god\nis bound to his image we can use the most direct compulsion against him\n(through refusal of sacrificial food, scourging, binding in fetters,\nand so on). In order to obtain by force the missing favour of their\ngod the lower classes in China wind cords round the image of the one\nwho has left them in the lurch, pull it down and drag it through the\nstreets in the dust and the dirt: \"You dog of a spirit,\" they say, \"we\ngave you a magnificent temple to live in, we gilded you prettily, we\nfed you well, we offered you sacrifice, and yet you are so ungrateful.\"\nSimilar forcible measures against pictures of the Saints and Virgin\nwhen they refused to do their duty in pestilence or drought, have\nbeen witnessed even during the present century in Catholic countries.\nThrough all these magic relations to nature, countless ceremonies\nhave been called into life; and at last, when the confusion has\ngrown too great, an endeavour has been made to order and systematise\nthem, in order that the favourable course of the whole progress of\nnature, _i.e._ of the great succession of the seasons, may seem to\nbe guaranteed by a corresponding course of a system of procedure.\nThe essence of the religious cult is to determine and confine nature\nto human advantage, _to impress it with a legality, therefore, which\nit did not originally possess_; while at the present time we wish to\nrecognise the legality of nature in order to adapt ourselves to it.\nIn short, then, the religious cult is based upon the representations\nof sorcery between man and man,--and the sorcerer is older than the\npriest. But it is likewise based upon other and nobler representations;\nit premises the sympathetic relation of man to man, the presence of\ngoodwill, gratitude, the hearing of pleaders, of treaties between\nenemies, the granting of pledges, and the claim to the protection of\nproperty. In very low stages of civilisation man does not stand in the\nrelation of a helpless slave to nature, he is _not_ necessarily its\ninvoluntary, bondsman. In the _Greek_ grade of religion, particularly\nin relation to the Olympian gods, there may even be imagined a common\nlife between two castes, a nobler and more powerful one, and one less\nnoble; but in their origin both belong to each other somehow, and\nare of one kind; they need not be ashamed of each other. That is the\nnobility of the Greek religion.\n\n\n112.\n\nAT THE SIGHT OF CERTAIN ANTIQUE SACRIFICIAL IMPLEMENTS.--The fact of\nhow many feelings are lost to us may be seen, for instance, in the\nmingling of the _droll,_ even of the _obscene,_ with the religious\nfeeling. The sensation of the possibility of this mixture vanishes, we\nonly comprehend historically that it existed in the feasts of Demeter\nand Dionysus, in the Christian Easter-plays and Mysteries. But we also\nknow that which is noble in alliance with burlesque and such like, the\ntouching mingled with the laughable, which perhaps a later age will not\nbe able to understand.\n\n\n113.\n\nCHRISTIANITY AS ANTIQUITY.--When on a Sunday morning we hear the old\nbells ring out, we ask ourselves, \"Is it possible! This is done on\naccount of a Jew crucified two thousand years ago who said he was the\nSon of God. The proof of such an assertion is wanting.\" Certainly in\nour times the Christian religion is an antiquity that dates from\nvery early ages, and the fact that its assertions are still believed,\nwhen otherwise all claims are subjected to such strict examination,\nis perhaps the oldest part of this heritage. A God who creates a son\nfrom a mortal woman; a sage who requires that man should no longer\nwork, no longer judge, but should pay attention to the signs of the\napproaching end of the world; a justice that accepts an innocent being\nas a substitute in sacrifice; one who commands his disciples to drink\nhis blood; prayers for miraculous intervention; sins committed against\na God and atoned for through a God; the fear of a future to which death\nis the portal; the form of the cross in an age which no longer knows\nthe signification and the shame of the cross,[3] how terrible all this\nappears to us, as if risen from the grave of the ancient past! Is it\ncredible that such things are still believed?\n\n\n114.\n\nWHAT IS UN-GREEK IN CHRISTIANITY.--The Greeks did not regard the\nHomeric gods as raised above them like masters, nor themselves as\nbeing under them like servants, as the Jews did. They only saw, as\nin a mirror, the most perfect examples of their own caste; an ideal,\ntherefore, and not an opposite of their own nature. There is a feeling\nof relationship, a mutual interest arises, a kind of symmachy. Man\nthinks highly of himself when he gives himself such gods, and places\nhimself in a relation like that of the lower nobility towards the\nhigher; while the Italian nations hold a genuine peasant-faith, with\nperpetual fear of evil and mischievous powers and tormenting spirits.\nWherever the Olympian gods retreated into the background, Greek life\nwas more sombre and more anxious. Christianity, on the contrary,\noppressed man and crushed him utterly, sinking him as if in deep mire;\nthen into the feeling of absolute depravity it suddenly threw the light\nof divine mercy, so that the surprised man, dazzled by forgiveness,\ngave a cry of joy and for a moment believed that he bore all heaven\nwithin himself. All psychological feelings of Christianity work upon\nthis unhealthy excess of sentiment, and upon the deep corruption of\nhead and heart it necessitates; it desires to destroy, break, stupefy,\nconfuse,--only one thing it does not desire, namely _moderation,_ and\ntherefore it is in the deepest sense barbaric, Asiatic, ignoble and\nun-Greek.\n\n\n115.\n\nTO BE RELIGIOUS WITH ADVANTAGE.--There are sober and industrious people\non whom religion is embroidered like a hem of higher humanity; these\ndo well to remain religious, it beautifies them. All people who do\nnot understand some kind of trade in weapons--tongue and pen included\nas weapons--become servile; for such the Christian religion is very\nuseful, for then servility assumes the appearance of Christian virtues\nand is surprisingly beautified. People to whom their daily life appears\ntoo empty and monotonous easily grow religious; this is comprehensible\nand excusable, only they have no right to demand religious sentiments\nfrom those whose daily life is not empty and monotonous.[4]\n\n\n116.\n\nTHE COMMONPLACE CHRISTIAN.--If Christianity were right, with its\ntheories of an avenging God, of general sinfulness, of redemption, and\nthe danger of eternal damnation, it would be a sign of weak intellect\nand lack of character _not_ to become a priest, apostle or hermit,\nand to work only with fear and trembling for one's own salvation; it\nwould be senseless thus to neglect eternal benefits for temporary\ncomfort. Taking it for granted that there _is belief,_ the commonplace\nChristian is a miserable figure, a man that really cannot add two and\ntwo together, and who, moreover, just because of his mental incapacity\nfor responsibility, did not deserve to be so severely punished as\nChristianity has decreed.\n\n\n117.\n\nOF THE WISDOM OF CHRISTIANITY.--It is a clever stroke on the part\nof Christianity to teach the utter unworthiness, sinfulness, and\ndespicableness of mankind so loudly that the disdain of their\nfellow-men is no longer possible. \"He may sin as much as he likes, he\nis not essentially different from me,--it is I who am unworthy and\ndespicable in every way,\" says the Christian to himself. But even\nthis feeling has lost its sharpest sting, because the Christian no\nlonger believes in his individual despicableness; he is bad as men are\ngenerally, and comforts himself a little with the axiom, \"We are all of\none kind.\"\n\n\n118.\n\nCHANGE OF FRONT.--As soon as a religion triumphs it has for its enemies\nall those who would have been its first disciples.\n\n\n119.\n\nTHE FATE OF CHRISTIANITY.--Christianity arose for the purpose of\nlightening the heart; but now it must first make the heart heavy in\norder afterwards to lighten it. Consequently it will perish.\n\n\n120.\n\nTHE PROOF OF PLEASURE.--The agreeable opinion is accepted as\ntrue,--this is the proof of the pleasure (or, as the Church says, the\nproof of the strength), of which all religions are so proud when they\nought to be ashamed of it. If Faith did not make blessed it would not\nbe believed in; of how little value must it be, then!\n\n\n121.\n\nA DANGEROUS GAME.--Whoever now allows scope to his religious feelings\nmust also let them increase, he cannot do otherwise. His nature then\ngradually changes; it favours whatever is connected with and near to\nthe religious element, the whole extent of judgment and feeling becomes\nclouded, overcast with religious shadows. Sensation cannot stand still;\none must therefore take care.\n\n\n122.\n\nTHE BLIND DISCIPLES.--So long as one knows well the strength and\nweakness of one's doctrine, one's art, one's religion, its power\nis still small. The disciple and apostle who has no eyes for the\nweaknesses of the doctrine, the religion, and so forth, dazzled by the\naspect of the master and by his reverence for him, has on that account\nusually more power than the master himself. Without blind disciples the\ninfluence of a man and his work has never yet become great. To help a\ndoctrine to victory often means only so to mix it with stupidity that\nthe weight of the latter carries off also the victory for the former.\n\n\n123.\n\nCHURCH DISESTABLISHMENT.--There is not enough religion in the world\neven to destroy religions.\n\n\n124.\n\nTHE SINLESSNESS OF MAN.--If it is understood how \"sin came into the\nworld,\" namely through errors of reason by which men held each other,\neven the single individual held himself, to be much blacker and much\nworse than was actually the case, the whole sensation will be much\nlightened, and man and the world will appear in a blaze of innocence\nwhich it will do one good to contemplate. In the midst of nature man\nis always the child _per se._ This child sometimes has a heavy and\nterrifying dream, but when it opens its eyes it always finds itself\nback again in Paradise.\n\n\n125.\n\nTHE IRRELIGIOUSNESS OF ARTISTS.--Homer is so much at home amongst\nhis gods, and is so familiar with them as a poet, that he must have\nbeen deeply irreligious; that which the popular faith gave him--a\nmeagre, rude, partly terrible superstition--he treated as freely as\nthe sculptor does his clay, with the same unconcern, therefore, which\n\u00c6schylus and Aristophanes possessed, and by which in later times the\ngreat artists of the Renaissance distinguished themselves, as also did\nShakespeare and Goethe.\n\n\n126.\n\nTHE ART AND POWER OF FALSE INTERPRETATIONS.--All the visions, terrors,\ntorpors, and ecstasies of saints are well-known forms of disease,\nwhich are only, by reason of deep-rooted religious and psychological\nerrors, differently _explained_ by him, namely not as diseases. Thus,\nperhaps, the _Daimonion_ of Socrates was only an affection of the\near, which he, in accordance with his ruling moral mode of thought,\n_expounded_ differently from what would be the case now. It is the same\nthing with the madness and ravings of the prophets and soothsayers; it\nis always the degree of knowledge, fantasy, effort, morality in the\nhead and heart of the _interpreters_ which has _made_ so much of it.\nFor the greatest achievements of the people who are called geniuses and\nsaints it is necessary that they should secure interpreters by force,\nwho _misunderstand_ them for the good of mankind.\n\n\n127.\n\nTHE VENERATION OF INSANITY.--Because it was remarked that excitement\nfrequently made the mind clearer and produced happy inspirations it was\nbelieved that the happiest inspirations and suggestions were called\nforth by the greatest excitement; and so the insane were revered as\nwise and oracular. This is based on a false conclusion.\n\n\n128.\n\nTHE PROMISES OF SCIENCE.--The aim of modern science is: as little\npain as possible, as long a life as possible,--a kind of eternal\nblessedness, therefore; but certainly a very modest one as compared\nwith the promises of religions.\n\n\n129.\n\nFORBIDDEN GENEROSITY.--There is not sufficient love and goodness in the\nworld to permit us to give some of it away to imaginary beings.\n\n\n130.\n\nTHE CONTINUANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS CULT IN THE FEELINGS.--The Roman\nCatholic Church, and before that all antique cults, dominated the\nentire range of means by which man was put into unaccustomed moods\nand rendered incapable of the cold calculation of judgment or the\nclear thinking of reason. A church quivering with deep tones; the\ndull, regular, arresting appeals of a priestly throng, unconsciously\ncommunicates its tension to the congregation and makes it listen almost\nfearfully, as if a miracle were in preparation; the influence of the\narchitecture, which, as the dwelling of a Godhead, extends into the\nuncertain and makes its apparition to be feared in all its sombre\nspaces,--who would wish to bring such things back to mankind if the\nnecessary suppositions are no longer believed? But the _results_ of all\nthis are not lost, nevertheless; the inner world of noble, emotional,\ndeeply contrite dispositions, full of presentiments, blessed with hope,\nis inborn in mankind mainly through this cult; what exists of it now in\nthe soul was then cultivated on a large scale as it germinated, grew\nup and blossomed.\n\n\n131.\n\nTHE PAINFUL CONSEQUENCES OF RELIGION.--However much we may think we\nhave weaned ourselves from religion, it has nevertheless not been done\nso thoroughly as to deprive us of pleasure in encountering religious\nsensations and moods in music, for instance; and if a philosophy shows\nus the justification of metaphysical hopes and the deep peace of\nsoul to be thence acquired, and speaks, for instance, of the \"whole,\ncertain gospel in the gaze of Raphael's Madonnas,\" we receive such\nstatements and expositions particularly warmly; here the philosopher\nfinds it easier to prove; that which he desires to give corresponds\nto a heart that desires to receive. Hence it may be observed how the\nless thoughtful free spirits really only take offence at the dogmas,\nbut are well acquainted with the charm of religious sensations; they\nare sorry to lose hold of the latter for the sake of the former.\nScientific philosophy must be very careful not to smuggle in errors on\nthe ground of that need,--a need which has grown up and is consequently\ntemporary,--even logicians speak of \"presentiments\" of truth in\nethics and in art (for instance, of the suspicion that \"the nature\nof things is one\"), which should be forbidden to them Between the\ncarefully established truths and such \"presaged\" things there remains\nthe unbridgable chasm that those are due to intellect and these to\nrequirement Hunger does not prove that food _exists_ to satisfy it, but\nthat it desires food. To \"presage\" does not mean the acknowledgment of\nthe existence of a thing in any one degree, but its possibility, in so\nfar as it is desired or feared; \"presage\" does not advance one step\ninto the land of certainty. We believe involuntarily that the portions\nof a philosophy which are tinged with religion are better proved than\nothers; but actually it is the contrary, but we have the inward desire\nthat it _may_ be so, that that which makes blessed, therefore, may be\nalso the true. This desire misleads us to accept bad reasons for good\nones.\n\n\n132.\n\nOF THE CHRISTIAN NEED OF REDEMPTION.--With careful reflection it\nmust be possible to obtain an explanation free from mythology of\nthat process in the soul of a Christian which is called the need of\nredemption, consequently a purely psychological explanation. Up to the\npresent, the psychological explanations of religious conditions and\nprocesses have certainly been held in some disrepute, inasmuch as a\ntheology which called itself free carried on its unprofitable practice\nin this domain; for here from the beginning (as the mind of its\nfounder, Schleiermacher, gives us reason to suppose) the preservation\nof the Christian religion and the continuance of Christian theology\nwas kept in view; a theology which was to find a new anchorage in\nthe psychological analyses of religious \"facts,\" and above all a new\noccupation. Unconcerned about such predecessors we hazard the following\ninterpretation of the phenomenon in question. Man is conscious of\ncertain actions which stand far down in the customary rank of actions;\nhe even discovers in himself a tendency towards similar actions, a\ntendency which appears to him almost as unchangeable as his whole\nnature. How willingly would he try himself in that other species of\nactions which in the general valuation are recognised as the loftiest\nand highest, how gladly would he feel himself to be full of the good\nconsciousness which should follow an unselfish mode of thought! But\nunfortunately he stops short at this wish, and the discontent at not\nbeing able to satisfy it is added to all the other discontents which\nhis lot in life or the consequences of those above-mentioned evil\nactions have aroused in him; so that a deep ill-humour is the result,\nwith the search for a physician who could remove this and all its\ncauses. This condition would not be felt so bitterly if man would only\ncompare himself frankly with other men,--then he would have no reason\nfor being dissatisfied with himself to a particular extent, he would\nonly bear his share of the common burden of human dissatisfaction and\nimperfection. But he compares himself with a being who is said to be\ncapable only of those actions which are called un-egoistic, and to\nlive in the perpetual consciousness of an unselfish mode of thought,\n_i.e._ with God; it is because he gazes into this clear mirror that his\nimage appears to him so dark, so unusually warped. Then he is alarmed\nby the thought of that same creature, in so far as it floats before his\nimagination as a retributive justice; in all possible small and great\nevents he thinks he recognises its anger and menaces, that he even\nfeels its scourge-strokes as judge and executioner. Who will help him\nin this danger, which, by the prospect of an immeasurable duration of\npunishment, exceeds in horror all the other terrors of the idea?\n\n\n133.\n\nBefore we examine the further consequences of this mental state, let\nus acknowledge that it is not through his \"guilt\" and \"sin\" that man\nhas got into this condition, but through a series of errors of reason;\nthat it was the fault of the mirror if his image appeared so dark and\nhateful to him, and that that mirror was _his_ work, the very imperfect\nwork of human imagination and power of judgment. In the first place,\na nature that is only capable of purely un-egoistic actions is more\nfabulous than the ph\u0153nix; it cannot even be clearly imagined, just\nbecause, when closely examined, the whole idea \"un-egoistic action\"\nvanishes into air. No man _ever_ did a thing which was done only\nfor others and without any personal motive; how should he be _able_\nto do anything which had no relation to himself, and therefore\nwithout inward obligation (which must always have its foundation in\na personal need)? How could the _ego_ act without _ego_ A God who,\non the contrary, is _all_ love, as such a one is often represented,\nwould not be capable of a single un-egoistic action, whereby one is\nreminded of a saying of Lichtenberg's which is certainly taken from\na lower sphere: \"We cannot possibly _feel_ for others, as the saying\nis; we feel only for ourselves. This sounds hard, but it is not so\nreally if it be rightly understood. We do not love father or mother\nor wife or child, but the pleasant sensations they cause us;\" or, as\nRochefoucauld says: \"_Si on croit aimer sa ma\u00eetresse pour l'amour\nd'elle, on est bien tromp\u00e9._\" To know the reason why actions of love\nare valued more than others, not on account of their nature, namely,\nbut of their _usefulness,_ we should compare the examinations already\nmentioned, _On the Origin of Moral Sentiments._ But should a man desire\nto be entirely like that God of Love, to do and wish everything for\nothers and nothing for himself, the latter is impossible for the reason\nthat he must do _very much_ for himself to be able to do something\nfor the love of others. Then it is taken for granted that the other\nis sufficiently egoistic to accept that sacrifice again and again,\nthat living for him,--so that the people of love and sacrifice have an\ninterest in the continuance of those who are loveless and incapable\nof sacrifice, and, in order to exist, the highest morality would be\nobliged positively to _compel_ the existence of un-morality (whereby\nit would certainly annihilate itself). Further: the conception of a\nGod disturbs and humbles so long as it is believed in; but as to how\nit arose there can no longer be any doubt in the present state of the\nscience of comparative ethnology; and with a comprehension of this\norigin all belief falls to the ground. The Christian who compares his\nnature with God's is like Don Quixote, who under-valued his own bravery\nbecause his head was full of the marvellous deeds of the heroes of\nthe chivalric; romances,--the standard of measurement in both cases\nbelongs to the domain of fable. But if the idea of God is removed, so\nis also the feeling of \"sin\" as a trespass against divine laws, as a\nstain in a creature vowed to God. Then, perhaps, there still remains\nthat dejection which is intergrown and connected with the fear of the\npunishment of worldly justice or of the scorn of men; the dejection of\nthe pricks of conscience, the sharpest thorn in the consciousness of\nsin, is always removed if we recognise that though by our own deed we\nhave sinned against human descent, human laws and ordinances, still\nthat we have not imperilled the \"eternal salvation of the Soul\" and its\nrelation to the Godhead. And if man succeeds in gaining philosophic\nconviction of the absolute necessity of all actions and their entire\nirresponsibility, and absorbing this into his flesh and blood, even\nthose remains of the pricks of conscience vanish.\n\n\n134.\n\nNow if the Christian, as we have said, has fallen into the way of\nself-contempt in consequence of certain errors through a false,\nunscientific interpretation of his actions and sensations, he must\nnotice with great surprise how that state of contempt, the pricks of\nconscience and displeasure generally, does not endure, how sometimes\nthere come hours when all this is wafted away from his soul and he\nfeels himself once more free and courageous. In truth, the pleasure in\nhimself, the comfort of his own strength, together with the necessary\nweakening through time of every deep emotion, has usually been\nvictorious; man loves himself once again, he feels it,--but precisely\nthis new love, this self-esteem, seems to him incredible, he can only\nsee in it the wholly undeserved descent of a stream of mercy from on\nhigh. If he formerly believed that in every event he could recognise\nwarnings, menaces, punishments, and every kind of manifestation of\ndivine anger, he now finds divine goodness in all his experiences,\n--this event appears to him to be full of love, that one a helpful\nhint, a third, and, indeed, his whole happy mood, a proof that God is\nmerciful. As formerly, in his state of pain, he interpreted his actions\nfalsely, so now he misinterprets his experiences; his mood of comfort\nhe believes to be the working of a power operating outside of himself,\nthe love with which he really loves himself seems to him to be divine\nlove; that which he calls mercy, and the prologue to redemption, is\nactually self-forgiveness, self-redemption.\n\n\n135.\n\nTherefore: A certain false psychology, a certain kind of imaginative\ninterpretation of motives and experiences, is the necessary preliminary\nfor one to become a Christian and to feel the need of redemption. When\nthis error of reason and imagination is recognised, one ceases to be a\nChristian.\n\n\n136.\n\nOF CHRISTIAN ASCETICISM AND HOLINESS.--As greatly as isolated thinkers\nhave endeavoured to depict as a miracle the rare manifestations of\nmorality, which are generally called asceticism and holiness, miracles\nwhich it would be almost an outrage and sacrilege to explain by the\nlight of common sense, as strong also is the inclination towards\nthis outrage. A mighty impulse of nature has at all times led to a\nprotest against those manifestations; science, in so far as it is\nan imitation of nature, at least allows itself to rise against the\nsupposed inexplicableness and unapproachableness of these objections.\nSo far it has certainly not succeeded: those appearances are still\nunexplained, to the great joy of the above-mentioned worshippers of the\nmorally marvellous. For, speaking generally, the unexplained _must_\nbe absolutely inexplicable, the inexplicable absolutely unnatural,\nsupernatural, wonderful,--thus runs the demand in the souls of all\nreligious and metaphysical people (also of artists, if they should\nhappen to be thinkers at the same time); whilst the scientist sees\nin this demand the \"evil principle\" in itself. The general, first\nprobability upon which one lights in the contemplation of holiness\nand asceticism is this, that their nature is a _complicated_ one,\nfor almost everywhere, within the physical world as well as in the\nmoral, the apparently marvellous has been successfully traced back to\nthe complicated, the many-conditioned. Let us venture, therefore, to\nisolate separate impulses from the soul of saints and ascetics, and\nfinally to imagine them as intergrown.\n\n\n137.\n\nThere is a _defiance of self,_ to the sublimest manifestation of which\nbelong many forms of asceticism. Certain individuals have such great\nneed of exercising their power and love of ruling that, in default of\nother objects, or because they have never succeeded otherwise, they\nfinally ex-cogitate the idea of tyrannising over certain parts of their\nown nature, portions or degrees of themselves. Thus many a thinker\nconfesses to views which evidently do not serve either to increase\nor improve his reputation; many a one deliberately calls down the\nscorn of others when by keeping silence he could easily have remained\nrespected; others contradict former opinions and do not hesitate to\nbe called inconsistent--on the contrary, they strive after this, and\nbehave like reckless riders who like a horse best when it has grown\nwild, unmanageable, and covered with sweat. Thus man climbs dangerous\npaths up the highest mountains in order that he may laugh to scorn his\nown fear and his trembling knees; thus the philosopher owns to views\non asceticism, humility, holiness, in the brightness of which his own\npicture shows to the worst possible disadvantage. This crushing of\none's self, this scorn of one's own nature, this _spernere se sperm,_\nof which religion has made so much, is really a very high degree of\nvanity. The whole moral of the Sermon on the Mount belongs here;\nman takes a genuine delight in doing violence to himself by these\nexaggerated claims, and afterwards idolising these tyrannical demands\nof his soul. In every ascetic morality man worships one part of himself\nas a God, and is obliged, therefore, to diabolise the other parts.\n\n\n138.\n\nMan is not equally moral at all hours, this is well known. If his\nmorality is judged to be the capability for great self-sacrificing\nresolutions and self-denial (which, when continuous and grown habitual,\nare called holiness), he is most moral in the _passions;_ the higher\nemotion provides him with entirely new motives, of which he, sober\nand cold as usual, perhaps does not even believe himself capable. How\ndoes this happen? Probably because of the proximity of everything\ngreat and highly exciting; if man is once wrought up to a state of\nextraordinary suspense, he is as capable of carrying out a terrible\nrevenge as of a terrible crushing of his need for revenge. Under the\ninfluence of powerful emotion, he desires in any case the great, the\npowerful, the immense; and if he happens to notice that the sacrifice\nof himself satisfies him as well as, or better than, the sacrifice\nof others, he chooses that. Actually, therefore, he only cares about\ndischarging his emotion; in order to ease his tension he seizes the\nenemy's spears and buries them in his breast. That there was something\ngreat in self-denial and not in revenge had to be taught to mankind by\nlong habit; a Godhead that sacrificed itself was the strongest, most\neffective symbol of this kind of greatness. As the conquest of the most\ndifficult enemy, the sudden mastering of an affection--thus this denial\n_appears_; and so far it passes for the summit of morality. In reality\nit is a question of the confusion of one idea with another, while the\ntemperament maintains an equal height, an equal level. Temperate men\nwho are resting from their passions no longer understand the morality\nof those moments; but the general admiration of those who had the same\nexperiences upholds them; pride is their consolation when affection\nand the understanding of their deed vanish. Therefore, at bottom even\nthose actions of self-denial are not moral, inasmuch as they are not\ndone strictly with regard to others; rather the other only provides\nthe highly-strung temperament with an opportunity of relieving itself\nthrough that denial.\n\n\n139.\n\nIn many respects the ascetic seeks to make life easy for himself,\nusually by complete subordination to a strange will or a comprehensive\nlaw and ritual; something like the way a Brahmin leaves nothing\nwhatever to his own decision but refers every moment to holy precepts.\nThis submission is a powerful means of attaining self-mastery: man\nis occupied and is therefore not bored, and yet has no incitement to\nself-will or passion; after a completed deed there is no feeling of\nresponsibility and with it no tortures of remorse. We have renounced\nour own will once and for ever, and this is easier than only renouncing\nit occasionally; as it is also easier to give up a desire entirely than\nto keep it within bounds. When we remember the present relation of\nman to the State, we find that, even here, unconditional obedience is\nmore convenient than conditional. The saint, therefore, makes his life\neasier by absolute renunciation of his personality, and we are mistaken\nif in that phenomenon we admire the loftiest heroism of morality.\nIn any case it is more difficult to carry one's personality through\nwithout vacillation and unclearness than to liberate one's self from it\nin the above-mentioned manner; moreover, it requires far more spirit\nand consideration.\n\n\n140.\n\nAfter having found in many of the less easily explicable actions\nmanifestations of that pleasure in _emotion per se,_ I should like\nto recognise also in self-contempt, which is one of the signs of\nholiness, and likewise in the deeds of self-torture (through hunger and\nscourging, mutilation of limbs, feigning of madness) a means by which\nthose natures fight against the general weariness of their life-will\n(their nerves); they employ the most painful irritants and cruelties\nin order to emerge for a time, at all events, from that dulness and\nboredom into which they so frequently sink through their great mental\nindolence and that submission to a strange will already described.\n\n\n141.\n\nThe commonest means which the ascetic and saint employs to render\nlife still endurable and amusing consists in occasional warfare with\nalternate victory and defeat. For this he requires an opponent, and\nfinds it in the so-called \"inward enemy.\" He principally makes use\nof his inclination to vanity, love of honour and rule, and of his\nsensual desires, that he may be permitted to regard his life as a\nperpetual battle and himself as a battlefield upon which good and evil\nspirits strive with alternating success. It is well known that sensual\nimagination is moderated, indeed almost dispelled, by regular sexual\nintercourse, whereas, on the contrary, it is rendered unfettered and\nwild by abstinence or irregularity. The imagination of many Christian\nsaints was filthy to an extraordinary degree; by virtue of those\ntheories that these desires were actual demons raging within them\nthey did not feel themselves to be too responsible; to this feeling\nwe owe the very instructive frankness of their self-confessions. It\nwas to their interest that this strife should always be maintained in\none degree or another, because, as we have already said, their empty\nlife was thereby entertained. But in order that the strife might\nseem sufficiently important and arouse the enduring sympathy and\nadmiration of non-saints, it was necessary that sensuality should be\never more reviled and branded, the danger of eternal damnation was so\ntightly bound up with these things that it is highly probable that for\nwhole centuries Christians generated children with a bad conscience,\nwherewith humanity has certainly suffered a great injury. And yet here\ntruth is all topsy-turvy, which is particularly unsuitable for truth.\nCertainly Christianity had said that every man is conceived and born\nin sin, and in the insupportable superlative-Christianity of Calderon\nthis thought again appears, tied up and twisted, as the most distorted\nparadox there is, in the well-known lines--\n\n    \"The greatest sin of man\n    Is that he was ever born.\"\n\nIn all pessimistic religions the act of generation was looked upon as\nevil in itself. This is by no means the verdict of all mankind, not\neven of all pessimists. For instance, Empedocles saw in all erotic\nthings nothing shameful, diabolical, or, sinful; but rather, in the\ngreat plain of disaster he saw only one hopeful and redeeming figure,\nthat of Aphrodite; she appeared to him as a guarantee that the strife\nshould not endure eternally, but that the sceptre should one day be\ngiven over to a gentler _d\u00e6mon._ The actual Christian pessimists had,\nas has been said, an interest in the dominance of a diverse opinion;\nfor the solitude and spiritual wilderness of their lives they required\nan ever living enemy, and a generally recognised enemy, through whose\nfighting and overcoming they could constantly represent themselves to\nthe non-saints as incomprehensible, half--supernatural beings. But when\nat last this enemy took to flight for ever in consequence of their\nmode of life and their impaired health, they immediately understood\nhow to populate their interior with new d\u00e6mons. The rising and falling\nof the scales of pride and humility sustained their brooding minds as\nwell as the alternations of desire and peace of soul. At that time\npsychology served not only to cast suspicion upon everything human, but\nto oppress, to scourge, to crucify; people _wished_ to find themselves\nas bad and wicked as possible, they _sought_ anxiety for the salvation\nof their souls, despair of their own strength. Everything natural with\nwhich man has connected the idea of evil and sin (as, for instance,\nhe is still accustomed to do with regard to the erotic) troubles and\nclouds the imagination, causes a frightened glance, makes man quarrel\nwith himself and uncertain and distrustful of himself. Even his dreams\nhave the flavour of a restless conscience. And yet in the reality\nof things this suffering from what is natural is entirely without\nfoundation, it is only the consequence of opinions _about_ things. It\nis easily seen how men grow worse by considering the inevitably-natural\nas bad, and afterwards always feeling themselves made thus. It is the\ntrump-card of religion and metaphysics, which wish to have man evil and\nsinful by nature, to cast suspicion on nature and thus really to _make_\nhim bad, for he learns to feel himself evil since he cannot divest\nhimself of the clothing of nature. After living for long a natural\nlife, he gradually comes to feel himself weighed down by such a burden\nof sin that supernatural powers are necessary to lift this burden, and\ntherewith arises the so-called need of redemption, which corresponds to\nno real but only to an imaginary sinfulness. If we survey the separate\nmoral demands of the earliest times of Christianity it will everywhere\nbe found that requirements are exaggerated in order that man _cannot_\nsatisfy them; the intention is not that he should become more moral,\nbut that he should feel himself as _sinful as possible._ If man had not\nfound this feeling _agreeable_--why would he have thought out such an\nidea and stuck to it so long? As in the antique world an immeasurable\npower of intellect and inventiveness was expended in multiplying the\npleasure of life by festive cults, so also in the age of Christianity\nan immeasurable amount of intellect has been sacrificed to another\nendeavour,--man must by all means be made to feel himself sinful and\nthereby be excited, _enlivened, en-souled._ To excite, enliven, en-soul\nat all costs--is not that the watchword of a relaxed, over-ripe,\nover-cultured age? The range of all natural sensations had been gone\nover a hundred times, the soul had grown weary, whereupon the saint\nand the ascetic invented a new species of stimulants for life. They\npresented themselves before the public eye, not exactly as an example\nfor the many, but as a terrible and yet ravishing spectacle, which took\nplace on that border-land between world and over-world, wherein at that\ntime all people believed they saw now rays of heavenly light and now\nunholy tongues of flame glowing in the depths. The saint's eye, fixed\nupon the terrible meaning of this short earthly life, upon the nearness\nof the last decision concerning endless new spans of existence, this\nburning eye in a half-wasted body made men of the old world tremble to\ntheir very depths; to gaze, to turn shudderingly away, to feel anew the\nattraction of the spectacle and to give way to it, to drink deep of it\ntill the soul quivered with fire and ague,--that was the last _pleasure\nthat antiquity invented_ after it had grown blunted even at the sight\nof beast-baitings and human combats.\n\n\n142.\n\nNow to sum up. That condition of soul in which the saint or embryo\nsaint rejoiced, was composed of elements which we all know well,\nonly that under the influence of other than religious conceptions\nthey exhibit themselves in other colours and are then accustomed to\nencounter man's blame as fully as, with that decoration of religion\nand the ultimate meaning of existence, they may reckon on receiving\nadmiration and even worship,--might reckon, at least, in former ages.\nSometimes the saint practises that defiance of himself which is a\nnear relative of domination at any cost and gives a feeling of power\neven to the most lonely; sometimes his swollen sensibility leaps from\nthe desire to let his passions have full play into the desire to\noverthrow them like wild horses under the mighty pressure of a proud\nspirit; sometimes he desires a complete cessation of all disturbing,\ntormenting, irritating sensations, a waking sleep, a lasting rest in\nthe lap of a dull, animal, and plant-like indolence; sometimes he seeks\nstrife and arouses it within himself, because boredom has shown him its\nyawning countenance. He scourges his self-adoration with self-contempt\nand cruelty, he rejoices in the wild tumult of his desires and the\nsharp pain of sin, even in the idea of being lost; he understands how\nto lay a trap for his emotions, for instance even for his keen love\nof ruling, so that he sinks into the most utter abasement and his\ntormented soul is thrown out of joint by this contrast; and finally,\nif he longs for visions, conversations with the dead or with divine\nbeings, it is at bottom a rare kind of delight that he covets, perhaps\nthat delight in which all others are united. Novalis, an authority on\nquestions of holiness through experience and instinct, tells the whole\nsecret with na\u00efve joy: \"It is strange enough that the association of\nlust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago draw men's attention to\ntheir close relationship and common tendency.\"\n\n\n143.\n\nThat which gives the saint his historical value is not the thing he\n_is,_ but the thing he _represents_ in the eyes of the unsaintly. It\nwas through the fact that errors were made about him, that the state\nof his soul was _falsely interpreted,_ that men separated themselves\nfrom him as much as possible, as from something incomparable and\nstrangely superhuman, that he acquired the extraordinary power which\nhe exercised over the imagination of whole nations and whole ages. He\ndid not know himself; he himself interpreted the writing of his moods,\ninclinations, and actions according to an art of interpretation which\nwas as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual interpretation\nof the Bible. The distorted and diseased in his nature, with its\ncombination of intellectual poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and\nover-excited nerves, remained hidden from his own sight as well as from\nthat of his spectators. He was not a particularly good man, and still\nless was he a particularly wise one; but he _represented_ something\nthat exceeded the human standard in goodness and wisdom. The belief in\nhim supported the belief in the divine and miraculous, in a religious\nmeaning of all existence, in an impending day of judgment. In the\nevening glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over the Christian\nnations, the shadowy form of the saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew\nto such a height that even in our own age, which no longer believes in\nGod, there are still thinkers who believe in the saint.\n\n\n144.\n\nIt need not be said that to this description of the saint which has\nbeen made from an average of the whole species, there may be opposed\nmany a description which could give a more agreeable impression.\nCertain exceptions stand out from among this species, it may be through\ngreat mildness and philanthropy, it may be through the magic of unusual\nenergy; others are attractive in the highest degree, because certain\nwild ravings have poured streams of light on their whole being, as is\nthe case, for instance, with the famous founder of Christianity, who\nthought he was the Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless--so\nthat through this idea--which we must not judge too hardly because the\nwhole antique world swarms with sons of God--he reached that same goal,\nthat feeling of complete sinlessness, complete irresponsibility, which\nevery one can now acquire by means of science. Neither have I mentioned\nthe Indian saints, who stand midway between the Christian saint and the\nGreek philosopher, and in so far represent no pure type. Knowledge,\nscience--such as existed then--the uplifting above other men through\nlogical discipline and training of thought, were as much fostered by\nthe Buddhists as distinguishing signs of holiness as the same qualities\nin the Christian world are repressed and branded as signs of unholiness.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Why harass with eternal designs a mind too weak to compass\nthem? Why do we not, as we lie beneath a lofty plane-tree or this pine\n[drink while we may]? HOR., _Odes_ III. ii. 11-14.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 2:\n\n    \"All greatest sages of all latest ages\n       Will chuckle and slily agree,\n    'Tis folly to wait till a fool's empty pate\n       Has learnt to be knowing and free:\n    So children of wisdom, make use of the fools\n    And use them whenever you can as your tools.\"--J.M.K.\n]\n\n[Footnote 3: It may be remembered that the cross was the gallows of the\nancient world.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 4: This may give us one of the reasons for the religiosity\nstill happily prevailing in England and the United States.--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH DIVISION.\n\n\nCONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS.\n\n\n\n145.\n\nTHE PERFECT SHOULD NOT HAVE GROWN.--With regard to everything that is\nperfect we are accustomed to omit the question as to how perfection has\nbeen acquired, and we only rejoice in the present as if it had sprung\nout of the ground by magic. Probably with regard to this matter we are\nstill under the effects of an ancient mythological feeling. It still\n_almost_ seems to us (in such a Greek temple, for instance, as that of\nP\u00e6stum) as if one morning a god in sport had built his dwelling of such\nenormous masses, at other times it seems as if his spirit had suddenly\nentered into a stone and now desired to speak through it. The artist\nknows that his work is only fully effective if it arouses the belief\nin an improvisation, in a marvellous instantaneousness of origin; and\nthus he assists this illusion and introduces into art those elements\nof inspired unrest, of blindly groping disorder, of listening dreaming\nat the beginning of creation, as a means of deception, in order so to\ninfluence the soul of the spectator or hearer that it may believe in\nthe sudden appearance of the perfect. It is the business of the science\nof art to contradict this illusion most decidedly, and to show up the\nmistakes and pampering of the intellect, by means of which it falls\ninto the artist's trap.\n\n\n146.\n\nTHE ARTIST'S SENSE OF TRUTH.--With regard to recognition of truths, the\nartist has a weaker morality than the thinker; he will on no account\nlet himself be deprived of brilliant and profound interpretations\nof life, and defends himself against temperate and simple methods\nand results. He is apparently fighting for the higher worthiness\nand meaning of mankind; in reality he will not renounce the _most\neffective_ suppositions for his art, the fantastical, mythical,\nuncertain, extreme, the sense of the symbolical, the over-valuation\nof personality, the belief that genius is something miraculous,--he\nconsiders, therefore, the continuance of his art of creation as more\nimportant than the scientific devotion to truth in every shape, however\nsimple this may appear.\n\n\n147.\n\nART AS RAISER OF THE DEAD.--Art also fulfils the task of preservation\nand even of brightening up extinguished and faded memories; when it\naccomplishes this task it weaves a rope round the ages and causes\ntheir spirits to return. It is, certainly, only a phantom-life that\nresults therefrom, as out of graves, or like the return in dreams of\nour beloved dead, but for some moments, at least, the old sensation\nlives again and the heart beats to an almost forgotten time. Hence,\nfor the sake of the general usefulness of art, the artist himself must\nbe excused if he does not stand in the front rank of the enlightenment\nand progressive civilisation of humanity; all his life long he has\nremained a child or a youth, and has stood still at the point where he\nwas overcome by his artistic impulse; the feelings of the first years\nof life, however, are acknowledged to be nearer to those of earlier\ntimes than to those of the present century. Unconsciously it becomes\nhis mission to make mankind more childlike; this is his glory and his\nlimitation.\n\n\n148.\n\nPOETS AS THE LIGHTENERS OF LIFE.--Poets, inasmuch as they desire to\nlighten the life of man, either divert his gaze from the wearisome\npresent, or assist the present to acquire new colours by means of a\nlife which they cause to shine out of the past. To be able to do this,\nthey must in many respects themselves be beings who are turned towards\nthe past, so that they can be used as bridges to far distant times\nand ideas, to dying or dead religions and cultures. Actually they\nare always and of necessity _epigoni._ There are, however, certain\ndrawbacks to their means of lightening life,--they appease and heal\nonly temporarily, only for the moment; they even prevent men from\nlabouring towards a genuine improvement in their conditions, inasmuch\nas they remove and apply palliatives to precisely that passion of\ndiscontent that induces to action.\n\n\n149.\n\nTHE SLOW ARROW OF BEAUTY.--The noblest kind of beauty is that which\ndoes not transport us suddenly, which does not make stormy and\nintoxicating impressions (such a kind easily arouses disgust), but\nthat which slowly filter into our minds, which we take away with us\nalmost unnoticed, and which we encounter again in our dreams; but\nwhich, however, after having long lain modestly on our hearts, takes\nentire possession of us, fills our eyes with tears and our hearts with\nlonging. What is it that we long for at the sight of beauty? We long to\nbe beautiful, we fancy it must bring much happiness with it. But that\nis a mistake.\n\n\n150.\n\nTHE ANIMATION OF ART.--Art raises its head where creeds relax. It takes\nover many feelings and moods engendered by religion, lays them to its\nheart, and itself becomes deeper, more full of soul, so that it is\ncapable of transmitting exultation and enthusiasm, which it previously\nwas not able to do. The abundance of religious feelings which have\ngrown into a stream are always breaking forth again and desire to\nconquer new kingdoms, but the growing enlightenment has shaken the\ndogmas of religion and inspired a deep mistrust,--thus the feeling,\nthrust by enlightenment out of the religious sphere, throws itself upon\nart, in a few cases into political life, even straight into science.\nEverywhere where human endeavour wears a loftier, gloomier aspect, it\nmay be assumed that the fear of spirits, incense, and church-shadows\nhave remained attached to it.\n\n\n151.\n\nHOW RHYTHM BEAUTIFIES.--Rhythm casts a veil over reality; it causes\nvarious artificialities of speech and obscurities of thought; by the\nshadow it throws upon thought it sometimes conceals it, and sometimes\nbrings it into prominence. As shadow is necessary to beauty, so the\n\"dull\" is necessary to lucidity. Art makes the aspect of life endurable\nby throwing lover it the veil of obscure thought.\n\n\n152.\n\nTHE ART OF THE UGLY SOUL.--Art is confined within too narrow limits if\nit be required that only the orderly, respectable, well-behaved soul\nshould be allowed to express itself therein. As in the plastic arts, so\nalso in music and poetry: there is an art of the ugly soul side by side\nwith the art of the beautiful soul; and the mightiest effects of art,\nthe crushing of souls, moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have\nperhaps been best achieved precisely by that art.\n\n\n153.\n\nART MAKES HEAVY THE HEART OF THE THINKER.--How strong metaphysical\nneed is and how difficult nature renders our departure from it may be\nseen from the fact that even in the free spirit, when he has cast off\neverything metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily produce\na resounding of the long silent, even broken, metaphysical string,--it\nmay be, for instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony\nhe feels himself floating above the earth in a starry dome with the\ndream of _immortality_ in his heart; all the stars seem to shine round\nhim, and the earth to sink farther and farther away.--If he becomes\nconscious of this state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs\nfor the man who will lead back to him his lost darling, be it called\nreligion or metaphysics. In such moments his intellectual character is\nput to the test.\n\n\n154.\n\nPLAYING WITH LIFE.--The lightness and frivolity of the Homeric\nimagination was necessary to calm and occasionally to raise the\nimmoderately passionate temperament and acute intellect of the Greeks.\nIf their intellect speaks, how harsh and cruel does life then appear!\nThey do not deceive themselves, but they intentionally weave lies\nround life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look upon life as\na game; earnestness was too well-known to them as pain (the gods so\ngladly hear the misery of mankind made the theme of song), and they\nknew that through art alone misery might be turned into pleasure. As\na punishment for this insight, however, they were so plagued with the\nlove of romancing that it was difficult for them in everyday life to\nkeep themselves free from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations\nhave such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent withal. Probably\nthis occasionally drove the neighbouring nations to desperation.\n\n\n155.\n\nTHE BELIEF IN INSPIRATION.--It is to the interest of the artist that\nthere should be a belief in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations;\nas if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the fundamental thought of\na philosophy shone down from heaven like a ray of grace. In reality\nthe imagination of the good artist or thinker constantly produces\ngood, mediocre, and bad, but his _judgment,_ most clear and practised,\nrejects and chooses and joins together, just as we now learn from\nBeethoven's notebooks that he gradually composed the most beautiful\nmelodies, and in a manner selected them, from many different attempts.\nHe who makes less severe distinctions, and willingly abandons himself\nto imitative memories, may under certain circumstances become a great\nimprovisatore; but artistic improvisation ranks low in comparison with\nserious and laboriously chosen artistic thoughts. All great men were\ngreat workers, unwearied not only in invention but also in rejection,\nreviewing, transforming, and arranging.\n\n\n156.\n\nINSPIRATION AGAIN.--If the productive power has been suspended for a\nlength of time, and has been hindered in its outflow by some obstacle,\nthere comes at last such a sudden out-pouring, as if an immediate\ninspiration were taking place without previous inward working,\nconsequently a miracle. This constitutes the familiar deception, in\nthe continuance of which, as we have said, the interest of all artists\nis rather too much concerned. The capital has only _accumulated,_ it\nhas not suddenly fallen down from heaven. Moreover, such apparent\ninspirations are seen elsewhere, for instance in the realm of goodness,\nof virtue and of vice.\n\n\n157.\n\nTHE SUFFERING OF GENIUS AND ITS VALUE.--The artistic genius desires\nto give pleasure, but if his mind is on a very high plane he does not\neasily find any one to share his pleasure; he offers entertainment\nbut nobody accepts it. This gives him, in certain circumstances, a\ncomically touching pathos; for he has really no right to force pleasure\non men. He pipes, but none will dance: can that be tragic? Perhaps.--As\ncompensation for this deprivation, however, he finds more pleasure in\ncreating than the rest of mankind experiences in all other species\nof activity. His sufferings are considered as exaggerated, because\nthe sound of his complaints is louder and his tongue more eloquent;\nand yet _sometimes_ his sufferings are really very great; but only\nbecause his ambition and his envy are so great. The learned genius,\nlike Kepler and Spinoza, is usually not so covetous and does not make\nsuch an exhibition of his really greater sufferings and deprivations.\nHe can reckon with greater certainty on future fame and can afford to\ndo without the present, whilst an artist who does this always plays a\ndesperate game that makes his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in\none and the same individual are combined the genius of power and of\nknowledge and the moral genius, there is added to the above-mentioned\npains that species of pain which must be regarded as the most\ncurious exception in the world; those extra- and super-personal\nsensations which are experienced on behalf of a nation, of humanity,\nof all civilisation, all suffering existence, which acquire their\nvalue through the connection with particularly difficult and remote\nperceptions (pity in itself is worth but little). But what standard,\nwhat proof is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost imperative to\nbe mistrustful of all who _talk_ of feeling sensations of this kind?\n\n\n158.\n\nTHE DESTINY OF GREATNESS.--Every great phenomenon is followed by\ndegeneration, especially in the world of art. The example of the great\ntempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or exaggeration; all\ngreat gifts have the fatality of crushing many weaker forces and germs,\nand of laying waste all nature around them. The happiest arrangement in\nthe development of an art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one\nanother within bounds; in this strife it generally happens that light\nand air are also granted to the weaker and more delicate natures.\n\n\n159.\n\nART DANGEROUS FOR THE ARTIST.--When art takes strong hold of an\nindividual it draws him back to the contemplation of those times when\nart flourished best, and it has then a retrograde effect. The artist\ngrows more and more to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes\nin gods and d\u00e6mons, he spiritualises all nature, hates science, is\nchangeable in his moods like the ancients, and longs for an overthrow\nof all existing conditions which are not favourable to art, and does\nthis with the impetuosity and unreasonableness of a child. Now, in\nhimself, the artist is already a backward nature, because he halts at a\ngame that belongs properly to youth and childhood; to this is added the\nfact that he is educated back into former times. Thus there gradually\narises a fierce antagonism between him and his contemporaries, and\na sad ending; according to the accounts of the ancients, Homer and\n\u00c6schylus spent their last years, and died, in melancholy.\n\n\n160.\n\nCREATED INDIVIDUALS.--When it is said that the dramatist (and the\nartist above all) _creates_ real characters, it is a fine deception and\nexaggeration, in the existence and propagation of which art celebrates\none of its unconscious but at the same time abundant triumphs. As a\nmatter of fact, we do not understand much about a real, living man,\nand we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to him this and\nthat character; this _very imperfect_ attitude of ours towards man\nis represented by the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in this\nsense \"creates\") outlines as _superficial_ as our knowledge of man is\nsuperficial. There is a great deal of delusion about these created\ncharacters of artists; they are by no means living productions of\nnature, but are like painted men, somewhat too thin, they will not\nbear a close inspection. And when it is said that the character of\nthe ordinary living being contradicts itself frequently, and that\nthe one created by the dramatist is the original model conceived by\nnature, this is quite wrong. A genuine man is something absolutely\n_necessary_ (even in those so-called contradictions), but we do not\nalways recognise this necessity. The imaginary man, the phantasm,\nsignifies something necessary, but only to those who understand a\nreal man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so that a few\nstrong, oft-repeated traits, with a great deal of light and shade\nand half-light about them, amply satisfy their notions. They are,\ntherefore, ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary man,\nbecause with real men they are accustomed to regard a phantasm, an\noutline, an intentional abbreviation as the whole. That the painter\nand the sculptor express the \"idea\" of man is a vain imagination and\ndelusion; whoever says this is in subjection to the eye, for this only\nsees the' surface, the epidermis of the human body,--the inward body,\nhowever, is equally a part of the idea. Plastic art wishes to make\ncharacter visible on the surface; histrionic art employs speech for\nthe same purpose, it reflects character in sounds. Art starts from the\nnatural _ignorance_ of man about his interior condition (in body and\ncharacter); it is not meant for philosophers or natural scientists.\n\n\n161.\n\nTHE OVER-VALUATION OF SELF IN THE BELIEF IN ARTISTS AND\nPHILOSOPHERS.--We are all prone to think that the excellence of a\nwork of art or of an artist is proved when it moves and touches us.\nBut there _our own excellence_ in judgment and sensibility must have\nbeen proved first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who\nhad greater power to effect a charm than Bernini, who made a greater\neffect than the orator that appeared after Demosthenes introduced the\nAsiatic style and gave it a predominance which lasted throughout two\ncenturies? This predominance during whole centuries is not a proof of\nthe excellence and enduring validity of a style; therefore we must\nnot be too certain in our good opinion of any artist,--this is not\nonly belief in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in the\ninfallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment or sensation, or even\nboth, may be too coarse or too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are\nthe blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a religion proofs\nof its truth; just as little as the happiness which an insane person\nderives from his fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this\nidea.\n\n\n162.\n\nTHE CULT OF GENIUS FOR THE SAKE OF VANITY.--Because we think well of\nourselves, but nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable of the\nconception of one of Raphael's pictures or of a scene such as those of\none of Shakespeare's dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty for\ndoing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a very rare case, or,\nif we are religiously inclined, a grace from above. Thus the cult of\ngenius fosters our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we think\nof it as very far removed from us, as a _miraculum,_ that it does not\nwound us (even Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare a\nstar of the farthest heavens, whereby we are reminded of the line \"die\nSterne, die begehrt man nicht\".[1]) But, apart from those suggestions\nof our vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so radically\ndifferent from the activity of a mechanical inventor, of an astronomer\nor historian or strategist. All these forms of activity are explicable\nif we realise men whose minds are active in one special direction, who\nmake use of everything as material, who always eagerly study their\nown inward life and that of others, who find types and incitements\neverywhere, who never weary in the employment of their means. Genius\ndoes nothing but learn how to lay stones, then to build, always to\nseek for material and always to work upon it. Every human activity is\nmarvellously complicated, and not only that of genius, but it is no\n\"miracle.\" Now whence comes the belief that genius is found only in\nartists, orators, and philosophers, that they alone have \"intuition\"\n(by which we credit them with a kind of magic glass by means of which\nthey see straight into one's \"being\")? It is clear that men only speak\nof genius where the workings of a great intellect are most agreeable\nto them and they have no desire to feel envious. To call any one\n\"divine\" is as much as saying \"here we have no occasion for rivalry.\"\nThus it is that everything completed and perfect is stared at, and\neverything incomplete is undervalued. Now nobody can see how the work\nof an artist has _developed_; that is its advantage, for everything of\nwhich the development is seen is looked on coldly The perfected art of\nrepresentation precludes all thought of its development, it tyrannises\nas present perfection. For this reason artists of representation are\nespecially held to be possess of genius, but not scientific men. In\nreality, however, the former valuation and the latter under-valuation\nare only puerilities of reason.\n\n\n163.\n\nTHE EARNESTNESS OF HANDICRAFT.--Do not talk of gifts, of inborn\ntalents! We could mention great men of all kinds who were but little\ngifted. But they _obtained_ greatness, became \"geniuses\" (as they are\ncalled), through qualities of the lack of which nobody who is conscious\nof them likes to speak. They all had that thorough earnestness for work\nwhich learns first how to form the different parts perfectly before it\nventures to make a great whole; they gave themselves time for this,\nbecause they took more pleasure in doing small, accessory things well\nthan in the effect of a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for\nbecoming a good novelist is easily given, but the carrying out of the\nrecipe presupposes qualities which we are in the habit of overlooking\nwhen we say, \"I have not sufficient talent.\" Make a hundred or more\nsketches of novel-plots, none more than two pages long, but of such\nclearness that every word in them is necessary; write down anecdotes\nevery day until you learn to find the most pregnant, most effective\nform; never weary of collecting and delineating human types and\ncharacters; above all, narrate things as often as possible and listen\nto narrations with a sharp eye and ear for the effect upon other people\npresent; travel like a landscape painter and a designer of costumes;\ntake from different sciences everything that is artistically effective,\nif it be well represented; finally, meditate on the motives for human\nactions, scorn not even the smallest point of instruction on this\nsubject, and collect similar matters by day and night. Spend some ten\nyears in these various exercises: then the creations of your study may\nbe allowed to see the light of day. But what do most people do, on the\ncontrary? They do not begin with the part, but with the whole. Perhaps\nthey make one good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards their\nwork grows worse and worse, for good, natural reasons. But sometimes,\nwhen intellect and character are lacking for the formation of such an\nartistic career, fate and necessity take the place of these qualities\nand lead the future master step by step through all the phases of his\ncraft.\n\n\n164.\n\nTHE DANGER AND THE GAIN IN THE CULT OF GENIUS.--The belief in great,\nsuperior, fertile minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently,\nconnected with that wholly or partly religious superstition that\nthose spirits are of superhuman origin and possess certain marvellous\nfaculties, by means of which they obtained their knowledge in ways\nquite different from the rest of mankind. They are credited with\nhaving an immediate insight into the nature of the world, through\na peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as it were, and it is\nbelieved that, without the trouble and severity of science, by virtue\nof this marvellous prophetic sight, they could impart something final\nand decisive about mankind and the world. So long as there are still\nbelievers in miracles in the world of knowledge it may perhaps be\nadmitted that the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom,\ninasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great minds they obtain the\nbest discipline and schooling for their own minds during the period of\ndevelopment. On the other hand, it may at least be questioned whether\nthe superstition of genius, of its privileges and special faculties,\nis useful for a genius himself when it implants itself in him. In any\ncase it is a dangerous sign when man shudders at his own self, be it\nthat famous C\u00e6sarian shudder or the shudder of genius which applies to\nthis case, when the incense of sacrifice, which by rights is offered\nto a God alone, penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that he\nbegins to waver and to look upon himself as something superhuman. The\nslow consequences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the exceptional\nrights, the belief that mere intercourse with him confers a favour,\nand frantic rage at any attempt to compare him with others or even\nto place him below them and to bring into prominence whatever is\nunsuccessful in his work. Through the fact that he ceases to criticise\nhimself one pinion after another falls out of his plumage,--that\nsuperstition undermines the foundation of his strength and even makes\nhim a hypocrite after his power has failed him. For great minds it\nis, therefore, perhaps better when they come to an understanding about\ntheir strength and its source, when they comprehend what purely human\nqualities are mingled in them, what a combination they are of fortunate\nconditions: thus once it was continual energy, a decided application\nto individual aims, great personal courage, and then the good fortune\nof an education, which at an early period provided the best teachers,\nexamples, and methods. Assuredly, if its aim is to make the greatest\npossible _effect,_ abstruseness has always done much for itself and\nthat gift of partial insanity; for at all times that power has been\nadmired and envied by means of which men were deprived of will and\nimbued with the fancy that they were preceded by supernatural leaders.\nTruly, men are exalted and inspired by the belief that some one among\nthem is endowed with supernatural powers, and in this respect insanity,\nas Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings to mankind. In a\nfew rare cases this form of insanity may also have been the means\nby which an all-round exuberant nature was kept within bounds; in\nindividual life the imaginings of frenzy frequently exert the virtue of\nremedies which are poisons in themselves; but in every \"genius\" that\nbelieves in his own divinity the poison shows itself at last in the\nsame proportion as the \"genius\" grows old; we need but recollect the\nexample of Napoleon, for it was most assuredly through his faith in\nhimself and his star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he grew\nto that mighty unity which distinguished him from all modern men, until\nat last, however, this faith developed into an almost insane fatalism,\nrobbed him of his quickness of comprehension and penetration, and was\nthe cause of his downfall.\n\n\n165.\n\nGENIUS AND NULLITY.--It is precisely the _original_ artists, those who\ncreate out of their own heads, who in certain circumstances can bring\nforth complete _emptiness_ and husk, whilst the more dependent natures,\nthe so-called talented ones, are full of memories of all manner of\ngoodness, and even in a state of weakness produce something tolerable.\nBut if the original ones are abandoned by themselves, memory renders\nthem no assistance; they become empty.\n\n\n166.\n\nTHE PUBLIC.--The people really demands nothing more from tragedy than\nto be deeply affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally; the\nartist, on the contrary, who sees the new tragedy, takes pleasure in\nthe clever technical inventions and tricks, in the management and\ndistribution of the material, in the novel arrangement of old motives\nand old ideas. His attitude is the \u00e6sthetic attitude towards a work of\nart, that of the creator; the one first described, with regard solely\nto the material, is that of he people. Of the individual who stands\nbetween the two nothing need be said: he is neither \"people\" nor\nartist, and does not know what he wants--therefore his pleasure is also\nclouded and insignificant.\n\n\n167.\n\nTHE ARTISTIC EDUCATION OF THE PUBLIC.--If the same _motif_ is not\nemployed in a hundred ways by different masters, the public never\nlearns to get beyond their interest in the subject; but at last, when\nit is well acquainted with the _motif_ through countless different\ntreatments, and no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or\nexcitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy the various shades\nand delicate new inventions in its treatment.\n\n\n168.\n\nTHE ARTIST AND HIS FOLLOWERS MUST KEEP IN STEP.--The progress from one\ngrade of style to another must be so slow that not only the artists but\nalso the auditors and spectators can follow it and know exactly what is\ngoing on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear that great chasm between\nthe artist, who creates his work upon a height apart, and the public,\nwho cannot rise up to that height and finally sinks discontentedly\ndeeper. For when the artist no longer raises his public it rapidly\nsinks downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more dangerous in\nproportion to the height to which genius has carried it, like the\neagle, out of whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up into the\nclouds falls to its destruction.\n\n\n169.\n\nTHE SOURCE OF THE COMIC ELEMENT.--If we consider that for many\nthousands of years man was an animal that was susceptible in the\nhighest degree to fear, and that everything sudden and unexpected had\nto find him ready for battle, perhaps even ready for death; that even\nlater, in social relations, all security was based on the expected,\non custom in thought and action, we need not be surprised that at\neverything sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if it occurs without\ndanger or injury, man becomes exuberant and passes over into the very\nopposite of fear--the terrified, trembling, crouching being shoots\nupward, stretches itself: man laughs. This transition from momentary\nfear into short-lived exhilaration is called the _Comic._ On the other\nhand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes quickly from great enduring\nexuberance into great fear; but as amongst mortals great and lasting\nexuberance is much rarer than the cause for fear, there is far more\ncomedy than tragedy in the world; we laugh much offener than we are\nagitated.\n\n\n170.\n\nTHE ARTIST'S AMBITION.--The Greek artists, the tragedians for instance,\ncomposed in order to conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined\nwithout rivalry,--the good Hesiodian Eris, Ambition, gave wings to\ntheir genius. This ambition further demanded that their work should\nachieve the greatest excellence _in their own eyes,_ as they understood\nexcellence, _without any regard_ for the reigning taste and the\ngeneral opinion about excellence in a work of art; and thus it was\nlong before \u00c6schylus and Euripides achieved any success, until at\nlast they _educated_ judges of art, who valued their work according\nto the standards which they themselves appointed. Hence they strove\nfor victory over rivals according to their own valuation, they really\nwished to _be_ more excellent; they demanded assent from without to\nthis self-valuation, the confirmation of this verdict. To achieve\nhonour means in this case \"to make one's self superior to others, and\nto desire that this should be recognised publicly.\" Should the former\ncondition be wanting, and the latter nevertheless desired, it is then\ncalled _vanity._ Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then it\nis named _pride_.\n\n\n171.\n\nWHAT IS NEEDFUL TO A WORK OF ART.--Those who talk so much about the\nneedful factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are artists they\ndo so _in majorem artis gloriam,_ if they are laymen, from ignorance.\nThe form of a work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts and is,\ntherefore, their mode of talking, is always somewhat uncertain, like\nall kinds of speech. The sculptor can add or omit many little traits,\nas can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in music, a performer or\nconductor. These many little traits and finishing touches afford him\npleasure one day and none the next, they exist more for the sake of the\nartist than the art; for he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats\nand playthings to prevent him from becoming morose with the severity\nand self-restraint which the representation of the dominant idea\ndemands from him.\n\n\n172.\n\nTO CAUSE THE MASTER TO BE FORGOTTEN.--The pianoforte player who\nexecutes the work of a master will have played best if he has made his\naudience forget the master, and if it seemed as if he were relating\na story from his own life or just passing through some experience.\nAssuredly, if he is of no importance, every one will abhor the\ngarrulity with which he talks about his own life. Therefore he must\nknow how to influence his hearer's imagination favourably towards\nhimself. Hereby are explained all the weaknesses and follies of \"the\nvirtuoso.\"\n\n\n173.\n\n_CORRIGER LA FORTUNE._--There are unfortunate accidents in the lives\nof great artists, which compel the painter, for instance, to sketch\nout his most important picture only as a passing thought, or such as\nobliged Beethoven to leave behind him only the insufficient pianoforte\nscore of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat). In these cases\nthe artist of a later day must endeavour to fill out the life of the\ngreat man,--of all orchestral effects, would call into life that\nsymphony which has fallen into the piano-trance.\n\n\n174.\n\nREDUCING.--Many things, events, or persons, cannot bear treatment on\na small scale. The Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-knack;\ngreat size is necessary to it. But more seldom still does anything\nthat is naturally small bear enlargement; for which reason biographers\nsucceed far oftener in representing a great man as small than a small\none as great.\n\n\n175.\n\nSENSUOUSNESS IN PRESENT-DAY ART.--Artists nowadays frequently\nmiscalculate when they count on the sensuous effect of their works, for\ntheir spectators or hearers have no longer a fully sensuous nature,\nand, quite contrary to the artist's intention, his work produces in\nthem a \"holiness\" of feeling which is closely related to boredom. Their\nsensuousness begins, perhaps, just where that of the artist ceases;\nthey meet, therefore, only at one point at the most.\n\n\n176.\n\nSHAKESPEARE AS A MORALIST.--Shakespeare meditated much on the passions,\nand on account of his temperament had probably a close acquaintance\nwith many of them (dramatists are in general rather wicked men). He\ncould, however not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put his\nobservations thereon into the mouths of impassioned figures, which\nis contrary to nature, certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in\nthought that they cause all others to seem poor in comparison and\nreadily arouse a general aversion to them. Schiller's reflections\n(which are almost always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are\njust theatrical Reflections, and as such are very effective; whereas\nShakespeare's reflections do honour to his model, Montaigne, and\ncontain quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on that account\nare too remote and refined for the eyes of the theatrical public, and\nare consequently ineffective.\n\n\n177.\n\nSECURING A GOOD HEARING.--It is not sufficient to know how to play\nwell; one must also know how to secure a good hearing. A violin in the\nhand of the greatest master gives only a little squeak when the place\nwhere it is heard is too large; the master may then be mistaken for any\nbungler.\n\n\n178.\n\nTHE INCOMPLETE AS THE EFFECTIVE.--Just as figures in relief make such\na strong impression on the imagination because they seem in the act\nof emerging from the wall and only stopped by some sudden hindrance;\nso the relief-like, incomplete representation of a thought, or a\nwhole philosophy, is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive\namplification,--more is left for the investigation of the onlooker, he\nis incited to the further study of that which stands out before him in\nsuch strong light and shade; he is prompted to think out the subject,\nand even to overcome the hindrance which hitherto prevented it from\nemerging clearly.\n\n\n179.\n\nAGAINST THE ECCENTRIC.--When art arrays itself in the most shabby\nmaterial it is most easily recognised as art.\n\n\n180.\n\nCOLLECTIVE INTELLECT.--A good author possesses not only his own\nintellect, but also that of his friends.\n\n\n181.\n\nDIFFERENT KINDS OF MISTAKES.--The misfortune of acute and clear authors\nis that people consider them as shallow and therefore do not devote any\neffort to them; and the good fortune of obscure writers is that the\nreader makes an effort to understand them and places the delight in his\nown zeal to their credit.\n\n\n182.\n\nRELATION TO SCIENCE.--None of the people have any real interest in\na science, who only begin to be enthusiastic about it when they\nthemselves lave made discoveries in it.\n\n\n183.\n\nTHE KEY.--The single thought on which an eminent man sets a great\nvalue, arousing the derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a\nkey to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is nothing _more_ than a\npiece of old iron.\n\n\n184.\n\nUNTRANSLATABLE.--It is neither the best nor the worst parts of a book\nwhich are untranslatable.\n\n\n185.\n\nAUTHORS' PARADOXES.--The so-called paradoxes of an author to which a\nreader objects are often not in the author's book at all, but in the\nreader's head.\n\n\n186.\n\nWIT.--The wittiest authors produce a scarcely noticeable smile.\n\n\n187.\n\nANTITHESIS.--Antithesis is the narrow gate through which error is\nfondest of sneaking to the truth.\n\n\n188.\n\nTHINKERS AS STYLISTS.--Most thinkers write badly, because they\ncommunicate not only their thoughts, but also the thinking of them.\n\n\n189.\n\nTHOUGHTS IN POETRY.--The poet conveys his thoughts ceremoniously in the\nvehicle of rhythm, usually because they are not able to go on foot.\n\n\n190.\n\nTHE SIN AGAINST THE READER'S INTELLECT.--When an author renounces his\ntalent in order merely to put himself on a level with the reader, he\ncommits the only deadly sin which the latter will never forgive, should\nhe notice anything of it. One may say everything that is bad about a\nperson, but in the manner _in which_ it is said one must know how to\nrevive his vanity anew.\n\n\n191.\n\nTHE LIMITS OF UPRIGHTNESS.--Even the most upright author lets fall a\nword too much when he wishes to round off a period.\n\n\n192.\n\nTHE BEST AUTHOR,--The best author will be he who is ashamed to become\none.\n\n\n193.\n\nDRACONIAN LAW AGAINST AUTHORS.--One should regard authors as criminals\nwho only obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,--that would be\na remedy for books becoming too rife.\n\n\n194.\n\nTHE FOOLS OF MODERN CULTURE.--The fools of medi\u00e6val courts correspond\nto our _feuilleton_ writers; they are the same kind of men,\nsemi-rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes there only for\nthe purpose of lessening the pathos of the outlook with fancies and\nchatter, and of drowning with their clamour the far too deep and solemn\nchimes of great events; they were formerly in the service of princes\nand nobles, now they are in the service of parties (since a large\nportion of the old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people with\ntheir prince still survives in party-feeling and party-discipline).\nModern literary men, however, are generally very similar to the\n_feuilleton_ writers, they are the \"fools of modern culture,\" whom\none judges more leniently when one does not regard them as fully\nresponsible beings. To look upon writing as a regular profession should\njustly be regarded as a form of madness.\n\n\n195.\n\nAFTER THE EXAMPLE OF THE GREEKS.--It is a great hindrance to knowledge\nat present that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling, all\nwords have become vague and inflated. The higher stage of culture,\nwhich is under the sway (though not under the tyranny) of knowledge,\nrequires great sobriety of feeling and thorough concentration of\nwords--on which points the Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an\nexample to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing mark of all modern\nwritings, and even when they are simply written the expressions therein\nare still _felt_ as _too_ eccentric. Careful reflection, conciseness,\ncoldness, plainness, even carried intentionally to the farthest\nlimits,--in a word, suppression of feeling and taciturnity,--these\nare the only remedies. For the rest, this cold manner of writing and\nfeeling is now very attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is\na new danger therein. For intense cold is as good a stimulus as a high\ndegree of warmth.\n\n\n196.\n\nGOOD NARRATORS, BAD EXPLAINERS.--In good narrators there is often\nfound an admirable psychological sureness and logicalness, as far as\nthese qualities can be observed in the actions of their personages,\nin positively ludicrous contrast to their inexperienced psychological\nreasoning, so that their culture appears to be as extraordinarily high\none moment as it seems regrettably defective the next. It happens far\ntoo frequently that they give an evidently false explanation of their\nown heroes and their actions,--of this there is no doubt, however\nimprobable the thing may appear. It is quite likely that the greatest\npianoforte player has thought but little about the technical conditions\nand the special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tractability of\neach finger (dactylic ethics), and makes big mistakes whenever he\nspeaks of such things.\n\n\n197.\n\nTHE WRITINGS OF ACQUAINTANCES AND THEIR READERS.--We read the writings\nof our acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double sense, inasmuch\nas our perception constantly whispers, \"That is something of himself,\na remembrance of his inward being, his experiences, his talents,\" and\nat the same time another kind of perception endeavours to estimate the\nprofit of the work in itself, what valuation it merits apart from its\nauthor, how far it will enrich knowledge. These two manners of reading\nand estimating interfere with each other, as may naturally be supposed.\nAnd a conversation with a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge\nwhen both think only of the matter under consideration and forget that\nthey are friends.\n\n\n198.\n\nRHYTHMICAL SACRIFICE.--Good writers alter the rhythm of many a period\nmerely because they do not credit the general reader with the ability\nto comprehend the measure followed by the period in its first version;\nthus they make it easier for the reader, by giving the preference to\nthe better known rhythms.. This regard for the rhythmical incapacity\nof the modern reader has already called forth many a sigh, for much\nhas been sacrificed to it. Does not the same thing happen to good\nmusicians?\n\n\n199.\n\nTHE INCOMPLETE AS AN ARTISTIC STIMULUS.--The incomplete is often\nmore effective than perfection, and this is the case with eulogies.\nTo effect their purpose a stimulating incompleteness is necessary,\nas an irrational element, which calls up a sea before the hearer's\nimagination, and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, _i.e._ the\nlimits of the object of praise. If the well-known merits of a person\nare referred to and described at length and in detail, it always gives\nrise to the suspicion that these are his only merits. The perfect\neulogist takes his stand above the person praised, he appears to\n_overlook_ him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening effect.\n\n\n200.\n\nPRECAUTIONS IN WRITING AND TEACHING.--Whoever has once written and has\nbeen seized with the passion for writing learns from almost all that he\ndoes and experiences that which is literally communicable. He thinks\nno longer of himself, but of the author and his public; he desires\ninsight into things; but not for his own use. He who teaches is mostly\nincapable of doing anything for his own good: he is always thinking of\nthe good of his scholars, and all knowledge delights him only in so\nfar as he is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard himself as a\nmedium of knowledge, and above all as a means thereto, so that he has\nlost all serious consideration for himself.\n\n\n201.\n\nTHE NECESSITY FOR BAD AUTHORS.--There will always be a need of bad\nauthors; for they meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped, immature\nage--these have their requirements as well as mature readers. If human\nlife were of greater length, the number of mature individuals would be\ngreater than that of the immature, or at least equally great; but, as\nit is, by far the greater number die too young: _i.e._ there are always\nmany more undeveloped intellects with bad taste. These demand, with the\ngreater impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their needs, and they\n_insist_ on having bad authors.\n\n\n202.\n\nToo NEAR AND TOO FAR.--The reader and the author very often do not\nunderstand each other, because the author knows his theme too well and\nfinds it almost slow, so that he omits the examples, of which he knows\nhundreds; the reader, however, is interested in the subject, and is\nliable to consider it as badly proved if examples are lacking.\n\n\n203.\n\nA VANISHED PREPARATION FOR ART.--Of everything that was practised in\npublic schools, the thing of greatest value was the exercise in Latin\nstyle,--this was an exercise in art, whilst all other occupations\naimed only at the acquirement of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put\nGerman composition before it, for there is no typical German style\ndeveloped by public oratory; but if there is a desire to advance\npractice in thought by means of German composition, then it is\ncertainly better for the time being to pay no attention to style, to\nseparate the practice in thought, therefore, from the practice in\nreproduction. The latter should confine itself to the various modes\nof presenting a given subject, and should not concern itself with the\nindependent finding of a subject. The mere presentment of given subject\nwas the task of the Latin style, for which the old teachers possessed a\nlong vanished delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to write well\nin a modern language had to thank this practice for the acquirement\n(now we are obliged to go to school to the older French writers). But\nyet more: he obtained an idea of the loftiness and difficulty of form,\nand was prepared for art in the only right way: by practice.\n\n\n204.\n\nDARKNESS AND OVER-BRIGHTNESS SIDE BY SIDE.--Authors who, in general,\ndo not understand how to express their thoughts clearly are fond of\nchoosing, in detail, the strongest, most exaggerated distinctions and\nsuperlatives,--thereby is produced an effect of light, which is like\ntorchlight in intricate forest paths.\n\n\n205.\n\nLITERARY PAINTING.--An important object will be best described if the\ncolours for the painting are taken out of the object itself, as a\nchemist does, and then employed like an artist, so that the drawing\ndevelops from the outlines and transitions of the colours. Thus the\npainting acquires something of the entrancing natural element which\ngives such importance to the object itself.\n\n\n206.\n\nBOOKS WHICH TEACH HOW TO DANCE.--There are authors who, by representing\nthe impossible as possible, and by talking of morality and cleverness\nas if both were merely moods and humours assumed at will, produce\na feeling of exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and were\ncompelled to dance from sheer, inward delight.\n\n\n207.\n\nUNFINISHED THOUGHTS.--Just as not only manhood, but also youth and\nchildhood have a value _per se,_ and are not to be looked upon merely\nas passages and bridges, so also unfinished thoughts have their value.\nFor this reason we must not torment a poet with subtle explanations,\nbut must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his horizon, as if the way\nto further thoughts were still open. We stand on the threshold; we wait\nas for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well of profundity\nwere about to be discovered. The poet anticipates something of the\nthinker's pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, an makes us\ncovetous, so that we give chase to it; but it flutters past our head\nand exhibits the loveliest butterfly-wings,--and yet it escapes us.\n\n\n208.\n\nTHE BOOK GROWN ALMOST INTO A HUMAN BEING.--Every author is surprised\nanew at the way in which his book, as soon as he has sent it out,\ncontinues to live a life of its own; it seems to him as if one part\nof an insect had been cut off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he\nforgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above the view expressed\ntherein, perhaps even he understands it no longer, and has lost that\nimpulse upon which he soared at the time he conceived the book;\nmeanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames life, pleases, horrifies,\ninspires new works, becomes the soul of designs and actions,--in\nshort, it lives like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and yet\nis no human being. The happiest fate is that of the author who, as an\nold man, is able to say that all there was in him of life-inspiring,\nstrengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and feelings still\nlives on in his writings, and that he himself now only represents the\ngray ashes, whilst the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And\nif we consider that every human action, not only a book, is in some\nway or other the cause of other actions, decisions, and thoughts; that\neverything that happens is inseparably connected with everything\nthat is going to happen, we recognise the real _immortality,_ that of\nmovement,--that which has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in\nthe general union of all existence, like an insect within a piece of\namber.\n\n\n209.\n\nJOY IN OLD AGE.--The thinker, as likewise the artist, who has put his\nbest self into his works, feels an almost malicious joy when he sees\nhow mind and body are being slowly damaged and destroyed by time, as if\nfrom a dark corner he were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing\nall the time that it was empty and his treasures in safety.\n\n\n210.\n\nQUIET FRUITFULNESS.--The born aristocrats of the mind are not in too\nmuch of a hurry; their creations appear and fall from the tree on some\nquiet autumn evening, without being rashly desired, instigated, or\npushed aside by new matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar,\nand betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a man _is_ something, it\nis not really necessary for him to do anything--and yet he does a great\ndeal. There is a human species higher even than wie \"productive\" man.\n\n\n211.\n\nACHILLES AND HOMER.--It is always like the case of Achilles and\nHomer,--the one _has_ the experiences and sensations, the other\n_describes_ them. A genuine author only puts into words the feelings\nand adventures of others, he is an artist, and divines much from the\nlittle he has experienced. Artists are by no means creatures of great\npassion; but they frequently _represent_ themselves as such with the\nunconscious feeling that their depicted passion will be better believed\nin if their own life gives credence to their experience in these\naffairs. They need only let themselves go, not control themselves, and\ngive free play to their anger and their desires, and every one will\nimmediately cry out, \"How passionate he is!\" But the deeply stirring\npassion that consumes and often destroys the individual is another\nmatter: those who have really experienced it do not describe it in\ndramas, harmonies or romances. Artists are frequently _unbridled_\nindividuals, in so far as they are not artists, but that is a different\nthing.\n\n\n212.\n\nOLD DOUBTS ABOUT THE EFFECT OF ART.--Should pity and fear really be\nunburdened through tragedy, as Aristotle would have it, so that the\nhearers return home colder and quieter? Should ghost-stories really\nmake us less fearful and superstitious? In the case of certain physical\nprocesses, in the satisfaction of love, for instance, it is true\nthat with the fulfilment of a need there follows an alleviation and\ntemporary decrease in the impulse. But fear and pity are not in this\nsense the needs of particular organs which require to be relieved.\nAnd in time every instinct is even _strengthened_ by practice in\nits satisfaction, in spite of that periodical mitigation. It might\nbe possible that in each single case pity and fear would be soothed\nand relieved by tragedy; nevertheless, they might, on the whole, be\nincreased by tragic influences, and Plato would be right in saying that\ntragedy makes us altogether more timid and susceptible. The tragic poet\nhimself would then of necessity acquire a gloomy and fearful view of\nthe world, and a yielding, irritable, tearful soul; it would also agree\nwith Plato's view if the tragic poets, and likewise the entire part of\nthe community that derived particular pleasure from them, degenerated\ninto ever greater licentiousness and intemperance. But what right,\nindeed, has our age to give an answer to that great question of Plato's\nas to the moral influence of art? If we even had art,--where have we an\ninfluence, _any kind_ of an art-influence?\n\n\n213.\n\nPLEASURE IN NONSENSE.--How can we take pleasure in nonsense? But\nwherever there is laughter in the world this is the case: it may even\nbe said that almost everywhere where there is happiness, there is\nfound pleasure in nonsense. The transformation of experience into its\nopposite, of the suitable into the unsuitable, the obligatory into the\noptional (but in such a manner that this process produces no injury\nand is only imagined in jest), is a pleasure; for it temporarily\nliberates us from the yoke of the obligatory, suitable and experienced,\nin which we usually find our pitiless masters; we play and laugh when\nthe expected (which generally causes fear and expectancy) happens\nwithout bringing any injury. It is the pleasure felt by slaves in the\nSaturnalian feasts.\n\n\n214.\n\nTHE ENNOBLING OF REALITY.--Through the fact that in the aphrodisiac\nimpulse men discerned a godhead and with adoring gratitude felt it\nworking within themselves, this emotion has in the course of time\nbecome imbued with higher conceptions, and has thereby been materially\nennobled. Thus certain nations, by virtue of this art of idealisation,\nhave created great aids to culture out of diseases,--the Greeks,\nfor instance, who in earlier centuries suffered from great nervous\nepidemics (like epilepsy and St. Vitus' Dance), and developed out of\nthem the splendid type of the Bacchante. The Greeks, however, enjoyed\nan astonishingly high degree of health--their secret was, to revere\neven disease as a god, if it only possessed _power_.\n\n\n215.\n\nMusic.--Music by and for itself is not so portentous for our inward\nnature, so deeply moving, that it ought to be looked upon as the\n_direct_ language of the feelings; but its ancient union with poetry\nhas infused so much symbolism into rhythmical movement, into loudness\nand softness of tone, that we now _imagine_ it speaks directly _to_ and\ncomes _from_ the inward nature. Dramatic music is only possible when\nthe art of harmony has acquired an immense range of symbolical means,\nthrough song, opera, and a hundred attempts at description by sound.\n\"Absolute music\" is either form _per se,_ in 'the rude condition of\nmusic, when playing in time and with various degrees of strength gives\npleasure, or the symbolism of form which speaks to the understanding\neven without poetry, after the two arts were joined finally together\nafter long development and the musical form had been woven about with\nthreads of meaning and feeling. People who are backward in musical\ndevelopment can appreciate a piece of harmony merely as execution,\nwhilst those who are advanced will comprehend it symbolically. No music\nis deep and full of meaning in itself, it does not speak of \"will,\" of\nthe \"thing-in-itself\"; that could be imagined by the intellect only in\nan age which had conquered for musical symbolism the entire range of\ninner life. It was the intellect itself that first _gave_ this meaning\nto sound, just as it also gave meaning to the relation between lines\nand masses in architecture, but which in itself is quite foreign to\nmechanical laws.\n\n\n216.\n\nGESTURE AND SPEECH.--Older than speech is the imitation of gestures,\nwhich is carried on unconsciously and which, in the general repression\nof the language of gesture and trained control of the muscles, is\nstill so great that we cannot look at a face moved by emotion without\nfeeling an agitation of our own face (it may be remarked that feigned\nyawning excites real yawning in any one who sees it). The imitated\ngesture leads the one who imitates back to the sensation it expressed\nin the face or body of the one imitated. Thus men learned to understand\none another, thus the child still learns to understand the mother.\nGenerally speaking, painful sensations may also have been expressed\nby gestures, and the pain which caused them (for instance, tearing\nthe hair, beating the breast, forcible distortion and straining of\nthe muscles of the face). On the other hand, gestures of joy were\nthemselves joyful and lent themselves easily to the communication of\nthe understanding; (laughter, as the expression of the feeling when\nbeing tickled, serves also for the expression of other pleasurable\nsensations). As soon as men understood each other by gestures,\nthere could be established a _symbolism_ of gestures; I mean, an\nunderstanding could be arrived at respecting the language of accents,\nso that first _accent_ and gesture (to which it was symbolically added)\nwere produced, and later on the accent alone. In former times there\nhappened very frequently that which now happens in the development of\nmusic, especially of dramatic music,--while music, without explanatory\ndance and pantomime (language of gesture), is at first only empty\nsound, but by long familiarity with that combination of music and\nmovement the ear becomes schooled into instant interpretation of the\nfigures of sound, and finally attains a height of quick understanding,\nwhere it has no longer any need of visible movement and _understands_\nthe sound-poet without it. It is then called absolute music, that\nis music in which, without further help, everything is symbolically\nunderstood.\n\n\n217.\n\nTHE SPIRITUALISING OF HIGHER ART.--By virtue of extraordinary\nintellectual exercise through the art-development of the new music, our\nears have been growing more intellectual. For this reason we can now\nendure a much greater volume of sound, much more \"noise,\" because we\nare far better practised in listening for the _sense_ in it than were\nour ancestors. As a matter of fact, all our senses have been somewhat\nblunted, because they immediately look for the sense; that is, they\nask what \"it means\" and not what \"it is,\"--such a blunting betrays\nitself, for instance, in the absolute dominion of the temperature of\nsounds; for ears which still make the finer distinctions, between\n_eis_ and _des,_ for instance, are now amongst the exceptions. In\nthis respect our ear has grown coarser. And then the ugly side of the\nworld, the one originally hostile to the senses, has been conquered\nfor music; its power has been immensely widened, especially in the\nexpression of the noble, the terrible, and the mysterious: our music\nnow gives utterance to things which had formerly no tongue. In the\nsame way certain painters have rendered the eye more intellectual, and\nhave gone far beyond that which was formerly called pleasure in colour\nand form. Here, too, that side of the world originally considered as\nugly has been conquered by the artistic intellect. What results from\nall this? The more capable of thought that eye and ear become, the\nmore they approach the limit where they become senseless, the seat of\npleasure is moved into the brain, the organs of the senses themselves\nbecome dulled and weak, the symbolical takes more and more the place\nof the actual,--and thus we arrive at barbarism in this way as surely\nas in any other. In the meantime we may say: the world is uglier than\never, but it _represents_ a more beautiful world than has ever existed.\nBut the more the amber-scent of meaning is dispersed and evaporated,\nthe rarer become those who perceive it, and the remainder halt at\nwhat is ugly and endeavour to enjoy it direct, an aim, however, which\nthey never succeed in attaining. Thus, in Germany there is a twofold\ndirection of musical development, here a throng of ten thousand with\never higher, finer demands, ever listening more and more for the \"it\nmeans,\" and there the immense countless mass which yearly grows more\nincapable of understanding what is important even in the form of\nsensual ugliness, and which therefore turns ever more willingly to what\nin music is ugly and foul in itself, that is, to the basely sensual.\n\n\n218.\n\nA STONE IS MORE OF A STONE THAN FORMERLY.--As a general rule we no\nlonger understand architecture, at least by no means in the same way\nas we understand music. We have outgrown the symbolism of lines and\nfigures, just as we are no longer accustomed to the sound-effects of\nrhetoric, and have not absorbed this kind of mother's milk of culture\nsince our first moment of life. Everything in a Greek or Christian\nbuilding originally had a meaning, and referred to a higher order of\nthings; this feeling of inexhaustible meaning enveloped the edifice\nlike a mystic veil. Beauty was only a secondary consideration in\nthe system, without in any way materially injuring the fundamental\nsentiment of the mysteriously-exalted, the divinely and magically\nconsecrated; at the most, beauty _tempered horror_--but this horror was\neverywhere presupposed. What is the beauty of a building now? The same\nthing as the beautiful face of a stupid woman, a kind of mask.\n\n\n219.\n\nTHE RELIGIOUS SOURCE OF THE NEWER MUSIC.--Soulful music arose out of\nthe Catholicism re-established after the Council of Trent, through\nPalestrina, who endowed the newly-awakened, earnest, and deeply\nmoved spirit with sound; later on, in Bach, it appeared also in\nProtestantism, as far as this had been deepened by the Pietists and\nreleased from its originally dogmatic character. The supposition\nand necessary preparation for both origins is the familiarity with\nmusic, which existed during and before the Renaissance, namely that\nlearned occupation with music, which was really scientific pleasure\nin the masterpieces of harmony and voice-training. On the other hand,\nthe opera must have preceded it, wherein the layman made his protest\nagainst a music that had grown too learned and cold, and endeavoured\nto re-endow Polyhymnia with a soul. Without the change to that deeply\nreligious sentiment, without the dying away of the inwardly moved\ntemperament, music would have remained learned or operatic; the\nspirit of the counter-reformation is the spirit of modern music (for\nthat pietism in Bach's music is also a kind of counter-reformation).\nSo deeply are we indebted to the religious life. Music was the\ncounter-reformation in the field of art; to this belongs also the\nlater painting of the Caracci and Caravaggi, perhaps also the baroque\nstyle, in _any_ case more than the architecture of the Renaissance\nor of antiquity. And we might still ask: if our newer music could\nmove stones, would it build them up into antique architecture? I very\nmuch doubt it. For that which predominates in this music, affections,\npleasure in exalted, highly-strained sentiments, the desire to be alive\nat any cost, the quick change of feeling, the strong relief-effects of\nlight and shade, the combination of the ecstatic and the na\u00efve,--all\nthis has already reigned in the plastic arts and created new laws\nof style:--but it was neither in the time of antiquity nor of the\nRenaissance.\n\n\n220.\n\nTHE BEYOND IN ART.--It is not without deep pain that we acknowledge\nthe fact that in their loftiest soarings, artists of all ages have\nexalted and divinely transfigured precisely those ideas which we now\nrecognise as false; they are the glorifiers of humanity's religious\nand philosophical errors, and they could not have been this without\nbelief in the absolute truth of these errors. But if the belief in such\ntruth diminishes at all, if the rainbow colours at the farthest ends of\nhuman knowledge and imagination fade, then this kind of art can never\nre-flourish, for, like the _Divina Commedia,_ Raphael's paintings,\nMichelangelo's frescoes, and Gothic cathedrals, they indicate not only\na cosmic but also a metaphysical meaning in the work of art. Out of all\nthis will grow a touching legend that such an art and such an artistic\nfaith once existed.\n\n\n221.\n\nREVOLUTION IN POETRY.--The strict limit which the French dramatists\nmarked out with regard to unity of action, time and place, construction\nof style, verse and sentence, selection of words and ideas, was\na school as important as that of counterpoint and fugue in the\ndevelopment of modern music or that of the Gorgianic figures in Greek\noratory. Such a restriction may appear absurd; nevertheless there is\nno means of getting out of naturalism except by confining ourselves\nat first to the strongest (perhaps most arbitrary) means. Thus we\ngradually learn to walk gracefully on the narrow paths that bridge\ngiddy abysses, and acquire great suppleness of movement as a result,\nas the history of music proves to our living eyes. Here we see how,\nstep by step, the fetters get looser, until at last they may appear to\nbe altogether thrown off; this _appearance_ is the highest achievement\nof a necessary development in art. In the art of modern poetry there\nexisted no such fortunate, gradual emerging from self-imposed fetters.\nLessing held up to scorn in Germany the French form, the only modern\nform of art, and pointed to Shakespeare; and thus the steadiness of\nthat unfettering was lost and a spring was made into naturalism--that\nis, back into the beginnings of art. From this Goethe endeavoured to\nsave himself, by always trying to limit himself anew in different ways;\nbut even the most gifted only succeeds by continuously experimenting,\nif the thread of development has once been broken. It is to the\nunconsciously revered, if also repudiated, model of French tragedy\nthat Schiller owes his comparative sureness of form, and he remained\nfairly independent of Lessing (whose dramatic attempts he is well\nknown to have rejected). But after Voltaire the French themselves\nsuddenly lacked the great talents which would have led the development\nof tragedy out of constraint to that apparent freedom; later on\nthey followed the German example and made a spring into a sort of\nRousseau-like state of nature and experiments. It is only necessary\nto read Voltaire's \"Mahomet\" from time to time in order to perceive\nclearly what European culture has lost through that breaking down of\ntradition. Once for all, Voltaire was the last of the great dramatists\nwho with Greek proportion controlled his manifold soul, equal even to\nthe greatest storms of tragedy,--he was able to do what no German\ncould, because the French nature is much nearer akin to the Greek than\nis the German; he was also the last great writer who in the wielding\nof prose possessed the Greek ear, Greek artistic conscientiousness,\nand Greek simplicity and grace; he was, also, one of the last men able\nto combine in himself the greatest freedom of mind and an absolutely\nunrevolutionary way of thinking without being inconsistent and\ncowardly. Since that time the modern spirit, with its restlessness and\nits hatred of moderation and restrictions, has obtained the mastery on\nall sides, let loose at first by the fever of revolution, and then once\nmore putting a bridle on itself when it became filled with fear and\nhorror at itself,--but it was the bridle of rigid logic, no longer that\nof artistic moderation. It is true that through that unfettering for a\ntime we are able to enjoy the poetry of all nations, everything that\nhas sprung up in hidden places, original, wild, wonderfully beautiful\nand gigantically irregular, from folk-songs up to the \"great barbarian\"\nShakespeare; we taste the joys of local colour and costume, hitherto\nunknown to all artistic nations; we make liberal use of the \"barbaric\nadvantages\" of our time, which Goethe accentuated against Schiller in\norder to place the formlessness of his _Faust_ in the most favourable\nlight. But for how much longer? The encroaching flood of poetry of all\nstyles and all nations _must_ gradually sweep away that magic garden\nupon which a quiet and hidden growth would still have been possible;\nall poets _must_ become experimenting imitators, daring copyists,\nhowever great their primary strength may be. Eventually, the public,\nwhich has lost the habit of seeing the actual artistic fact in the\n_controlling_ of depicting power, in the organising mastery over all\nart-means, _must_ come ever more and more to value power for power's\nsake, colour for colour's sake, idea for idea's sake, inspiration for\ninspiration's sake; accordingly it will not enjoy the elements and\nconditions of the work of art, unless _isolated,_ and finally will\nmake the very natural demand that the artist _must_ deliver it to them\nisolated. True, the \"senseless\" fetters of Franco-Greek art have been\nthrown off, but unconsciously we have grown accustomed to consider all\nfetters, all restrictions as senseless;--and so art moves towards its\nliberation, but, in so doing, it touches--which is certainly highly\nedifying--upon all the phases of its beginning, its childhood, its\nincompleteness, its sometime boldness and excesses,--in perishing\nit interprets its origin and growth. One of the great ones, whose\ninstinct may be relied on and whose theory lacked nothing but thirty\nyears _more_ of practice, Lord Byron, once said: that with regard to\npoetry in general, the more he thought about it the more convinced\nhe was that one and all we are entirely on a wrong track, that we are\nfollowing an inwardly false revolutionary system, and that either our\nown generation or the next will yet arrive at this same conviction.\nIt is the same Lord Byron who said that he \"looked upon Shakespeare\nas the very worst model, although the most extraordinary poet.\" And\ndoes not Goethe's mature artistic insight in the second half of his\nlife say practically the same thing?--that insight by means of which\nhe made such a bound in advance of whole generations that, generally\nspeaking, it may be said that Goethe's influence has not yet begun,\nthat his time has still to come. Just because his nature held him fast\nfor a long time in the path of the poetical revolution, just because\nhe drank to the dregs of whatsoever new sources, views and expedients\nhad been indirectly discovered through that breaking down of tradition,\nof all that had been unearthed from under the ruins of art, his later\ntransformation and conversion carries so much weight; it shows that\nhe felt the deepest longing to win back the traditions of art, and to\ngive in fancy the ancient perfection and completeness to the abandoned\nruins and colonnades of the temple, with the imagination of the eye at\nleast, should the strength of the arm be found too weak to build where\nsuch tremendous powers were needed even to destroy. Thus he lived in\nart as in the remembrance of the true art, his poetry had become an\naid to remembrance, to the understanding of old and long-departed ages\nof art. With respect to the strength of the new age, his demands could\nnot be satisfied; but the pain this occasioned was amply balanced by\nthe joy that they have _been_ satisfied once, and that we ourselves can\nstill participate in this satisfaction. Not individuals, but more or\nless ideal masks; no reality, but an allegorical generality; topical\ncharacters, local colours toned down and rendered mythical almost to\nthe point of invisibility; contemporary feeling and the problems of\ncontemporary society reduced to the simplest forms, stripped of their\nattractive, interesting pathological qualities, made _ineffective_ in\nevery other but the artistic sense; no new materials and characters,\nbut the old, long-accustomed ones in constant new animation and\ntransformation; that is art, as Goethe _understood_ it later, as the\nGreeks and even the French _practised_ it.\n\n\n222.\n\nWHAT REMAINS OF ART.--It is true that art has a much greater value in\nthe case of certain metaphysical hypotheses, for instance when the\nbelief obtains that the character is unchangeable and that the essence\nof the world manifests itself continually in all character and action;\nthus the artist's work becomes the symbol of the _eternally constant,_\nwhile according to our views the artist can only endow his picture with\ntemporary value, because man on the whole has developed and is mutable,\nand even the individual man has nothing fixed and constant. The same\nthing holds good with another metaphysical hypothesis: assuming that\nour visible world were only a delusion, as metaphysicians declare,\nthen art would come very near to the real world, for there would then\nbe far too much similarity between the world of appearance and the\ndream-world of the artist; and the remaining difference would place\nthe meaning of art higher even than the meaning of nature, because\nart would represent the same forms, the types and models of nature.\nBut those suppositions are false; and what position does art retain\nafter this acknowledgment? Above all, for centuries it has taught us\nto look upon life in every shape with interest and pleasure and to\ncarry our feelings so far that at last we exclaim, \"Whatever it may\nbe, life is good.\" This teaching of art, to take pleasure in existence\nand to regard human life as a piece of nature, without too vigorous\nmovement, as an object of regular development,--this teaching has grown\ninto us; it reappears as an all-powerful need of knowledge. We could\nrenounce art, but we should not therewith forfeit the ability it has\ntaught us,--just as we have given up religion, but not the exalting and\nintensifying of temperament acquired through religion. As the plastic\narts and music are the standards of that wealth of feeling really\nacquired and obtained through religion, so also, after a disappearance\nof art, the intensity and multiplicity of the joys of life which it had\nimplanted in us would still demand satisfaction. The scientific man is\nthe further development of the artistic man.\n\n\n223.\n\nTHE AFTER-GLOW OF ART.--Just as in old age we remember our youth and\ncelebrate festivals of memory, so in a short time mankind will stand\ntowards art: its relation will be that of a _touching memory_ of the\njoys of youth. Never, perhaps, in former ages was art dealt with so\nseriously and thoughtfully as now when it appears to be surrounded\nby the magic influence of death. We call to mind that Greek city in\nsouthern Italy, which once a year still celebrates its Greek feasts,\namidst tears and mourning, that foreign barbarism triumphs ever more\nand more over the customs its people brought with them into the land;\nand never has Hellenism been so much appreciated, nowhere has this\ngolden nectar been drunk with so great delight, as amongst these fast\ndisappearing Hellenes. The artist will soon come to be regarded as a\nsplendid relic, and to him, as to a wonderful stranger on whose power\nand beauty depended the happiness of former ages, there will be paid\nsuch honour as is not often enjoyed by one of our race. The best in us\nis perhaps inherited from the sentiments of former times, to which it\nis hardly possible for us now to return by direct ways; the sun has\nalready disappeared, but the heavens of our life are still glowing and\nillumined by it, although we can behold it no longer.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: The allusion is to Goethe's lines:\n\n    _Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,_\n    _Man freut sich ihrer Pracht._\n\n\n    We do not want the stars themselves,\n    Their brilliancy delights our hearts.--J.M.K.\n]\n\n\n\n\nFIFTH DIVISION.\n\n\nTHE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE.\n\n\n\n224.\n\nENNOBLEMENT THROUGH DEGENERATION.--History teaches that a race of\npeople is best preserved where the greater number hold one common\nspirit in consequence of the similarity of their accustomed and\nindisputable principles: in consequence, therefore, of their common\nfaith. Thus strength is afforded by good and thorough customs, thus\nis learnt the subjection of the individual, and strenuousness of\ncharacter becomes a birth gift and afterwards is fostered as a habit.\nThe danger to these communities founded on individuals of strong and\nsimilar character is that gradually increasing stupidity through\ntransmission, which follows all stability like its shadow. It is on\nthe more unrestricted, more uncertain and morally weaker individuals\nthat depends the _intellectual progress_ of such communities, it is\nthey who attempt all that is new and manifold. Numbers of these perish\non account of their weakness, without having achieved any specially\nvisible effect; but generally, particularly when they have descendants,\nthey flare up and from time to time inflict a wound on the stable\nelement of the community. Precisely in this sore and weakened place the\ncommunity is _inoculated_ with something new; but its general strength\nmust be great enough to absorb and assimilate this new thing into its\nblood. Deviating natures are of the utmost importance wherever there\nis to be progress. Every wholesale progress must be preceded by a\npartial weakening. The strongest natures _retain_ the type, the weaker\nones help it to _develop._ Something similar happens in the case of\nindividuals;'a deterioration, a mutilation, even a vice and, above all,\na physical or moral loss is seldom without its advantage. For instance,\na sickly man in the midst of a warlike and restless race will perhaps\nhave more chance of being alone and thereby growing quieter and wiser,\nthe one-eyed man will possess a stronger eye, the blind man will have a\ndeeper inward sight and will certainly have a keener sense of hearing.\nIn so far it appears to me that the famous Struggle for Existence is\nnot the only point of view from which an explanation can be given of\nthe progress or strengthening of an individual or a race. Rather must\ntwo different things converge: firstly, the multiplying of stable\nstrength through mental binding in faith and common feeling; secondly,\nthe possibility of attaining to higher aims, through the fact that\nthere are deviating natures and, in consequence, partial weakening and\nwounding of the stable strength; it is precisely the weaker nature, as\nthe more delicate and free, that makes all progress at all possible.\nA people that is crumbling and weak in any one part, but as a whole\nstill strong and healthy, is able to absorb the infection of what is\nnew and incorporate it to its advantage. The task of education in a\nsingle individual is this: to plant him so firmly and surely that, as\na whole, he can no longer be diverted from his path. Then, however,\nthe educator must wound him, or else make use of the wounds which fate\ninflicts, and when pain and need have thus arisen, something new and\nnoble can be inoculated into the wounded places. With regard to the\nState, Machiavelli says that, \"the form of Government is of very small\nimportance, although halfeducated people think otherwise. The great aim\nof State-craft should be duration, which out-weighs all else, inasmuch\nas it is more valuable than liberty.\" It is only with securely founded\nand guaranteed duration that continual development and ennobling\ninoculation are at all possible. As a rule, however, authority, the\ndangerous companion of all duration, will rise in opposition to this.\n\n\n225.\n\nFREE-THINKER A RELATIVE TERM.--We call that man a free-thinker who\nthinks otherwise than is expected of him in consideration of his\norigin, surroundings, position, and office, or by reason of the\nprevailing contemporary views. He is the exception, fettered minds are\nthe rule; these latter reproach him, saying that his free principles\neither have their origin in a desire to be remarkable or else cause\nfree actions to inferred,--that is to say, actions which are not\ncompatible with fettered morality. Sometimes it is also said that\nthe cause of such and such free principles may be traced to mental\nperversity and extravagance; but only malice speaks thus, nor does\nit believe what it says, but wishes thereby to do an injury, for the\nfree-thinker; usually bears the proof of his greater goodness and\nkeenness of intellect written in his face so plainly that the fettered\nspirits understand it well enough. But the two other derivations\nof free-thought are honestly intended; as a matter of fact, many\nfree-thinkers are created in one or other of these ways. For this\nreason, however, the tenets to which they attain in this manner might\nbe truer and more reliable than those of the fettered spirits. In the\nknowledge of truth, what really matters is the _possession_ of it,\nnot the impulse under which it was sought, the way in which it was\nfound. If the free-thinkers are right then the fettered spirits are\nwrong, and it is a matter of indifference whether the former have\nreached truth through immorality or the latter hitherto retained hold\nof untruths through morality. Moreover, it is not essential to the\nfree-thinker that he should hold more correct views, but that he should\nhave liberated himself from what was customary, be it successfully or\ndisastrously. As a rule, however, he will have truth, or at least the\nspirit of truth-investigation, on his side; he demands reasons, the\nothers demand faith.\n\n\n226.\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF FAITH.--The fettered spirit does not take up his position\nfrom conviction, but from habit; he is a Christian, for instance, not\nbecause he had a comprehension of different creeds and could take\nhis choice; he is an Englishman, not because he decided for England,\nbut he found Christianity and England ready-made and accepted them\nwithout any reason, just as one who is born in a wine-country becomes\na wine-drinker. Later on, perhaps, as he was a Christian and an\nEnglishman, he discovered a few reasons in favour of his habit; these\nreasons may be upset, but he is not therefore upset in his whole\nposition. For instance, let a fettered spirit be obliged to bring\nforward his reasons against bigamy and then it will be seen whether his\nholy zeal in favour of monogamy is based upon reason or upon custom.\nThe adoption of guiding principles without reasons is called _faith._\n\n\n227.\n\nCONCLUSIONS DRAWN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES AND TRACED BACK TO REASON AND\nUN-REASON.--All states and orders of society, professions, matrimony,\neducation, law: all these find strength and duration only in the faith\nwhich the fettered spirits repose in them,--that is, in the absence of\nreasons, or at least in the averting of inquiries as to reasons. The\nrestricted spirits do not willingly acknowledge this, and feel that\nit is a _pudendum._ Christianity, however, which was very simple in\nits intellectual ideas, remarked nothing of this _pudendum,_ required\nfaith and nothing but faith, and passionately repulsed the demand\nfor reasons; it pointed to the success of faith: \"You will soon feel\nthe advantages of faith,\" it suggested, \"and through faith shall ye\nbe saved.\" As an actual fact, the State pursues the same course, and\nevery father brings up his son in the same way: \"Only believe this,\"\nhe says, \"and you will soon feel the good it does.\" This implies,\nhowever, that the truth of an opinion is proved by its personal\nusefulness; the wholesomeness of a doctrine must be a guarantee for\nits intellectual surety and solidity. It is exactly as if an accused\nperson in a court of law were to say, \"My counsel speaks the whole\ntruth, for only see what is the result of his speech: I shall be\nacquitted.\" Because the fettered spirits retain their principles on\naccount of their usefulness, they suppose that the free spirit also\nseeks his own advantage in his views and only holds that to be true\nwhich is profitable to him. But as he appears to find profitable just\nthe contrary of that which his compatriots or equals find profitable,\nthese latter assume that his principles are dangerous to them; they say\nor feel, \"He must not be right, for he is injurious to us.\"\n\n\n228.\n\nTHE STRONG, GOOD CHARACTER.--The restriction of views, which habit has\nmade instinct, leads to what is called strength of character. When\nany one acts from few but always from the same motives, his actions\nacquire great energy; if these actions accord with the principles of\nthe fettered spirits they are recognised, and they produce, moreover,\nin those who perform them the sensation of a good conscience. Few\nmotives, energetic action, and a good conscience compose what is called\nstrength of character. The man of strong character lacks a knowledge\nof the many possibilities and directions of action; his intellect is\nfettered and restricted, because in a given case it shows him, perhaps,\nonly two possibilities; between these two he must now of necessity\nchoose, in accordance with his whole nature, and he does this easily\nand quickly because he has not to choose between fifty possibilities.\nThe educating surroundings aim at fettering every individual, by always\nplacing before him the smallest number of possibilities. The individual\nis always treated by his educators as if he were, indeed, something\nnew, but should become a _duplicate._ If he makes his first appearance\nas something unknown, unprecedented, he must be turned into something\nknown and precedented. In a child, the familiar manifestation of\nrestriction is called a good character; in placing itself on the side\nof the fettered spirits the child first discloses its awakening common\nfeeling; with this foundation of common sentiment, he will eventually\nbecome useful to his State or rank.\n\n\n229.\n\nTHE STANDARDS AND VALUES OF THE FETTERED SPIRITS.--There are four\nspecies of things concerning which the restricted spirits say they\nare in the right. Firstly: all things that last are right; secondly:\nall things that are not burdens to us are right; thirdly: all things\nthat are advantageous for us are right; fourthly: all things for which\nwe have made sacrifices are right. The last sentence, for instance,\nexplains why a war that was begun in opposition to popular feeling\nis carried on with enthusiasm directly a sacrifice has been made for\nit. The free spirits, who bring their case before the forum of the\nfettered spirits, must prove that free spirits always existed, that\nfree-spiritism is therefore enduring, that it will not become a burden,\nand, finally, that on the whole they are an advantage to the fettered\nspirits. It is because they cannot convince the restricted spirits on\nthis last point that they profit nothing by having proved the first and\nsecond propositions.\n\n\n230.\n\n_ESPRIT FORT._--Compared with him who has tradition on his side and\nrequires no reasons for his actions, the free spirit is always weak,\nespecially in action; for he is acquainted with too many motives and\npoints of view, and has, therefore, an uncertain and unpractised hand.\nWhat means exist of making him _strong in spite of this,_ so that he\nwill, at least, manage to survive, and will not perish ineffectually?\nWhat is the source of the strong spirit (_esprit fort_)! This is\nespecially the question as to the production of genius. Whence comes\nthe energy, the unbending strength, the endurance with which the one,\nin opposition to accepted ideas, endeavours to obtain an entirely\nindividual knowledge of the world?\n\n\n231.\n\nTHE RISE OF GENIUS.--The ingenuity with which a prisoner seeks the\nmeans of freedom, the most cold-blooded and patient employment of every\nsmallest advantage, can teach us of what tools Nature sometimes makes\nuse in order to produce Genius,--a word which I beg will be understood\nwithout any mythological and religious flavour; she, Nature, begins it\nin a dungeon and excites to the utmost its desire to free itself. Or\nto give another picture: some one who has completely _lost his way_\nin a wood, but who with unusual energy strives to reach the open in\none direction or another, will sometimes discover a new path which\nnobody knew previously, thus arise geniuses, who are credited with\noriginality. It has already been said that mutilation, crippling,\nor the loss of some important organ, is frequently the cause of the\nunusual development of another organ, because this one has to fulfil\nits own and also another function. This explains the source of many a\nbrilliant talent. These general remarks on the origin of genius may be\napplied to the special case, the origin of the perfect free spirit.\n\n\n232.\n\nCONJECTURE AS TO THE ORIGIN OF FREE-SPIRITISM.--Just as the glaciers\nincrease when in equatorial regions the sun shines upon the seas\nwith greater force than hitherto, so may a very strong and spreading\nfree-spiritism be a proof that somewhere or other the force of feeling\nhas grown extraordinarily.\n\n\n233.\n\nTHE VOICE OF HISTORY.--In general, history _appears_ to teach the\nfollowing about the production of genius: it ill-treats and torments\nmankind--calls to the passions of envy, hatred, and rivalry--drives\nthem to desperation, people against people, throughout whole centuries!\nThen, perhaps, like a stray spark from the terrible energy thereby\naroused, there flames up suddenly the light of genius; the will, like\na horse maddened by the rider's spur, thereupon breaks out and leaps\nover into another domain. He who could attain to a comprehension of the\nproduction of genius, and desires to carry out practically the manner\nin which Nature usually goes to work, would have to be just as evil and\nregardless as Nature itself. But perhaps we have not heard rightly.\n\n\n234.\n\nTHE VALUE OF THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.--It is possible that the\nproduction of genius is reserved to a limited period of mankind's\nhistory. For we must not expect from the future everything that\nvery defined conditions were able to produce; for instance, not the\nastounding effects of religious feeling. This has had its day, and\nmuch that is very? good can never grow again, because it could grow\nout of that alone. There will never again be a horizon of life and\nculture that is bounded by religion. Perhaps even the type of the\nsaint is only possible with that certain narrowness of intellect,\nwhich apparently has completely disappeared. And thus the greatest\nheight of intelligence has perhaps been reserved for a single age;\nit appeared--and appears, for we are still in that age--when an\nextraordinary, long-accumulated energy of will concentrates itself,\nas an exceptional case, upon _intellectual_ aims. That height will no\nlonger exist when this wildness and energy cease to be cultivated.\nMankind probably approaches nearer to its actual aim in the middle of\nits road, in the middle time of its existence than at the end. It may\nbe that powers with which, for instance, art is a condition, die out\naltogether; the pleasure in lying, in the undefined, the symbolical,\nin intoxication, in ecstasy might fall into disrepute. For certainly,\nwhen life is ordered in the perfect State, the present will provide\nno more motive for poetry, and it would only be those persons who had\nremained behind who would ask for poetical unreality. These, then,\nwould assuredly look longingly backwards to the times of the imperfect\nState, of half-barbaric society, to _our_ times.\n\n\n235.\n\nGENIUS AND THE IDEAL STATE IN CONFLICT.--The Socialists demand a\ncomfortable life for the greatest possible number. If the lasting house\nof this life of comfort, the perfect State, had really been attained,\nthen this life of comfort would have destroyed the ground out of which\ngrow the great intellect and the mighty individual generally, 11 mean\npowerful energy. Were this State reached, mankind would have grown too\nweary to be still capable of producing genius. Must we not hence wish\nthat life should retain its forcible character, and that wild forces\nand energies should continue, to be called forth afresh? But warm and\nsympathetic hearts desire precisely the _removal_ of that wild and\nforcible character, and the warmest hearts we can imagine desire it\nthe most passionately of all, whilst all the time its passion derived\nits fire, its warmth, its very existence precisely from that wild\nand forcible character; the warmest heart, therefore, desires the\nremoval of its own foundation, the destruction of itself,--that is,\nit desires something illogical, it is not intelligent. The highest\nintelligence and the warmest heart cannot exist together in one\nperson, and the wise man who passes judgment upon life looks beyond\ngoodness and only regards it as something which is not without value\nin the general summing-up of life. The wise man must _oppose_ those\ndigressive wishes of unintelligent goodness, because he has an interest\nin the continuance of his type and in the eventual appearance of the\nhighest intellect; at least, he will not advance the founding of the\n\"perfect State,\" inasmuch as there is only room in it for wearied\nindividuals. Christ, on the contrary, he whom we may consider to have\nhad the warmest heart, advanced the process of making man stupid,\nplaced himself on the side of the intellectually poor, and retarded\nthe production of the greatest intellect, and this was consistent.\nHis opposite, the man of perfect wisdom,--this may be safely\nprophesied--will just as necessarily hinder the production of a Christ.\nThe State is a wise arrangement for the protection of one individual\nagainst another; if its ennobling is exaggerated the individual will at\nlast be weakened by it, even effaced, --thus the original purpose of\nthe State will be most completely frustrated.\n\n\n236.\n\nTHE ZONES OF CULTURE.--It may be figuratively said that the ages of\nculture correspond to the zones of the various climates, only that they\nlie one behind another and not beside each other like the geographical\nzones. In comparison with the temperate zone of culture, which it\nis our object to enter, the past, speaking generally, gives the\nimpression of a _tropical_ climate. Violent contrasts, sudden changes\nbetween day and night, heat and colour-splendour, the reverence of\nall that was sudden, mysterious, terrible, the rapidity with which\nstorms broke: everywhere that lavish abundance of the provisions of\nnature; and opposed to this, in our culture, a clear but by no means\nbright sky, pure but fairly unchanging air, sharpness, even cold at\ntimes; thus the two zones are contrasts to each other. When we see\nhow in that former zone the most raging passions are suppressed and\nbroken down with mysterious force by metaphysical representations,\nwe feel as if wild tigers were being crushed before our very eyes in\nthe coils of mighty serpents; our mental climate lacks such episodes,\nour imagination is temperate, even in dreams there does not happen\nto us what former peoples saw waking. But should we not rejoice at\nthis change, even granted that artists are essentially spoiled by the\ndisappearance of the tropical culture and find us non-artists a little\ntoo timid? In so far artists are certainly right to deny \"progress,\"\nfor indeed it is doubtful whether the last three thousand years show an\nadvance in the arts. In the same way, a metaphysical philosopher like\nSchopenhauer would have no cause to acknowledge progress with a regard\nto metaphysical philosophy and religion if he glanced back over the\nlast four thousand years. For us, however, the _existence_ even of the\ntemperate zones of culture is progress.\n\n\n237.\n\nRENAISSANCE AND REFORMATION.--The Italian Renaissance contained within\nitself all the positive forces to which we owe modern culture. Such\nwere the liberation of thought, the disregard of authorities, the\ntriumph of education over the darkness of tradition, enthusiasm for\nscience and the scientific past of mankind, the unfettering of the\nIndividual, an ardour for truthfulness and a dislike of delusion\nand mere effect (which ardour blazed forth in an entire company of\nartistic characters, who with the greatest moral purity required from\nthemselves perfection in their works, and nothing but perfection);\nyes, the Renaissance had positive forces, which have, _as yet,_ never\nbecome so mighty again in our modern culture. It was the Golden Age\nof the last thousand years, in spite of all its blemishes and vices.\nOn the other hand, the German Reformation stands out as an energetic\nprotest of antiquated spirits, who were by no means tired of medi\u00e6val\nviews of life, and who received the signs of its dissolution, the\nextraordinary flatness and alienation of the religious life, with\ndeep dejection instead of with the rejoicing that would have been\nseemly. With their northern strength and stiff-neckedness they threw\nmankind back again, brought about the counter-reformation, that is,\na Catholic Christianity of self-defence, with all the violences of a\nstate of siege, and delayed for two or three centuries the complete\nawakening and mastery of the sciences; just as they probably made for\never impossible the complete inter-growth of the antique and the modern\nspirit. The great task of the Renaissance could not be brought to a\ntermination, this was prevented by the protest of the contemporary\nbackward German spirit (which, for its salvation, had had sufficient\nsense in the Middle Ages to cross the Alps again and again). It was\nthe chance of an extraordinary constellation of politics that Luther\nwas preserved, and that his protest; gained strength, for the Emperor\nprotected him in order to employ him as a weapon against the Pope, and\nin the same way he was secretly favoured by the Pope in order to use\nthe Protestant princes as a counter-weight against the Emperor. Without\nthis curious counter-play of intentions, Luther would have been burnt\nlike Huss,--and the morning sun of enlightenment would probably have\nrisen somewhat earlier, and with a splendour more beauteous than we can\nnow imagine.\n\n\n238.\n\nJUSTICE AGAINST THE BECOMING GOD.-- When the entire history of culture\nunfolds itself to our gaze, as a confusion of evil and noble, of true\nand false ideas, and we feel almost seasick at the sight of these\ntumultuous waves, we then under stand what comfort resides in the\nconception of a _becoming God._ This Deity is unveiled ever more and\nmore throughout the changes and fortunes of mankind; it is not all\nblind mechanism, a senseless and aimless confusion of forces. The\ndeification of the process of being is a metaphysical outlook, seen as\nfrom a lighthouse overlooking the sea of history, in which a far-too\nhistorical generation of scholars found their comfort. This must not\narouse anger, however erroneous the view may be. Only those who, like\nSchopenhauer, deny development also feel none of the misery of this\nhistorical wave, and therefore, because they know nothing of that\nbecoming God and the need of His supposition, they should in justice\nwithhold their scorn.\n\n\n239.\n\nTHE FRUITS ACCORDING TO THEIR SEASONS.--Every better future that\nis desired for mankind is necessarily in many respects also a worse\nfuture, for it is foolishness to suppose that a new, higher grade of\nhumanity will combine in itself all the good points of former grades,\nand must produce, for instance, the highest form of art. Rather has\nevery season its own advantages and charms, which exclude those of\nthe other seasons. That which has grown out of religion and in its\nneighbourhood cannot grow again if this has been destroyed; at the\nmost, straggling and belated off-shoots may lead to deception on that\npoint, like the occasional outbreaks of remembrance of the old art, a\ncondition that probably betrays the feeling of loss and deprivation,\nbut which is no proof of the power from which a new art might be born.\n\n\n240.\n\nTHE INCREASING SEVERITY OF THE WORLD.--The higher culture an\nindividual attains, the less field there is left for mockery and scorn.\nVoltaire thanked Heaven from his heart for the invention of marriage\nand the Church, by which it had so well provided for our cheer. But he\nand his time, and before him the sixteenth century, had exhausted their\nridicule on this theme; everything that is now made fun of on this\ntheme is out of date, and above all too cheap to tempt a purchaser.\nCauses are now inquired after; ours is an age of seriousness. Who\ncares now to discern, laughingly, the difference between reality and\npretentious sham, between that which man _is_ and that which he wishes\nto represent; the feeling of this contrast has quite a different effect\nif we seek reasons. The more thoroughly any one understands life,\nthe less he will mock, though finally, perhaps, he will mock at the\n\"thoroughness of his understanding.\"\n\n\n241.\n\nTHE GENIUS OF CULTURE.--If any one wished to imagine a genius of\nculture, what would it be like? It handles as its tools falsehood,\nforce, and thoughtless selfishness so surely that I could only be\ncalled an evil, demoniacal being but its aims, which are occasionally\ntransparent, are great and good. It is a centaur, half-beast, half-man,\nand, in addition, has angel's wings upon its head.\n\n\n242.\n\nTHE MIRACLE-EDUCATION.--Interest in Education will acquire great\nstrength only from the moment when belief in a God and His care is\nrenounced, just as the art of healing you only flourish when the\nbelief in miracle-cures ceased. So far, however, there is universal\nbelief in the miracle-education; out of the greatest disorder and\nconfusion of aims and unfavourableness of conditions, the most\nfertile and mighty men have been seen to grow; could this happen\nnaturally? Soon these cases will be more closely looked into, more\ncarefully examined; but miracles will never be discovered. In similar\ncircumstances countless persons perish constantly; the few saved have,\ntherefore, usually grown stronger, because they endured these bad\nconditions by virtue of an inexhaustible inborn strength, and this\nstrength they had also exercised and increased by fighting against\nthese circumstances; thus the miracle is explained. An education that\nno longer believes in miracles must pay attention to three things:\nfirst, how much energy is inherited? secondly, by what means can\nnew energy be aroused? thirdly, how can the individual be adapted\nto so many and manifold claims of culture without being disquieted\nand destroying his personality,--in short, how can the individual be\ninitiated into the counterpoint of private and public culture, how can\nhe lead the melody and at the same time Accompany it?\n\n\n243.\n\nTHE FUTURE OF THE PHYSICIAN.--There is now no profession which would\nadmit of such an enhancement as that of the physician; that is, after\nthe spiritual physicians the so-called pastors, are no longer allowed\nto practise their conjuring tricks to public applause, and a cultured\nperson gets out of their way. The highest mental development of a\nphysician has not yet been reached, even if he understands the best\nand newest methods, is practised in them, and knows how to draw those\nrapid conclusions from effects to causes for which the diagnostics are\ncelebrated; besides this, he must possess a gift of eloquence that\nadapts itself to every individual and draws his heart out of his body;\na manliness, the sight of which alone drives away all despondency (the\ncanker of all sick people), the tact and suppleness of a diplomatist\nin negotiations between such as have need of joy for their recovery\nand such as, for reasons of health, must (and can) give joy; the\nacuteness of a detective and an attorney to divine the secrets of\na soul without betraying them,--in short, a good physician now has\nneed of all the artifices and artistic privileges of every other\nprofessional class. Thus equipped, he is then ready to be a benefactor\nto the whole of society, by increasing good works, mental joys and\nfertility, by preventing evil thoughts, projects and villainies (the\nevil source of which is so often the belly), by the restoration of a\nmental and physical aristocracy (as a maker and hinderer of marriages),\nby judiciously checking all so-called soul-torments and pricks of\nconscience. Thus from a \"medicine man\" he becomes a saviour, and\nyet need work no miracle, neither is he obliged to let himself be\ncrucified.\n\n\n244.\n\nIN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF INSANITY.--The sum of sensations, knowledge\nand experiences, the whole burden of culture, therefore, has become\nso great that an overstraining of nerves and powers of thought is a\ncommon danger, indeed the cultivated classes of European countries\nare throughout neurotic, and almost every one of their great families\nis on the verge of insanity in one of their branches. True, health\nis now sought in every possible way; but in the main a diminution of\nthat tension of feeling, of that oppressive burden of culture, is\nneedful, which, even though it might be bought at a heavy sacrifice,\nwould at least give us room for the great hope of a _new Renaissance._\nTo Christianity, to the philosophers, poets, and musicians we owe an\nabundance of deeply emotional sensations; in order that these may not\nget beyond our control we must invoke the spirit of science, which\non the whole makes us somewhat colder and more sceptical, and in\nparticular cools the faith in final and absolute truths; it is chiefly\nthrough Christianity that it has grown so wild.\n\n\n245.\n\nTHE BELL-FOUNDING OF CULTURE.--Culture has been made like a bell,\nwithin a covering of coarser, commoner material, falsehood, violence,\nthe boundless extension of every individual \"I,\" of every separate\npeople--this was the covering. Is it time to take it off? Has the\nliquid set, have the good and useful impulses, the habits of the nobler\nnature become so certain and so general that they no longer require to\nlean on metaphysics and the errors of religion, no longer have need of\nhardnesses and violence as powerful bonds between man and man, people\nand people? No sign from any God can any longer help us to answer this\nquestion; our own insight must decide. The earthly rule of man must be\ntaken in hand by man himself, his \"omniscience\" must watch over the\nfurther fate of culture with a sharp eye.\n\n\n246.\n\nTHE CYCLOPES OF CULTURE.--Whoever has seen those furrowed basins which\nonce contained glaciers, will hardly deem it possible that a time\nwill come when the same spot will be a valley of woods and meadows\nand streams. It is the same in the history of mankind; the wildest\nforces break the way, destructively at first, but their activity was\nnevertheless necessary in order that later on a milder civilisation\nmight build up its house These terrible energies--that which is called\nEvil--are the cyclopic architects and road-makers of humanity.\n\n\n247.\n\nTHE CIRCULATION OF HUMANITY.--It is possible that all humanity is only\na phase of development of a certain species of animal of limited\nduration. Man may have grown out of the ape and will return to the\nape again,[1] without anybody taking an interest in the ending of\nthis curious comedy. Just as with the decline of Roman civilisation\nand its most important cause, the spread of Christianity, there was a\ngeneral uglification of man within the Roman Empire, so, through the\neventual decline of general culture, there might result a far greater\nuglification and finally an animalising of man till he reached the ape.\nBut just because we are able to face this prospect, we shall perhaps be\nable to avert such an end.\n\n\n248.\n\nTHE CONSOLING SPEECH OF A DESPERATE ADVANCE.--Our age gives the\nimpression of an intermediate condition; the old ways of regarding the\nworld, the old cultures still partially exist, the new are not yet\nsure and customary and hence are without decision and consistency. It\nappears as if everything would become chaotic, as if the old were being\nlost, the new worthless and ever becoming weaker. But this is what the\nsoldier feels who is learning to march; for a time he is more uncertain\nand awkward, because his muscles are moved sometimes according to the\nold system and sometimes according to the new, and neither gains a'\ndecisive victory. We waver, but it is necessary not to lose courage\nand give up what we have newly gained. Moreover, we _cannot_ go back\nto the old, we _have_ burnt our boats; there remains nothing but to\nbe brave whatever happen.--_March ahead,_ only get forward! Perhaps\nour behaviour looks like _progress_; but if not, then the words\nof Frederick the Great may also be applied to us, and indeed as a\nconsolation: \"_Ah, mon cher Sulzer, vous ne connaissez pas assez cette\nrace maudite, \u00e0 laquelle nous appartenons._\"\n\n\n249.\n\nSUFFERING FROM PAST CULTURE.--Whoever has solved the problem of culture\nsuffers from a feeling similar to that of one who has inherited\nunjustly-gotten riches, or of a prince who reigns thanks to the\nviolence of his ancestors. He thinks of their origin with grief and is\noften ashamed, often irritable. The whole sum of strength, joy, vigour,\nwhich he devotes to his possessions, is often balanced by a deep\nweariness, he cannot forget their origin. He looks despondingly at the\nfuture; he knows well that his successors will suffer from the past as\nhe does.\n\n\n250.\n\nMANNERS.--Good manners disappear in proportion as the influence of\na Court and an exclusive aristocracy lessens; this decrease can be\nplainly observed from decade to decade by those who have an eye\nfor public behaviour, which grows visibly more vulgar. No one any\nlonger knows how to court and flatter intelligently; hence arises the\nludicrous fact that in cases where we _must_ render actual homage\n(to a great statesman or artist, for instance), the words of deepest\nfeeling, of simple, peasant-like honesty, have to be borrowed, owing to\nthe embarrassment resulting from the lack of grace and wit. Thus the\npublic ceremonious meeting of men appears ever more clumsy, but more\nfull of feeling and honesty without really being so. But must there\nalways be a decline in manners? It appears to me, rather, that manners\ntake a deep curve and that we are approaching their lowest point. When\nsociety has become sure of its intentions and principles, so that they\nhave a moulding effect (the manners we have learnt from former moulding\nconditions are now inherited and always more weakly learnt), there will\nthen be company manners, gestures and social expressions, which must\nappear as necessary and simply natural because they are intentions\nand principles. The better division of time and work, the gymnastic\nexercise transformed into the accompaniment of all beautiful leisure,\nincreased and severer meditation, which brings wisdom and suppleness\neven to the body, will bring all this in its train. Here, indeed, we\nmight think with a smile of our scholars, and consider whether, as a\nmatter of fact, they who wish to be regarded as the forerunners of that\nnew culture are distinguished by their better manners? This is hardly\nthe case; although their spirit may be willing enough their flesh is\nweak. The past of culture is still too powerful in their muscles, they\nstill stand in a fettered position, and are half worldly priests and\nhalf dependent educators of the upper classes, and besides this they\nhave been rendered crippled and lifeless by the pedantry of science and\nby antiquated, spiritless methods. In any case, therefore, they are\nphysically, and often three-fourths mentally, still the courtiers of an\nold, even antiquated culture, and as such are themselves antiquated;\nthe new spirit that occasionally inhabits these old dwellings often\nserves only to make them more uncertain and frightened. In them there\ndwell the ghosts of the past as well as the ghosts of the future;\nwhat wonder if they do not wear the best expression or show the most\npleasing behaviour?\n\n\n251.\n\nTHE FUTURE OF SCIENCE.--To him who works and seeks in her, Science\ngives much pleasure,--to him who _learns_ her facts, very little. But\nas all important truths of science must gradually become commonplace\nand everyday matters, even this small amount of pleasure ceases, just\nas we have long ceased to take pleasure in learning the admirable\nmultiplication table. Now if Science goes on giving less pleasure in\nherself, and always takes more pleasure in throwing suspicion on the\nconsolations of metaphysics, religion and art, that greatest of all\nsources of pleasure, to which mankind owes almost its whole humanity,\nbecomes impoverished. Therefore a higher culture must give man a\ndouble brain, two brain-chambers, so to speak, one to feel science\nand the other to feel non-science, which can lie side by side, without\nconfusion, divisible, exclusive; this is a necessity of health. In one\npart lies the source of strength, in the other lies the regulator;\nit must be heated with illusions, onesidednesses, passions; and the\nmalicious and dangerous consequences of over-heating must be averted\nby the help of conscious Science. If this necessity of the higher\nculture is not satisfied, the further course of human development can\nalmost certainly be foretold: the interest in what is true ceases as it\nguarantees less pleasure; illusion, error, and imagination reconquer\nstep by step the ancient territory, because they are united to\npleasure; the ruin of science: the relapse into barbarism is the next\nresult; mankind must begin to weave its web afresh after having, like\nPenelope, destroyed it during the night. But who will assure us that it\nwill always find the necessary strength for this?\n\n\n252.\n\nTHE PLEASURE IN DISCERNMENT.--Why is discernment, that essence of the\nsearcher and the philosopher, connected with pleasure? Firstly, and\nabove all, because thereby we become conscious of our strength, for\nthe same reason that gymnastic exercises, even without spectators, are\nenjoyable. Secondly, because in the course of knowledge we surpass\nolder ideas and their representatives, and become, or believe ourselves\nto be, conquerors. Thirdly, because even a very little new knowledge\nexalts us above _every one,_ and makes us feel we are the only ones\nwho know the subject aright. These are the three most important\nreasons of the pleasure, but there are many others, according to the\nnature of the discerner. A not inconsiderable index of such is given,\nwhere no one would look for it, in a passage of my parenetic work\non Schopenhauer,[2] with the arrangement of which every experienced\nservant of knowledge may be satisfied, even though he might wish to\ndispense with the ironical touch that seems to pervade those pages.\nFor if it be true that for the making of a scholar \"a number of very\nhuman impulses and desires must be thrown together,\" that the scholar\nis indeed a very noble but not a pure metal, and \"consists of a\nconfused blending of very different impulses and attractions,\" the\nsame thing may be said equally of the making and nature of the artist,\nthe philosopher and the moral genius--and whatever glorified great\nnames there may be in that list. _Everything_ human deserves ironical\nconsideration with respect to its _origin,_--therefore irony is so\n_superfluous_ in the world.\n\n\n253.\n\nFIDELITY AS A PROOF OF VALIDITY.--It is a perfect sign of a sound\ntheory if during _forty years_ its originator does not mistrust it; but\nI maintain that there has never yet been a philosopher who has not\neventually deprecated the philosophy of his youth. Perhaps, however,\nhe has not spoken publicly of this change of opinion, for reasons of\nambition, or, what is more probable in noble natures, out of delicate\nconsideration for his adherents.\n\n\n254.\n\nTHE INCREASE OF WHAT IS INTERESTING.--In the course of higher education\neverything becomes interesting to man, he knows how to find the\ninstructive side of a thing quickly and to put his finger on the place\nwhere it can fill up a gap in his ideas, or where it may verify a\nthought. Through this boredom disappears more and more, and so does\nexcessive excitability of temperament. Finally he moves among men like\na botanist among plants, and looks upon himself as a phenomenon, which\nonly greatly excites his discerning instinct.\n\n\n255.\n\nTHE SUPERSTITION OF THE SIMULTANEOUS.--Simultaneous things hold\ntogether, it is said. A relative dies far away, and at the same time\nwe dream about him,--Consequently! But countless relatives die and we\ndo not dream about them. It is like shipwrecked people who make vows;\nafterwards, in the temples, we do not see the votive tablets of those\nwho perished. A man dies, an owl hoots, a clock stops, all at one hour\nof the night,--must there not be some connection? Such an intimacy\nwith nature as this supposition implies is flattering to mankind. This\nspecies of superstition is found again in a refined form in historians\nand delineators of culture, who usually have a kind of hydrophobic\nhorror of all that senseless mixture, in which individual and national\nlife is so rich.\n\n\n256.\n\nACTION AND NOT KNOWLEDGE EXERCISED BY SCIENCE.--The value of strictly\npursuing science for a time does not lie precisely in its results,\nfor these, in proportion to the ocean of what is worth knowing, are\nbut an infinitesimally small drop. But it gives an additional energy,\ndecisiveness, and toughness of endurance; it teaches how to attain an\n_aim suitably._ In so far it is very valuable, with a view to all that\nis done later on, to have once been a scientific man.\n\n\n257.\n\nTHE YOUTHFUL CHARM OF SCIENCE.--The search for truth still retains\nthe charm of being in strong contrast to gray and now tiresome error;\nbut this charm is gradually disappearing. It is true we still live in\nthe youthful age of science and are accustomed to follow truth as a\nlovely girl; but how will it be when one day she becomes an elderly,\nill-tempered looking woman? In almost all sciences the fundamental\nknowledge is either found in earliest times or is still being sought;\nwhat a different attraction this exerts compared to that time when\neverything essential has been found and there only remains for the\nseeker a scanty gleaning (which sensation may be learnt in several\nhistorical disciplines).\n\n\n258.\n\nTHE STATUE OF HUMANITY.--The genius of culture fares as did Cellini\nwhen his statue of Perseus was being cast; the molten mass threatened\nto run short, but it _had_ to suffice, so he flung in his plates and\ndishes, and whatever else his hands fell upon. In the same way genius\nflings in errors, vices, hopes, ravings, and other things of baser as\nwell as of nobler metal, for the statue of humanity must emerge and be\nfinished; what does it matter if commoner material is used here and\nthere?\n\n\n259.\n\nA MALE CULTURE.--The Greek culture of the classic age is a male\nculture. As far as women are concerned, Pericles expresses everything\nin the funeral speech: \"They are best when they are as little spoken\nof as possible amongst men.\" The erotic relation of men to youths\nwas the necessary and sole preparation, to a degree unattainable to\nour comprehension, of all manly education (pretty much as for a long\ntime all higher education of women was only attainable through love\nand marriage). All idealism of the strength of the Greek nature threw\nitself into that relation, and it is probable that never since have\nyoung men been treated so attentively, so lovingly, so entirely with\na view to their welfare (_virtus_) as in the fifth and sixth centuries\nB.C.--according to the beautiful saying of H\u00f6lderlin: \"_denn liebend\ngiebt der Sterbliche vom Besten.\"_[3] The higher the light in which\nthis relation was regarded, the lower sank intercourse with woman;\nnothing else was taken into consideration than the production of\nchildren and lust; there was no intellectual intercourse, not even real\nlove-making. If it be further remembered that women were even excluded\nfrom contests and spectacles of every description, there only remain\nthe religious cults as their sole higher occupation. For although in\nthe tragedies Electra and Antigone were represented, this was only\n_tolerated_ in art, but not liked in real life,--just as now we cannot\nendure anything pathetic in _life_ but like it in art. The women had no\nother mission than to produce beautiful, strong bodies, in which the\nfather's character lived on as unbrokenly as possible, and therewith\nto counteract the increasing nerve-tension of such a highly developed\nculture. This kept the Greek culture young for a relatively long time;\nfor in the Greek mothers the Greek genius always returned to nature.\n\n\n260.\n\nTHE PREJUDICE IN FAVOUR OF GREATNESS.--It is clear that men overvalue\neverything great and prominent. This arises from the conscious or\nunconscious idea that they deem it very useful when one person throws\nall his strength into one thing and makes himself into a monstrous\norgan. Assuredly, an _equal_ development of all his powers is more\nuseful and happier for man; for every talent is a vampire which sucks\nblood and strength from other powers, and an exaggerated production can\ndrive the most gifted almost to madness. Within the circle of the arts,\ntoo, extreme natures excite far too much attention; but a much lower\nculture is necessary to be captivated by them. Men submit from habit to\neverything that seeks power.\n\n\n261.\n\nTHE TYRANTS OF THE MIND.--It is only where the ray of myth falls that\nthe life of the Greeks shines; otherwise it is gloomy. The Greek\nphilosophers are now robbing themselves of this myth; is it not as if\nthey wished to quit the sunshine for shadow and gloom? Yet no plant\navoids the light; and, as a matter of fact, those philosophers were\nonly seeking a _brighter_ sun; the myth--was not pure enough, not\nshining enough for them. They found this light in their knowledge,\nin that which each of them called his \"truth.\" But in those times\nknowledge shone with a greater glory; it was still young and knew but\nlittle of all the difficulties and dangers of its path; it could still\nhope to reach in one single bound the central point of all being,\nand from thence to solve the riddle of the world. These philosophers\nhad a firm belief in themselves and their \"truth,\" and with it they\noverthrew all their neighbours and predecessors; each one was a\nwarlike, violent _tyrant._ The happiness in believing themselves the\npossessors of truth was perhaps never greater in the world, but neither\nwere the hardness, the arrogance, and the tyranny and evil of such a\nbelief. They were tyrants, they were that, therefore, which every Greek\nwanted to be, and which every one was if he _was able._ Perhaps Solon\nalone is an exception; he tells in his poems how he disdained personal\ntyranny. But he did it for love of his works, of his law-giving;\nand to be a law-giver is a sublimated form of tyranny. Parmenides\nalso made laws. Pythagoras and Empedocles probably did the same;\nAnaximander founded a city. Plato was the incarnate wish to become\nthe greatest philosophic law-giver and founder of States; he appears\nto have suffered terribly over the non-fulfilment of his nature, and\ntowards his end his soul was filled with the bitterest gall. The more\nthe Greek philosophers lost in power the more they suffered inwardly\nfrom this bitterness and malice; when the various sects fought for\ntheir truths in the street, then first were the souls of these wooers\nof truth completely clogged through envy and spleen; the tyrannical\nelement then raged like poison within their bodies. These many petty\ntyrants would have liked to devour each other; there survived not a\nsingle spark of love and very little joy in their own knowledge. The\nsaying that tyrants are generally murdered and that their descendants\nare short-lived, is true also of the tyrants of the mind. Their history\nis short and violent, and their after-effects break off suddenly. It\nmay be said of almost all great Hellenes that they appear to have come\ntoo late: it was thus with \u00c6schylus, with Pindar, with Demosthenes,\nwith Thucydides: one generation--and then it is passed for ever. That\nis the stormy and dismal element in Greek history. We now, it is true,\nadmire the gospel of the tortoises. To think historically is almost the\nsame thing now as if in all ages history had been made according to the\ntheory \"The smallest possible amount in the longest possible time!\" Oh!\nhow quickly Greek history runs on! Since then life has never been so\nextravagant--so unbounded. I cannot persuade myself that the history of\nthe Greeks followed that natural course for which it is so celebrated.\nThey were much too variously gifted to be _gradual_ the orderly manner\nof the tortoise when running a race with Achilles, and that is called\nnatural development. The Geeks went rapidly forward, but equally\nrapidly downwards; the movement of the whole machine is so intensified\nthat a single stone thrown amid its wheels was sufficient to break it.\nSuch a stone, for instance, was Socrates; the hitherto so wonderfully\nregular, although certainly too rapid, development of the philosophical\nscience was destroyed in one night. It is no idle question whether\nPlato, had he remained free from the Socratic charm, would not have\ndiscovered a still higher type of the philosophic man, which type\nis for ever lost to us. We look into the ages before him as into a\nsculptor's workshop of such types. The fifth and sixth centuries B.C.\nseemed to promise something more and higher even than they produced;\nthey stopped short at promising and announcing. And yet there is hardly\na greater loss than the loss of a type, of a new, hitherto undiscovered\nhighest _possibility of the philosophic life:_--Even of the older\ntype the greater number are badly transmitted; it seems to me that\nall philosophers, from Thales to Democritus, are remarkably difficult\nto recognise, but whoever succeeds in imitating these figures walks\namongst specimens of the mightiest and purest type. This ability is\ncertainly rare, it was even absent in those later Greeks, who occupied\nthemselves with the knowledge of the older philosophy; Aristotle,\nespecially, hardly seems to have had eyes in his head when he stands\nbefore these great ones. And thus it appears as if these splendid\nphilosophers had lived in vain, or as if they had only been intended\nto prepare the quarrelsome and talkative followers of the Socratic\nschools. As I have said, here is a gap, a break in development; some\ngreat misfortune must have happened, and the only statue which might\nhave revealed the meaning and purpose of that great artistic training\nwas either broken or unsuccessful; what actually happened has remained\nfor ever a secret of the workshop.\n\nThat which happened amongst the Greeks--namely, that every great\nthinker who believed himself to be in possession of the absolute truth\nbecame a tyrant, so that even the mental history of the Greeks acquired\nthat violent, hasty and dangerous character shown by their political\nhistory,--this type of event was not therewith exhausted, much that is\nsimilar has happened even in more modern times, although gradually\nbecoming rarer and now but seldom showing the pure, na\u00efve conscience\nof the Greek philosophers. For on the whole, opposition doctrines and\nscepticism now speak too powerfully, too loudly. The period of mental\ntyranny is past. It is true that in the spheres of higher culture there\nmust always be a supremacy, but henceforth this supremacy lies in the\nhands of the _oligarchs of the mind._ In spite of local and political\nseparation they form a cohesive society, whose members _recognise and\nacknowledge_ each other, whatever public opinion and the verdicts of\nreview and newspaper writers who influence the masses may circulate in\nfavour of or against them. Mental superiority, which formerly divided\nand embittered, nowadays generally _unites;_ how could the separate\nindividuals assert themselves and swim through life on their own\ncourse, against all currents, if they did not see others like them\nliving here and there under similar conditions, and grasped their hands\nin the struggle as much against the ochlocratic character of the half\nmind and half culture as against the occasional attempts to establish\na tyranny with the help of the masses? Oligarchs are necessary to each\nother, they are each other's best joy, they understand their signs, but\neach is nevertheless free, he fights and conquers in _his_ place and\nperishes rather than submit.\n\n\n262.\n\nHOMER.--The greatest fact in Greek culture remains this, that Homer\nbecame so early Pan-Hellenic. All mental and human freedom to which\nthe Greeks attained is traceable to this fact. At the same time\nit has actually been fatal to Greek culture, for Homer levelled,\ninasmuch as he centralised, and dissolved the more serious instincts\nof independence. From time to time there arose from the depths of\nHellenism an opposition to Homer: but he always remained victorious.\nAll great mental powers have an oppressing effect as well as a\nliberating one; but it certainly makes a difference whether it is Homer\nor the Bible or Science that tyrannises over mankind.\n\n\n263.\n\nTALENTS.--In such a highly developed humanity as the present, each\nindividual naturally has access to many talents. Each has an _inborn\ntalent,_ but only in a few is that degree of toughness, endurance, and\nenergy born and trained that he really becomes a talent, _becomes_ what\nhe _is,_ that is, that he discharges it in works and actions.\n\n\n264.\n\nTHE WITTY PERSON EITHER OVERVALUED OR UNDERVALUED.--Unscientific but\ntalented people value every mark of intelligence, whether it be on\na true or a false track; above all, they want the person with whom\nthey have intercourse to entertain them with his wit, to spur them\non, to inflame them, to carry them away in seriousness and play, and\nin any case to be a powerful amulet to protect them against boredom.\nScientific natures, on the other hand, know that the gift of possessing\nall manner of notions should be strictly controlled by the scientific\nspirit: it is not that which shines, deludes and excites, but the often\ninsignificant truth that is the fruit which he knows how to shake down\nfrom the tree of knowledge. Like Aristotle, he is not permitted to make\nany distinction between the \"bores\" and the \"wits,\" his _d\u00e6mon_ leads\nhim through the desert as well as through tropical vegetation, in order\nthat he may only take pleasure in the really actual, tangible, true. In\ninsignificant scholars this produces a general disdain and suspicion of\ncleverness, and, on the other hand, clever people frequently have an\naversion to science, as have, for instance, almost all artists.\n\n\n265.\n\nSENSE IN SCHOOL.--School has no task more important than to teach\nstrict thought, cautious judgment, and logical conclusions, hence\nit must pay no attention to what hinders these operations, such as\nreligion, for instance. It can count on the fact that human vagueness,\ncustom, and need will later on unstring the bow of all-too-severe\nthought. But so long as its influence lasts it should enforce that\nwhich is the essential and distinguishing point in man: \"Sense and\nScience, the _very highest_ power of man\"--as Goethe judges. The great\nnatural philosopher, Von Baer, thinks that the superiority of all\nEuropeans, when compared to Asiatics, lies in the trained capability\nof giving reasons for that which they believe, of which the latter are\nutterly incapable. Europe went to the school of logical and critical\nthought, Asia still fails to know how to distinguish between truth\nand fiction, and is not Conscious whether its convictions spring from\nindividual observation and systematic thought or from imagination.\nSense in the school has made Europe what it is; in the Middle Ages\nit was on the road to become once more a part and dependent of\nAsia,--forfeiting, therefore, the scientific mind which it owed to the\nGreeks.\n\n\n266.\n\nTHE UNDERVALUED EFFECT OF PUBLIC SCHOOL TEACHING.--The value of a\npublic school is seldom sought in those things which are really learnt\nthere and are carried away never to be lost, but in those things which\nare learnt and which the pupil only acquires against his will, in order\nto get rid of them again as soon as possible. Every educated person\nacknowledges that the reading of the classics, as now practised, is\nmonstrous proceeding carried on before you people are ripe enough for\nit by teachers who with every word, often by their appearance alone,\nthrow a mildew on a good author. But therein lies the value, generally\nunrecognised, of these teachers who speak _the abstract language of the\nhigher culture,_ which, though dry and difficult to understand, is yet\na sort of higher gymnastics of the brain; and there is value in the\nconstant recurrence in their language of ideas, artistic expressions,\nmethods and allusions which the young people hardly ever hear in the\nconversations of their relatives and in the street. Even if the pupils\nonly _hear,_ their intellect is involuntarily trained to a scientific\nmode of regarding things. It is not possible to emerge from this\ndiscipline entirely untouched by its abstract character, and to remain\na simple child of nature.\n\n\n267.\n\nLEARNING MANY LANGUAGES.--The learning of many languages fills the\nmemory with words instead of with facts and thoughts, and this is a\nvessel which, with every person, can only contain a certain limited\namount of contents. Therefore the learning of many languages is\ninjurious, inasmuch as it arouses a belief in possessing dexterity and,\nas a matter of fact, it lends a kind of delusive importance to social\nintercourse. It is also indirectly injurious in that it opposes the\nacquirement of solid knowledge and the intention to win the respect of\nmen in an honest way. Finally, it is the axe which is laid to the root\nof a delicate sense of language in our mother-tongue, which thereby\nis incurably injured and destroyed. The two nations which produced\nthe greatest stylists, the Greeks and the French, learned no foreign\nlanguages. But as human intercourse must always grow more cosmopolitan,\nand as, for instance, a good merchant in London must now be able to\nread and write eight languages, the learning of many tongues has\ncertainly become a necessary evil; but which, when finally carried to\nan extreme, will compel mankind to find a remedy, and in some far-off\nfuture there will be a new language, used at first as a language of\ncommerce, then as a language of intellectual intercourse generally,\nthen for all, as surely as some time or other there will be aviation.\nWhy else should philology have studied the laws of languages for a\nwhole century, and have estimated the necessary, the valuable, and the\nsuccessful portion of each separate language?\n\n\n268.\n\nTHE WAR HISTORY OF THE INDIVIDUAL.--In a single human life that\npasses through many styles of culture we find that struggle condense\nwhich would otherwise have been played out between two generations,\nbetween father and son; the closeness of the relationship _sharpens_\nthis struggle, because each party ruthlessly drags in the familiar\ninward nature of the other party; and thus this struggle in the single\nindividual becomes most _embittered \\_ here every new phase disregards\nthe earlier ones with cruel injustice and misunderstanding of their\nmeans and aims.\n\n\n269.\n\nA QUARTER OF AN HOUR EARLIER.--A mark is found occasionally whose views\nare beyond his time, but only to such an extent that he anticipates the\ncommon views of the next decade. He possesses public opinion before it\nis public; that is, he has fallen into the arms of a view that deserves\nto be trivial a quarter of an hour sooner than other people. But his\nfame is usually far noisier than the fame of those who are really great\nand prominent.\n\n\n270.\n\nTHE ART OF READING.--Every strong tendency is one-sided; it approaches\nthe aim of the straight line and, like this, is exclusive, that is,\nit does not touch many other aims, as do weak parties and natures\nin their wave-like rolling to-and-fro; it must also be forgiven to\nphilologists that they are one-sided. The restoration and keeping pure\nof texts, besides their explanation, carried on in common for hundreds\nof years, has finally enabled the right methods to be found; the whole\nof the Middle Ages was absolutely incapable of a strictly philological\nexplanation, that is, of the simple desire to comprehend what an\nauthor says--it _was_ an achievement, finding these methods, let it\nnot be undervalued! Through this all science first acquired continuity\nand steadiness, so that the art of reading rightly, which is called\nphilology, attained its summit.\n\n\n271.\n\nTHE ART OF REASONING.--The greatest advance that men have made lies\nin their acquisition of the art to _reason rightly._ It is not so\nvery natural, as Schopenhauer supposes when he says, \"All are capable\nof reasoning but few of judging,\" it is learnt late and has not yet\nattained supremacy. False conclusion are the rule in older ages; and\nthe mythologies of all peoples, their magic and their superstition,\ntheir religious cult and their law are the inexhaustible sources of\nproof of this theory.\n\n\n272.\n\nPHASES OF INDIVIDUAL CULTURE.--Th strength and weakness of mental\nproductiveness depend far less on inherited talents than on the\naccompanying amount of _elasticity._ Most educated young people of\nthirty turn round at this solstice of their lives and are afterwards\ndisinclined for new mental turnings. Therefore, for the salvation\nof a constantly increasing culture, a new generation is immediately\nnecessary, which will not do very much either, for in order to come up\nwith the father's culture the son must exhaust almost all the inherited\nenergy which the father himself possessed at that stage of life when\nhis son was born; with the little addition he gets further on (for as\nhere the road is being traversed for the second time progress is--a\nlittle quicker; in order to learn that which the father knew, the son\ndoes not consume quite so much strength). Men of great elasticity, like\nGoethe, for instance, get through almost more than four generations in\nsuccession would be capable of; but then they advance too quickly, so\nthat the rest of mankind only comes up with them in the next century,\nand even then perhaps not completely, because the exclusiveness of\nculture and the consecutiveness of development have been weakened by\nthe frequent interruptions. Men catch up more quickly with the ordinary\nphases of intellectual culture which has been acquired in the course\nof history. Nowadays they begin to acquire culture as religiously\ninclined children, and perhaps about their tenth year these sentiments\nattain to their highest point, and are then changed into weakened forms\n(pantheism), whilst they draw near to science; they entirely pass\nby God, immortality, and such-like things, but are overcome by the\nwitchcraft of a metaphysical philosophy. Eventually they find even this\nunworthy of belief; art, on the contrary, seems to vouchsafe more and\nmore, so that for a time metaphysics is metamorphosed and continues to\nexist either as a transition to art or as an artistically transfiguring\ntemperament. But the scientific sense grows more imperious and conducts\nman to natural sciences and history, and particularly to the severest\nmethods of knowledge, whilst art has always a milder and less exacting\nmeaning. All this usually happens within the first thirty years of a\nman's life. It is the recapitulation of a _pensum,_ for which humanity\nhad laboured perhaps thirty thousand years.\n\n\n273.\n\nRETROGRADED, NOT LEFT BEHIND.--Whoever, in the present day, still\nderives his development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives\nfor some length of time afterwards in metaphysics and art, has\nassuredly gone back a considerable distance and begins his race with\nother modern men under unfavourable conditions; he apparently loses\ntime and space. But because he stays in those domains where ardour and\nenergy are liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic stream\nout of an inexhaustible source, he goes forward all the more quickly as\nsoon as he has freed himself at the right moment from those dominators;\nhis feet are winged, his breast has learned quieter, longer, and more\nenduring breathing. He has only retreated in order to have sufficient\nroom to leap; thus something terrible and threatening may lie in this\nretrograde movement.\n\n\n274.\n\nA PORTION OF OUR EGO AS AN ARTISTIC OBJECT.--It is a sign of\nsuperior culture consciously to retain and present a true picture of\ncertain phases of development which commoner men live through almost\nthoughtlessly and then efface from the tablets of their souls: this is\na higher species of the painter's art which only the few understand.\nFor this it is necessary to isolate those phases artificially.\nHistorical studies form the qualification for this painting, for they\nconstantly incite us in regard to a portion of history, a people,\nor a human life, to imagine for ourselves a quite distinct horizon\nof thoughts, a certain strength of feelings, the prominence of this\nor the obscurity of that. Herein consists the historic sense, that\nout of given instances we can quickly reconstruct such systems of\nthoughts and feelings, just as we can mentally reconstruct a temple\nout of a few pillars and remains of walls accidentally left standing.\nThe next result is that we understand our fellow-men as belonging to\ndistinct systems and representatives of different cultures--that is, as\nnecessary, but as changeable; and, again, that we can separate portions\nof our own development and put them down independently.\n\n\n275.\n\nCYNICS AND EPICUREANS.--The cynic recognises the connection between\nthe multiplied and stronger pains of the more highly cultivated man\nand the abundance of requirements; he comprehends, therefore, that\nthe multitude of opinions about what is beautiful, suitable, seemly\nand pleasing, must also produce very rich sources of enjoyment, but\nalso of displeasure. In accordance with this view he educates himself\nbackwards, by giving up many of these opinions and withdrawing from\ncertain demands of culture; he thereby gains a feeling of freedom\nand strength; and gradually, when habit has made his manner of life\nendurable, his sensations of displeasure are, as a matter of fact,\nrarer and weaker than those of cultivated people, and approach those of\nthe domestic animal; moreover, he experiences everything with the charm\nof contrast, and--he can also scold to his heart's content; so that\nthereby he again rises high above the sensation-range of the animal.\nThe Epicurean has the same point of view as the cynic; there is usually\nonly a difference of temperament between them. Then the Epicurean makes\nuse of his higher culture to render himself independent of prevailing\nopinions, he raises himself above them, whilst the cynic only remains\nnegative. He walks, as it were, in wind-protected, well-sheltered,\nhalf-dark paths, whilst over him, in the wind, the tops of the trees\nrustle and show him how violently agitated is the world out there. The\ncynic, on the contrary, goes, as it were, naked into the rushing of the\nwind and hardens himself to the point of insensibility.\n\n\n276.\n\nMICROCOSM AND MACROCOSM OF CULTURE.--The best discoveries about\nculture man makes within himself when he finds two heterogeneous powers\nruling therein. Supposing some one were living as much in love for\nthe plastic arts or for music as he was carried away by the spirit of\nscience, and that he were to regard it as impossible for him to end\nthis contradiction by the destruction of one and complete liberation of\nthe other power, there would therefore remain nothing for him to do\nbut to erect around himself such a large edifice of culture that those\ntwo powers might both dwell within it, although at different ends,\nwhilst between them there dwelt reconciling, intermediary powers, with\npredominant strength to quell, in case of need, the rising conflict.\nBut such an edifice of culture in the single individual will bear a\ngreat resemblance to the culture of entire periods, and will afford\nconsecutive analogical teaching concerning it. For wherever the great\narchitecture of culture manifested itself it was its mission to compel\nopposing powers to agree, by means of an overwhelming accumulation of\nother less unbearable powers, without thereby oppressing and fettering\nthem.\n\n\n277.\n\nHAPPINESS AND CULTURE.--We are moved at the sight of our childhood's\nsurroundings,--the arbour, the church with its graves, the pond and\nthe wood,--all this we see again with pain. We are seized with pity\nfor ourselves; for what have we not passed through since then! And\neverything here is so silent, so eternal, only we are so changed, so\nmoved; we even find a few human beings, on whom Time has sharpened his\nteeth no more than on an oak tree,--peasants, fishermen, woodmen--they\nare unchanged. Emotion and self-pity at the sight of lower culture is\nthe sign of higher culture; from which the conclusion may be drawn that\nhappiness has certainly not been increased by it. Whoever wishes to\nreap happiness and comfort in life should always avoid higher culture.\n\n\n278.\n\nTHE SIMILE OF THE DANCE.--It must now be regarded as a decisive sign of\ngreat culture if some one possesses sufficient strength and flexibility\nto be as pure and strict in discernment as, in other moments, to be\ncapable of giving poetry, religion, and metaphysics a hundred paces'\nstart and then feeling their force and beauty. Such a position amid\ntwo such different demands is very difficult, for science urges the\nabsolute supremacy of its methods, and if this insistence is not\nyielded to, there arises the other danger of a weak wavering between\ndifferent impulses. Meanwhile, to cast a glance, in simile at least, on\na solution of this difficulty, it may be remembered that _dancing_ is\nnot the same as a dull reeling to and fro between different impulses.\nHigh culture will resemble a bold dance,--wherefore, as has been said,\nthere is need of much strength and suppleness.\n\n\n279.\n\nOF THE RELIEVING OF LIFE.--A primary way of lightening life is the\nidealisation of all its occurrences; and with the help of painting we\nshould make it quite clear to ourselves what idealising means. The\npainter requires that the spectator should not observe too closely or\ntoo sharply, he forces him back to a certain distance from whence\nto make his observations; he is obliged to take for granted a fixed\ndistance of the spectator from the picture,--he must even suppose an\nequally certain amount of sharpness of eye in his spectator; in such\nthings he must on no account waver. Every one, therefore, who desires\nto idealise his life must not look at it too closely, and must always\nkeep his gaze at a certain distance. This was a trick that Goethe, for\ninstance, understood.\n\n\n280.\n\nAGGRAVATION AS RELIEF, AND _VICE VERSA._--Much that makes life more\ndifficult in certain grades of mankind serves to lighten it in a\nhigher grade, because such people have become familiar with greater\naggravations of life. The contrary also happens; for instance, religion\nhas a double face, according to whether a man looks up to it to relieve\nhim of his burden and need, or looks down upon it as-upon fetters laid\non him to prevent him from soaring too high into the air.\n\n\n281.\n\nTHE HIGHER CULTURE IS NECESSARILY MISUNDERSTOOD.--He who has strung his\ninstrument with only two strings, like the scholars who, besides the\n_instinct of knowledge_ possess only an acquired _religious_ instinct,\ndoes not understand people who can play upon more strings. It lies\nin the nature of the higher, _many-stringed_ culture that it should\nalways be falsely interpreted by the lower; an example of this is when\nart appears as a disguised form of the religious. People who are only\nreligious understand even science as a searching after the religious\nsentiment, just as deaf mutes do not know what music is, unless it be\nvisible movement.\n\n\n282.\n\nLAMENTATION.--It is, perhaps, the advantages of our epoch that bring\nwith them a backward movement and an occasional undervaluing of the\n_vita contemplativa._ But it must be acknowledged that our time is\npoor in the matter of great moralists, that Pascal, Epictetus, Seneca,\nand Plutarch are now but little read, that work and industry--formerly\nin the following of the great goddess Health--sometimes appear to\nrage like a disease. Because time to think and tranquillity in\nthought are lacking, we no longer ponder over different views, but\ncontent ourselves with hating them. With the enormous acceleration of\nlife, mind and eye grow accustomed to a partial and false sight and\njudgment, and all people are like travellers whose only acquaintance\nwith countries and nations is derived from the railway. An independent\nand cautious attitude of knowledge is looked upon almost as a kind of\nmadness; the free spirit is brought into disrepute, chiefly through\nscholars, who miss their thoroughness and ant-like industry in his\nart of regarding things and would gladly banish him into one single\ncorner of science, while it has the different and higher mission of\ncommanding the battalion rear-guard of scientific and learned men from\nan isolated position, and showing them the ways and aims of culture. A\nsong of lamentation such as that which has just been sung will probably\nhave its own period, and will cease of its own accord on a forcible\nreturn of the genius of meditation.\n\n\n283.\n\nTHE CHIEF DEFICIENCY OF ACTIVE PEOPLE.--Active people are usually\ndeficient in the higher activity, I mean individual activity. They are\nactive as officials, merchants, scholars, that is as a species, but not\nas quite distinct separate and _single_ individuals; in this respect\nthey are idle. It is the misfortune of the active that their activity\nis almost always a little senseless. For instance, we must not ask the\nmoney-making banker the reason of his restless activity, it is foolish.\nThe active roll as the stone rolls, according to the stupidity of\nmechanics. All mankind is divided, as it was at all times and is still,\ninto slaves and freemen; for whoever has not two-thirds of his day\nfor himself is a slave, be he otherwise whatever he likes, statesman,\nmerchant, official, or scholar.\n\n\n284.\n\nIN FAVOUR OF THE IDLE.--As a sign that the value of a contemplative\nlife has decreased, scholars now vie with active people in a sort of\nhurried enjoyment, so that they appear to value this mode of enjoying\nmore than that which really pertains to them, and which, as a matter\nof fact, is a far greater enjoyment. Scholars are ashamed of _otium._\nBut there is one noble thing about idleness and idlers. If idleness\nis really the _beginning_ of all vice, it finds itself, therefore, at\nleast in near neighbourhood of all the virtues; the idle man is still\na better man than the active. You do not suppose that in speaking of\nidleness and idlers I am alluding to you, you sluggards?\n\n\n285.\n\nMODERN UNREST.--Modern restlessness increases towards the west, so\nthat Americans look upon the inhabitants of Europe as altogether\npeace-loving and enjoying beings, whilst in reality they swarm about\nlike wasps and bees. This restlessness is so great that the higher\nculture cannot mature its fruits, it is as if the seasons followed each\nother too quickly. For lack of rest our civilisation is turning into\na new barbarism. At no period have the active, that is, the restless,\nbeen of _more_ importance. One of the necessary corrections, therefore,\nwhich must be undertaken in the character of humanity is to strengthen\nthe contemplative element on a large scale. But every individual who\nis quiet and steady in heart and head already has the right to believe\nthat he possesses not only a good temperament, but also a generally\nuseful virtue, and even fulfils a higher mission by the preservation of\nthis virtue.\n\n\n286.\n\nTo WHAT EXTENT THE ACTIVE MAN IS LAZY.--I believe that every one must\nhave his own opinion about everything concerning which opinions are\npossible, because he himself is a peculiar, unique thing, which assumes\ntowards all other things a new and never hitherto existing attitude.\nBut idleness, which lies at the bottom of the active man's soul,\nprevents him from drawing water out of his own well. Freedom of opinion\nis like health; both are individual, and no good general conception can\nbe set up of either of them. That which is necessary for the health of\none individual is the cause of disease in another, and many means and\nways to the freedom of the spirit are for more highly developed natures\nthe ways and means to confinement.\n\n\n287.\n\n_CENSOR VIT\u00c6_--Alternations of love and hatred for a long period\ndistinguish the inward condition of a man who desires to be free in his\njudgment of life; he does not forget, and bears everything a grudge,\nfor good and evil. At last, when the whole tablet of his soul is\nwritten full of experiences, he will not hate and despise existence,\nneither will he love it, but will regard it sometimes with a joyful,\nsometimes with a sorrowful eye, and, like nature, will be now in a\nsummer and now in an autumn mood.\n\n\n288.\n\nTHE SECONDARY RESULT.--Whoever earnestly desires to be free will\ntherewith and without any compulsion lose all inclination for faults\nand vices; he will also be more rarely overcome by anger and vexation.\nHis will desires nothing more urgently than to discern, and the means\nto do this,--that is, the permanent condition in which he is best able\nto discern.\n\n\n289.\n\nTHE VALUE OF DISEASE.--The man who is bed-ridden often perceives that\nhe is usually ill of his position, business, or society, and through\nthem has lost all self-possession. He gains this piece of knowledge\nfrom the idleness to which his illness condemns him.\n\n\n290.\n\nSENSITIVENESS IN THE COUNTRY.--If there are no firm, quiet lines on\nthe horizon of his life, a species of mountain and forest line, man's\ninmost will itself becomes restless, inattentive, and covetous, as is\nthe nature of a dweller in towns; he has no happiness and confers no\nhappiness.\n\n\n291.\n\nPRUDENCE OF THE FREE SPIRITS.--Free-thinkers, those who live by\nknowledge alone, will soon attain the supreme aim of their life and\ntheir ultimate position towards society and State, and will gladly\ncontent themselves, for instance, with a small post or an income that\nis just sufficient to enable them to live; for they will arrange to\nlive in such a manner that a great change of outward prosperity, even\nan overthrow of the political order, would not cause an overthrow\nof their life. To all these things they devote as little energy as\npossible in order that with their whole accumulated strength, and with\na long breath, they may dive into the element of knowledge. Thus they\ncan hope to dive deep and be able to see the bottom. Such a spirit\nseizes only the point of an event, he does not care for things in the\nwhole breadth and prolixity of their folds, for he does not wish to\nentangle himself in them. He, too, knows the weekdays of restraint, of\ndependence and servitude. But from time to time there must dawn for\nhim a Sunday of liberty, otherwise he could not endure life. It is\nprobable that even his love for humanity will be prudent and somewhat\nshort-winded, for he desires to meddle with the world of inclinations\nand of blindness only as far as is necessary for the purpose of\nknowledge. He must trust that the genius of justice will say something\nfor its disciple and protege if accusing voices were to call him poor\nin love. In his mode of life and thought there is a _refined heroism,_\nwhich scorns to offer itself to the great mob-reverence, as its\ncoarser brother does, and passes quietly through and out of the world.\nWhatever labyrinths it traverses, beneath whatever rocks its stream has\noccasionally worked its way--when it reaches the light it goes clearly,\neasily, and almost noiselessly on its way, and lets the sunshine strike\ndown to its very bottom.\n\n\n292.\n\nFORWARD.--And thus forward upon the path of wisdom, with a firm step\nand good confidence! However you may be situated, serve yourself as a\nsource of experience! Throw off the displeasure at your nature, forgive\nyourself your own individuality, for in any case you have in yourself\na ladder with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to knowledge.\nThe age into which with grief you feel yourself thrown thinks you happy\nbecause of this good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall still\nhave experiences which men of later ages will perhaps be obliged to\nforego. Do not despise the fact of having been religious; consider\nfully how you have had a genuine access to art. Can you not, with the\nhelp of these experiences, follow immense stretches of former humanity\nwith a clearer understanding? Is not that ground which sometimes\ndispleases you so greatly, that ground of clouded thought, precisely\nthe one upon which have grown many of the most glorious fruits of older\ncivilisations? You must have loved religion and art as you loved mother\nand nurse,--otherwise you cannot be wise. But you must be able to see\nbeyond them, to outgrow them; if you, remain under their ban you do\nnot understand them. You must also be familiar with history and that\ncautious play with the balances: \"On the one hand--on the other hand.\"\nGo back, treading in the footsteps made by mankind in its great and\npainful journey through the desert of the past, and you will learn most\nsurely whither it is that all later humanity never can or may go again.\nAnd inasmuch as you wish with all your strength to see in advance how\nthe knots of the future are tied, your own life acquires the value of\nan instrument and means of knowledge. It is within your power to see\nthat all you have experienced, trials, errors, faults, deceptions,\npassions, your love and your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim.\nThis aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-links yourself,\nand from this necessity to draw a conclusion as to the necessity in\nthe progress of general culture. When your sight has become strong\nenough to see to the bottom of the dark well of your nature and your\nknowledge, it is possible that in its mirror you may also behold the\nfar-away visions of future civilisations. Do you think that such a life\nwith such an aim is too wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable?\nThen you have still to learn that no honey is sweeter than that of\nknowledge, and that the overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as\nan udder from which you shall draw milk for your refreshment. And only\nwhen old age approaches will you rightly perceive how you listened to\nthe voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole world through\npleasure; the same life which has its zenith in age has also its zenith\nin wisdom, in that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyfulness; you\nmeet them both, old age and wisdom, upon one ridge of life,--it was\nthus intended by Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger, that\nthe mists of death approach. Towards the light is your last movement; a\njoyful cry of knowledge is your last sound.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: This may remind one of Gobineau's more jocular saying:\n\"_Nous ne descendons pas du singe, mais nous y allons._\"--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 2: This refers to his essay, \"Schopenhauer as Educator,\" in\n_Thoughts Out of Season,_ vol. ii. of the English edition.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 3: For it is when loving that mortal man gives of his\nbest.--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\nSIXTH DIVISION.\n\n\nMAN IN SOCIETY.\n\n\n\n293.\n\nWELL-MEANT DISSIMULATION.--In intercourse with men a well-meant\ndissimulation is often necessary, as if we did not see through the\nmotives of their actions.\n\n\n294.\n\nCOPIES.--We not unfrequently meet with copies of prominent persons; and\nas in the case of pictures, so also here, the copies please more than\nthe originals.\n\n\n295.\n\nTHE PUBLIC SPEAKER.--One may speak with the greatest appropriateness,\nand yet so that everybody cries out to the contrary,--that is to say,\nwhen one does not speak to everybody.\n\n\n296.\n\nWANT OF CONFIDENCE.--Want of confidence among friends is a fault that\ncannot be censured without becoming incurable.\n\n\n297.\n\nTHE ART OF GIVING.--To have to refuse a gift, merely because it has not\nbeen offered in the right way, provokes animosity against the giver.\n\n\n298.\n\nTHE MOST DANGEROUS PARTISAN.--In every party there is one who, by his\nfar too dogmatic expression of the party-principles, excites defection\namong the others.\n\n\n299.\n\nADVISERS OF THE SICK.--Whoever gives advice to a sick person acquires\na feeling of superiority over him, whether the advice be accepted or\nrejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick persons hate advisers more\nthan their sickness.\n\n\n300.\n\nDOUBLE NATURE OF EQUALITY.--The rage for equality may so manifest\nitself that we seek either to draw all others down to ourselves (by\nbelittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or ourselves and all others\nupwards (by recognition, assistance, and congratulation).\n\n\n301.\n\nAGAINST EMBARRASSMENT.--The best way to relieve and calm very\nembarrassed people is to give them decided praise.\n\n\n302.\n\nPREFERENCE FOR CERTAIN VIRTUES.--We set no special value on the\npossession of a virtue until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in\nour adversary.\n\n\n303.\n\nWHY WE CONTRADICT.--We often contradict an opinion when it is really\nonly the tone in which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us.\n\n\n304.\n\nCONFIDENCE AND INTIMACY.--Whoever proposes to command the intimacy of\na person is usually uncertain of possessing his confidence. Whoever is\nsure of a person's confidence attaches little value to intimacy with\nhim.\n\n\n305.\n\nTHE EQUILIBRIUM OF FRIENDSHIP.--The right equilibrium of friendship\nin our relation to other men is sometimes restored when we put a few\ngrains of wrong on our own side of the scales.\n\n\n306.\n\nTHE MOST DANGEROUS PHYSICIANS.--The most dangerous physicians are those\nwho, like born actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect art\nof imposture.\n\n\n307.\n\nWHEN PARADOXES ARE PERMISSIBLE.--In order to interest clever persons in\na theory, it is sometimes only necessary to put it before them in the\nform of a prodigious paradox.\n\n\n308.\n\nHOW COURAGEOUS PEOPLE ARE WON OVER.--Courageous people are persuaded to\na course of action by representing it as more dangerous than it really\nis.\n\n\n309.\n\nCOURTESIES.--We regard the courtesies show us by unpopular persons as\noffences.\n\n\n310.\n\nKEEPING PEOPLE WAITING.--A sure way of exasperating people and of\nputting bad thoughts into their heads is to keep them waiting long.\nThat makes them immoral.\n\n\n311.\n\nAGAINST THE CONFIDENTIAL.--Persons who give us their full confidence\nthink they hay thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake people\nacquire no rights through gifts.\n\n\n312.\n\nA MODE OF SETTLEMENT.--It often suffices to give a person whom we have\ninjured an opportunity to make a joke about us to give him personal\nsatisfaction, and even to make him favourably disposed to us.\n\n\n313.\n\nTHE VANITY OF THE TONGUE.--Whether man conceals his bad qualities\nand vices, or frankly acknowledges them, his vanity in either case\nseeks its advantage thereby,--only let it be observed how nicely he\ndistinguishes those from whom he conceals such qualities from those\nwith whom he is frank and honest.\n\n\n314.\n\nCONSIDERATE.--To have no wish to offend or injure any one may as well\nbe the sign of a just as of a timid nature.\n\n\n315.\n\nREQUISITE FOR DISPUTATION.--He who cannot put his thoughts on ice\nshould not enter into the heat of dispute.\n\n\n316.\n\nINTERCOURSE AND PRETENSION.--We forget our pretensions when we are\nalways conscious of being amongst meritorious people; being alone\nimplants presumption in us. The young are pretentious, for they\nassociate with their equals, who are all ciphers but would fain have a\ngreat significance.\n\n\n317.\n\nMOTIVES OF AN ATTACK.--One does not attack a person merely to hurt\nand conquer him, but perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own\nstrength.\n\n\n318.\n\nFLATTERY.--Persons who try by means of flattery to put us off our\nguard in intercourse with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like a\nsleeping-draught, which, when it does not send the patient to sleep,\nkeeps him all the wider awake.\n\n\n319.\n\nA GOOD LETTER-WRITER.--A person who does not write books, thinks much,\nand lives in unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-writer.\n\n\n320.\n\nTHE UGLIEST OF ALL.--It may be doubted whether a person who has\ntravelled much has found anywhere in the world uglier places than those\nto be met with in the human face.\n\n\n321.\n\nTHE SYMPATHETIC ONES.--Sympathetic natures, ever ready to help in\nmisfortune, are seldom those that participate in joy; in the happiness\nof others they have nothing to occupy them, they are superfluous, they\ndo not feel themselves in possession of their superiority, and hence\nreadily show their displeasure.\n\n\n322.\n\nTHE RELATIVES OF A SUICIDE.--The relatives of a suicide take it in\nill part that he did not remain alive out of consideration for their\nreputation.\n\n\n323.\n\nINGRATITUDE FORESEEN.--He who makes a large gift gets no gratitude; for\nthe recipient is already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift.\n\n\n324.\n\nIN DULL SOCIETY.--Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts\nhimself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show\none's wit.\n\n\n325.\n\nTHE PRESENCE OF WITNESSES.--We are doubly willing to jump into the\nwater after some one who has fallen in, if there are people present who\nhave not the courage to do so.\n\n\n326.\n\nBEING SILENT.--For both parties in a controversy, the most disagreeable\nway of retaliating is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor usually\nregards the silence as a sign of contempt.\n\n\n327.\n\nFRIENDS' SECRETS.--Few people will not expose the private affairs of\ntheir friends when at a loss for a subject of conversation.\n\n\n328.\n\nHUMANITY.--The humanity of intellectual celebrities consists in\ncourteously submitting to unfairness in intercourse with those who are\nI not celebrated.\n\n\n329.\n\nTHE EMBARRASSED.--People who do not feel sure of themselves in society\nseize every opportunity of publicly showing their superiority to close\nfriends, for instance by teasing them.\n\n\n330.\n\nTHANKS.--A refined nature is vexed by knowing that some one owes it\nthanks, a coarse nature by knowing that it owes thanks to some one.\n\n\n331.\n\nA SIGN OF ESTRANGEMENT.--The surest sign of the estrangement of the\nopinions of two persons is when they both say something ironical to\neach other and neither of them feels the irony.\n\n\n332.\n\nPRESUMPTION IN CONNECTION WITH MERIT.--Presumption in connection with\nmerit offends us even more than presumption in persons devoid of merit,\nfor merit in itself offends us.\n\n\n333.\n\nDANGER IN THE VOICE.--In conversation we are sometimes confused by the\ntone of our own voice, and misled to make assertions that do not at all\ncorrespond to our opinions.\n\n\n334.\n\nIN CONVERSATION.--Whether in conversation with others we mostly agree\nor mostly disagree with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in\nboth cases.\n\n\n335.\n\nFEAR OF OUR NEIGHBOUR.--We are afraid of the animosity of our\nneighbour, because we are apprehensive that he may thereby discover our\nsecrets.\n\n\n336.\n\nDISTINGUISHING BY BLAMING.--Highly respected persons distribute even\ntheir blame in such fashion that they try to distinguish us therewith.\nIt is intended to remind us of their serious interest in us. We\nmisunderstand them entirely when we take their blame literally and\nprotest against it; we thereby offend them and estrange ourselves from\nthem.\n\n\n337.\n\nINDIGNATION AT THE GOODWILL OF OTHERS.--We are mistaken as to the\nextent to which we think we are hated or feared; because,' though we\nourselves know very well the extent of our divergence from a person,\ntendency, or party, those others know us only superficially, and can,\ntherefore, only hate us superficially. We often meet with goodwill\nwhich is inexplicable to us; but when we comprehend it, it shocks us,\nbecause it shows that we are not considered with sufficient Seriousness\nor importance.\n\n\n338.\n\nTHWARTING VANITIES.--When two persons meet whose vanity is equally\ngreat, they have afterwards a bad impression of each other because\neach has been so occupied with the impression he wished to produce on\nthe other that the other has made no impression upon him; at last it\nbecomes clear to them both that their efforts have been in vain, and\neach puts the blame on the other.\n\n\n339.\n\nIMPROPER BEHAVIOUR AS A GOOD SIGN.--A superior mind takes pleasure in\nthe tactlessness, pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious\nyouths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses which have not yet\ncarried a rider, but, in a short time, will be so proud to carry one.\n\n\n340.\n\nWHEN IT IS ADVISABLE TO SUFFER WRONG.--It is well to put up with\naccusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the\naccuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted\nand perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person\nmay always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may\neventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most\nintolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual\nmay also take place in whole classes of society.\n\n\n341.\n\nToo LITTLE HONOURED.--Very conceited persons, who have received\nless consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to\ndeceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle\npsychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured.\nShould they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn,\nthey give way to all the greater fury.\n\n\n342.\n\nPRIMITIVE CONDITIONS RE--ECHOING IN SPEECH.--By the manner in which\npeople make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo\nof the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything\nelse; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using\ntheir arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords,\nand with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women,\non the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat\nat the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children.\n\n\n343.\n\nTHE NARRATOR.--He who gives an account of something readily betrays\nwhether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes\nto excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will\nexaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not\nusually tell his story so well, because he does not think so much\nabout his subject as about himself.\n\n\n344.\n\nTHE RECITER.--He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his\nown character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and\nscenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while\nin ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit\npathos or scurrility.\n\n\n345.\n\nA COMEDY SCENE IN REAL LIFE.--Some one conceives an ingenious idea on\na theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should\nhear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the\ncompany at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously\npushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way,\nfinding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost\nbreathless--and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of\nhis mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion?\n\n\n346.\n\nUNINTENTIONALLY DISCOURTEOUS.--When a person treats another with\nunintentional discourtesy,--for instance, not greeting him because not\nrecognising him,--he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his\nown sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced in\nthe other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is\npained by the thought of having injured him,--vanity, fear, or pity may\ntherefore be aroused; perhaps all three together.\n\n\n347.\n\nA MASTERPIECE OF TREACHERY.--To express a tantalising distrust of a\nfellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very\nmoment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece\nof wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels\nhim for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real\ntraitor has thus acquired a free hand.\n\n\n348.\n\nTo INJURE AND TO BE INJURED.--It is far pleasanter to injure\nand afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant\nforgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and\nafterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he\ndoes not wish to be considered inhuman, _must_ forgive; his enjoyment\nof the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this\nconstraint.\n\n\n349.\n\nIN A DISPUTE.--When we contradict another's opinion and at the same\ntime develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion\nusually disturbs the natural attitude of our own which appears more\nintentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated.\n\n\n350.\n\nAN ARTIFICE.--He who wants to get another to do something difficult\nmust on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth\nhis plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye\nbetrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off\nquickly, and allow him no time to put in a word.\n\n\n351.\n\nPRICKS OF CONSCIENCE AFTER SOCIAL GATHERINGS.--Why does our conscience\nprick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated\nserious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not\nspoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken,\nbecause, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,--in short,\nbecause we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it.\n\n\n352.\n\nWE ARE MISJUDGED.--He who always listens to hear how he is judged is\nalways vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us\n(\"who know us best\"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour\nin a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us\nrightly? The judgments of the indifferent wound us deeply, because\nthey sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some\none hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know\nourselves, how great is then our vexation!\n\n\n353.\n\nTHE TYRANNY OF THE PORTRAIT.--Artists and statesmen, who out of\nparticular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an\nevent, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should\nafterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway\nthat a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in\ntheir representation of him.\n\n\n354.\n\nRELATIVES AS THE BEST FRIENDS.--The Greeks, who knew so well what a\nfriend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely\nphilosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly\n(and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised\nas worthy of solution,--these same Greeks have designated _relatives_\nby an expression which is the superlative of the word \"friend.\" This is\ninexplicable to me.\n\n\n355.\n\nMISUNDERSTOOD HONESTY.--When any one quotes himself in conversation\n(\"I then said,\" \"I am accustomed to say\"), it gives the impression of\npresumption; whereas it often proceeds from quite an opposite source;\nor at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the\npresent moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment.\n\n\n356.\n\nTHE PARASITE.--It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a\nperson prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually\nwith a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be\nobliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than\nin men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons).\n\n\n357.\n\nON THE ALTAR OF RECONCILIATION.--There are circumstances under which\none can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming\nhostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he\ngladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a\nreconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was\nformerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any\nprice.\n\n\n358.\n\nPRESUMPTION IN DEMANDING PITY.--There are people who, when they have\nbeen in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall\nall be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied\nbecause they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human\npresumption extend.\n\n\n359.\n\nBAIT.--\"Every man has his price\"--that is not true. But perhaps\nevery one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will\nsnap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only\nnecessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble,\ncharitable, and self-denying--and to what cause could this glamour not\nbe given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of _their_ soul; others have\ndifferent ones.\n\n\n360.\n\nTHE ATTITUDE IN PRAISING.--When good friends praise a gifted person he\noften appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill,\nbut in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved\ntowards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun\nor shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it\nwould grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person.\n\n\n361.\n\nTHE EXPERIENCE OF SOCRATES.--If one has become a master in one thing,\none has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most\nother things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already\nexperienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association\nwith masters disagreeable.\n\n\n362.\n\nA MEANS OF DEFENCE.--In warring against stupidity, the most just and\ngentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking\nthe proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for\na stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said,\ntheir character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of\nprotection than they injure their opponents by it.\n\n\n363.\n\nCURIOSITY.--If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for\nthe good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the\nunfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps\nthere is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal\nlove.\n\n\n364.\n\nDISAPPOINTMENT IN SOCIETY.--One man wishes to be interesting for\nhis opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his\nacquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness--and they all meet\nwith disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks\nhimself the only play that is to be taken into account.\n\n\n365.\n\nTHE DUEL.--It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour\nthat if a man has such susceptible feelings that he does not care to\nlive when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a\nright to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With\nregard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be\nremonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its\ngreatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness\never existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood\nstand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular\nduel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would\nbe in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious\nin their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible.\n\n\n366.\n\nNOBLENESS AND GRATITUDE.--A noble soul will be pleased to owe\ngratitude, and will not anxiously avoid opportunities of coming under\nobligation; it will also be moderate afterwards in the expression of\nits gratitude: baser souls, on the other hand, are unwilling to be\nunder any obligation, or are afterwards immoderate in their expressions\nof thanks and altogether too devoted. The latter is, moreover, also the\ncase with persons of mean origin or depressed circumstances; to show\n_them_ a favour seems to them a miracle of grace.\n\n\n367.\n\nOCCASIONS OF ELOQUENCE.--In order to talk well one man needs a person\nwho is decidedly and avowedly his superior to talk to, while another\ncan only find absolute freedom of speech and happy turns of eloquence\nbefore one who is his inferior. In both cases the cause is the same;\neach of them talks well only when he talks _sans g\u00eane_--the one because\nin the presence of something higher he does not feel the impulse of\nrivalry and competition, the other because he also lacks the same\nimpulse in the presence of something lower. Now there is quite another\ntype of men, who talk well only when debating, with the intention of\nconquering. Which of the two types is the more aspiring: the one that\ntalks well from excited ambition, or the one that talks badly or not at\nall from precisely the same motive?\n\n\n368.\n\nTHE TALENT FOR FRIENDSHIP.--Two types are distinguished amongst\npeople who have a special faculty for friendship. The one is ever\non the ascent, and for every phase of his development he finds a\nfriend exactly suited to him. The series of friends which he thus\nacquires is seldom a consistent one, and is sometimes at variance\nand in contradiction, entirely in accordance with the fact that the\nlater phases of his development neutralise or prejudice the earlier\nphases. Such a man may jestingly be called a _ladder._ The other type\nis represented by him who exercises an attractive influence on very\ndifferent characters and endowments, so that he wins a whole circle of\nfriends; these, however, are thereby brought voluntarily into friendly\nrelations with one another in spite of all differences. Such a man\nmay be called a _circle,_ for this homogeneousness of such different\ntemperaments and natures must somehow be typified in him. Furthermore,\nthe faculty for having good friends is greater in many people than the\nfaculty for being a good friend.\n\n\n369.\n\nTACTICS IN CONVERSATION.--After a conversation with a person one is\nbest pleased with him I when one has had an opportunity of exhibiting\none's intelligence and amiability in all its glory. Shrewd people who\nwish to impress a person favourably make use of this circumstance,\nthey provide him with the best opportunities for making a good I\njoke, and so on in conversation. An amusing conversation might be\nimagined between two very shrewd persons, each wishing to impress the\nother favourably, and therefore each throwing to the other the finest\nchances in conversation, which neither of them accepted, so that the\nconversation on the whole might turn out spiritless and unattractive\nbecause each assigned to the other the opportunity of being witty and\ncharming.\n\n\n370.\n\nDISCHARGE OF INDIGNATION.--The man who meets with a failure\nattributes this failure rather to the ill-will of another than to\nfate. His irritated feelings are alleviated by thinking that a person\nand not a thing is the cause of his failure; for he can revenge himself\non persons, but is obliged to swallow down the injuries of fate.\nTherefore when anything has miscarried with a prince, those about him\nare accustomed to point out some individual as the ostensible cause,\nwho is sacrificed in the interests of all the courtiers; for otherwise\nthe prince's indignation would vent itself on them all, as he can take\nno revenge on the Goddess of Destiny herself.\n\n\n371.\n\nASSUMING THE COLOURS OF THE ENVIRONMENT.--Why are likes and dislikes\nso contagious that we can hardly live near a very sensitive person\nwithout being filled, like a hogshead, with his _fors_ and _againsts_?\nIn the first place, complete forbearance of judgment is very difficult,\nand sometimes absolutely intolerable to our vanity; it has the same\nappearance as poverty of thought and sentiment, or as timidity and\nunmanliness; and so we are, at least, driven on to take a side, perhaps\ncontrary to our environment, if this attitude gives greater pleasure\nto our pride. As a rule, however,--and this is the second point,--we\nare not conscious of the transition from indifference to liking or\ndisliking, but we gradually accustom ourselves to the sentiments of\nour environment, and because sympathetic agreement and acquiescence\nare so agreeable, we soon wear all the signs and party-colours of our\nsurroundings.\n\n\n372.\n\nIRONY.--Irony is only permissible as a pedagogic expedient, on the part\nof a teacher when dealing with his pupils; its purpose is to humble\nand to shame, but in the wholesome way that causes good resolutions\nto spring up and teaches people to show honour and gratitude, as they\nwould to a doctor, to him who has so treated them. The ironical man\npretends to be ignorant, and does it so well that the pupils conversing\nwith him are deceived, and in their firm belief in their own superior\nknowledge they grow bold and expose all their weak points; they lose\ntheir cautiousness and reveal themselves as they are,--until all of\na sudden the light which they have held up to the teacher's face\ncasts its rays back very humiliatingly upon themselves. Where such a\nrelation, as that between teacher and pupil, does not exist, irony is a\nrudeness and a vulgar conceit. All ironical writers count on the silly\nspecies of human beings, who like to feel Ithemselves superior to all\nothers in common with the author himself, whom they look upon as the\n?mouthpiece of their arrogance. Moreover, the habit of irony, like that\nof sarcasm, spoils the character; lit gradually fosters the quality of\na malicious superiority; one finally grows like a snappy dog, that has\nlearnt to laugh as well as to bite.\n\n\n373.\n\nARROGANCE.--There is nothing one should so guard against as the growth\nof the weed called arrogance, which spoils all one's good harvest;\nfor there is arrogance in cordiality, in showing honour, in kindly\nfamiliarity, in caressing, in friendly counsel, in acknowledgment of\nfaults, in sympathy for others,--and all these fine things arouse\naversion when the weed in question grows up among them. The arrogant\nman--that is to say, he who desires to appear more than he is _or\npasses for_--always miscalculates. It is true that he obtains a\nmomentary success, inasmuch as those with whom he is' arrogant\ngenerally give him the amount of honour that he demands, owing to fear\nor for the sake of convenience; but they take a bad revenge for it,\ninasmuch as they subtract from the value which they hitherto attached\nto him just as much as he demands above that amount. There is nothing\nfor which men ask to be paid dearer than for humiliation. The arrogant\nman can make his really great merit so suspicious and small in the eyes\nof others that they tread on it with dusty feet. If at all, we should\nonly allow ourselves a _proud_ manner where we are quite sure of not\nbeing misunderstood and considered as arrogant; as, for instance, with\nfriends and wives. For in social intercourse there is no greater folly\nthan to acquire a reputation for arrogance; it is still worse than not\nhaving learnt to deceive politely.\n\n\n374.\n\n_T\u00caTE-\u00c0-T\u00caTE_--Private conversation is the perfect conversation,\nbecause everything the one' person says receives its particular\ncolouring, its tone, and its accompanying gestures _out of strict\nconsideration for the other person_ engaged in the conversation, it\ntherefore corresponds to what takes place in intercourse by letter,\nviz., that one and the same person exhibits ten kinds of psychical\nexpression, according as he writes now to this individual and now to\nthat one. In duologue there is only a single refraction of thought;\nthe person conversed with produces it, as the mirror in whom we want\nto behold our thoughts anew in their finest form. But how is it when\nthere are two or three, or even more persons conversing with one?\nConversation then necessarily loses something of its individualising\nsubtlety, different considerations thwart and neutralise each other;\nthe style which pleases one does not suit the taste of another. In\nintercourse with several individuals a person is therefore to withdraw\nwithin himself and represent facts as they are; but he has also to\nremove from the subjects the pulsating ether of humanity which makes\nconversation one of the pleasantest things in the world. Listen only\nto the tone in which those who mingle with whole groups of men are in\nthe habit of speaking; it is as if the fundamental base of all speech\nwere, \"It is _myself_; I say this, so make what you will of it!\" That\nis the reason why clever ladies usually leave a singular, painful, and\nforbidding impression on those who have met them in society; it is\nthe talking to many people, before many people, that robs them of all\nintellectual amiability and shows only their conscious dependence on\nthemselves, their tactics, and their intention of gaining a public\nvictory in full light; whilst in a private conversation the same ladies\nbecome womanly again, and recover their intellectual grace and charm.\n\n\n375.\n\nPOSTHUMOUS FAME.--There is sense in hoping for recognition in a distant\nfuture only when we take it for granted that mankind will remain\nessentially unchanged, and that whatever is great is not for one age\nonly but will be looked upon as great for all time. But this is an\nerror. In all their sentiments and judgments concerning what is good\nand beautiful mankind have greatly changed; it is mere fantasy to\nimagine one's self to be a mile ahead, and that the whole of mankind is\ncoming _our_ way. Besides, a scholar who is misjudged may at present\nreckon with certainty that his discovery will be made by others, and\nthat, at best, it will be allowed to him later on by some historian\nthat he also already knew this or that but was not in a position to\nsecure the recognition of his knowledge. Not to be recognised, is\nalways interpreted by posterity as lack of power. In short, one should\nnot so readily speak in favour of haughty solitude. There are, however,\nexceptional cases; but it is chiefly our faults, weakness, and follies\nthat hinder the recognition of our great qualities.\n\n\n376.\n\nOF FRIENDS.--Just consider with thyself how different are the feelings,\nhow divided are the opinions of even the nearest acquaintances; how\neven the same opinions in thy friend's mind have quite a different\naspect and strength from what they have in thine own; and how manifold\nare the occasions which arise for misunderstanding and hostile\nseverance. After all this thou wilt say to thyself, \"How insecure\nis the ground upon which all our alliances and friendships rest,\nhow liable to cold downpours and bad weather, how lonely is every\ncreature!\" When a person recognises this fact, and, in addition, that\nall opinions and the nature and strength of them in his fellow-men\nare just as necessary and irresponsible as their actions; when his\neye learns to see this internal necessity of opinions, owing to the\nindissoluble interweaving of character, occupation, talent, and\nenvironment,--he will perhaps get rid of the bitterness and sharpness\nof the feeling with which the sage exclaimed, \"Friends, there are no\nfriends!\" Much rather will he make the confession to himself:--Yes,\nthere are friends, but they were drawn towards thee by error and\ndeception concerning thy character; and they must have learnt to be\nsilent in order to remain thy friends; for such human relationships\nalmost always rest on the fact that some few things are never said,\nare never, indeed, alluded to; but if these pebbles are set rolling\nfriendship follows afterwards and is broken. Are there any who would\nnot be mortally injured if they were to learn what their most intimate\nfriends really knew about them? By getting a knowledge of ourselves,\nand by looking upon our nature as a changing sphere of opinions and\nmoods, and thereby learning to despise ourselves a little, we recover\nonce more our equilibrium with the rest of mankind. It is true that\nwe have good reason to despise each of our acquaintances, even the\ngreatest of them; but just as good reason to turn this feeling against\nourselves. And so we will bear with each other, since we bear with\nourselves; and perhaps there will come to each a happier hour, when he\nwill exclaim:\n\n    \"Friends, there are really no friends!\" thus cried\n         th' expiring old sophist;\n    \"Foes, there is really no foe!\"--thus shout I,\n         the incarnate fool.\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTH DIVISION.\n\n\nWIFE AND CHILD.\n\n\n\n377.\n\nTHE PERFECT WOMAN.--The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than\nthe perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of\nanimals furnishes grounds in support of this theory.\n\n\n378.\n\nFRIENDSHIP AND MARRIAGE.--The best friend will probably get the best\nwife, because a good marriage is based on talent for friendship.\n\n\n379.\n\nTHE SURVIVAL OF THE PARENTS.--The undissolved dissonances in the\nrelation of the character and sentiments of the parents survive in the\nnature of the child and make up the history of its inner sufferings.\n\n\n380.\n\nINHERITED FROM THE MOTHER.--Every one bears within him an image of\nwoman, inherited from his mother: it determines his attitude towards\nwomen as a whole, whether to honour, despise, or remain generally\nindifferent to them.\n\n\n381.\n\nCORRECTING NATURE.--Whoever has not got a good father should procure\none.\n\n\n382.\n\nFATHERS AND SONS.--Fathers have much to do to make amends for having\nsons.\n\n\n383.\n\nTHE ERROR OF GENTLEWOMEN.--Gentle-women think that a thing does not\nreally exist when it is not possible to talk of it in society.\n\n\n384.\n\nA MALE DISEASE.--The surest remedy for the male disease of\nself-contempt is to be loved by a sensible woman.\n\n\n385.\n\nA SPECIES OF JEALOUSY.--Mothers are readily jealous of the friends\nof sons who are particularly successful. As a rule a mother loves\n_herself_ in her son more than the son.\n\n\n386.\n\nRATIONAL IRRATIONALITY.--In the maturity of life and intelligence the\nfeeling comes over a man that his father did wrong in begetting him.\n\n\n387.\n\nMATERNAL EXCELLENCE.--Some mothers need happy and honoured children,\nsome need unhappy ones,--otherwise they cannot exhibit their maternal\nexcellence.\n\n\n388.\n\nDIFFERENT SIGHS.--Some husbands have sighed over the elopement of their\nwives, the greater number, however, have sighed because nobody would\nelope with theirs.\n\n\n389.\n\nLOVE MATCHES.--Marriages which are contracted for love (so-called\nlove-matches) have error for their father and need (necessity) for\ntheir mother.\n\n\n390.\n\nWOMEN'S FRIENDSHIPS.--Women can enter into friendship with a man\nperfectly well; but in order to maintain it the aid of a little\nphysical antipathy is perhaps required.\n\n\n391.\n\nENNUI.--Many people, especially women, never feel ennui because they\nhave never learnt to work properly.\n\n\n392.\n\nAN ELEMENT OF LOVE.--In all feminine love something of maternal love\nalso comes to light.\n\n\n393.\n\nUNITY OF PLACE AND DRAMA.--If married couples did not live together,\nhappy marriages would be more frequent.\n\n\n394.\n\nTHE USUAL CONSEQUENCES OF MARRIAGE.--All intercourse which does not\nelevate a person, debases him, and _vice versa;_ hence men usually\nsink a little when they marry, while women are somewhat elevated.\nOver-intellectual men require marriage in proportion as they are\nopposed to it as to a repugnant medicine.\n\n\n395.\n\nLEARNING TO COMMAND.--Children of unpretentious families must be taught\nto command, just as much as other children must be taught to obey.\n\n\n396.\n\nWANTING TO BE IN LOVE.--Betrothed couples who have been matched by\nconvenience often exert themselves _to fall in love,_ to avoid the\nreproach of cold, calculating expediency. In the same manner those who\nbecome converts to Christianity for their advantage exert themselves to\nbecome genuinely pious; because the religious cast of countenance then\nbecomes easier to them.\n\n\n397.\n\nNo STANDING STILL IN LOVE.--A musician who _loves_ the slow _tempo_\nwill play the same pieces ever more slowly. There is thus no standing\nstill in any love.\n\n\n398.\n\nMODESTY.--Women's modesty usually increases with their beauty.[1]\n\n\n399.\n\nMARRIAGE ON A GOOD BASIS.--A marriage in which each wishes to realise\nan individual aim by means of the other will stand well; for instance,\nwhen the woman wishes to become famous through the man and the man\nbeloved through the woman.\n\n\n400.\n\nPROTEUS-NATURE.--Through love women actually become what they appear to\nbe in the imagination of their lovers.\n\n\n401.\n\nTo LOVE AND TO POSSESS.--As a rule women love a distinguished man to\nthe extent that they wish to possess him exclusively. They would gladly\nkeep him under lock and key, if their vanity did not forbid, but vanity\ndemands that he should also appear distinguished before others.\n\n\n402.\n\nTHE TEST OF A GOOD MARRIAGE.--The goodness of a marriage is proved by\nthe fact that it can stand an \"exception.\"\n\n\n403.\n\nBRINGING ANYONE ROUND TO ANYTHING.--One may make any person so weak and\nweary by disquietude, anxiety, and excess of work or thought that he\nno longer resists anything that appears complicated, but gives way to\nit,--diplomatists and women know this.\n\n\n404.\n\nPROPRIETY AND HONESTY.--Those girls who mean to trust exclusively to\ntheir youthful charms for their provision in life, and whose cunning\nis further prompted by worldly mothers, have just the same aims as\ncourtesans, only they are wiser and less honest.\n\n\n405.\n\nMASKS.--There are women who, wherever one examines them, have no\ninside, but are mere masks. A man is to be pitied who has connection\nwith such almost spectre-like and necessarily unsatisfactory creatures,\nbut it is precisely such women who know how to excite a man's desire\nmost strongly; he seeks for their soul, and seeks evermore.\n\n\n406.\n\nMARRIAGE AS A LONG TALK.--In entering on a marriage one should ask\none's self the question, \"Do you think you will pass your time well\nwith this woman till your old age?\" All else in marriage is transitory;\ntalk, however, occupies most of the time of the association.\n\n\n407.\n\nGIRLISH DREAMS.--Inexperienced girls flatter themselves with the notion\nthat it is in their power to make a man happy; later on they learn that\nit is equivalent to underrating a man to suppose that he needs only a\ngirl to make him happy. Women's vanity requires a man to be something\nmore than merely a happy husband.\n\n\n408.\n\nTHE DYING-OUT OF FAUST AND MARGUERITE.--According to the very\nintelligent remark of a scholar, the educated men of modern Germany\nresemble somewhat a mixture of Mephistopheles and Wagner, but are not\nat all like Faust, whom our grandfathers (in their youth at least)\nfelt agitating within them. To them, therefore,--to continue the\nremark,--Marguerites are not suited, for two reasons. And because the\nlatter are no longer desired they seem to be dying out.\n\n\n409.\n\nCLASSICAL EDUCATION FOR GIRLS.--For goodness' sake let us not give our\nclassical education to girls! An education which, out of ingenious,\ninquisitive, ardent youths, so frequently makes--copies of their\nteacher!\n\n\n410.\n\nWITHOUT RIVALS.--Women readily perceive in a man whether his soul\nhas already been taken possession of; they wish to be loved without\nrivals, and find fault with the objects of his ambition, his\npolitical tasks, his sciences and arts, if he have a passion for such\nthings. Unless he be distinguished thereby,--then, in the case of a\nlove-relationship between them, women look at the same time for an\nincrease of _their own_ distinction; under such circumstances, they\nfavour the lover.\n\n\n411.\n\nTHE FEMININE INTELLECT.--The intellect of women manifests itself as\nperfect mastery, presence of mind, and utilisation of all advantages.\nThey transmit it as a fundamental quality to their children, and the\nfather adds thereto the darker background of the will. His influence\ndetermines as it were the rhythm and harmony with which the new life\nis to be performed; but its melody is derived from the mother. For\nthose who know how to put a thing properly: women have intelligence,\nmen have character and passion. This does not contradict the fact\nthat men actually achieve so much more with their intelligence: they\nhave deeper and more powerful impulses; and it is these which carry\ntheir understanding (in itself something passive) to such an extent.\nWomen are often silently surprised at the great respect men pay to\ntheir character. When, therefore, in the choice of a partner men seek\nspecially for a being of deep and strong character, and women for a\nbeing of intelligence, brilliancy, and presence of mind, it is plain\nthat at bottom men seek for the ideal man, and women for the ideal\nwoman,--consequently not for the complement but for the completion of\ntheir own excellence.\n\n\n412.\n\nHESIOD'S OPINION CONFIRMED.--It is a sign of women's wisdom that they\nhave almost always known how to get themselves supported, like drones\nin a bee-hive. Let us just consider what this meant originally, and\nwhy men do not depend upon women for their support. Of a truth it\nis because masculine vanity and reverence are greater than feminine\nwisdom; for women have known how to secure for themselves by their\nsubordination the greatest advantage, in fact, the upper hand. Even the\ncare of children may originally have been used by the wisdom of women\nas an excuse for withdrawing themselves as much as possible from work.\nAnd at present they still understand when they are really active (as\nhouse-keepers, for instance) how to make a bewildering fuss about it,\nso that the merit of their activity is usually ten times over-estimated\nby men.\n\n\n413.\n\nLOVERS AS SHORT-SIGHTED PEOPLE.--A pair of powerful spectacles has\nsometimes sufficed to cure a person in love; and whoever has had\nsufficient imagination to represent a face or form twenty years older,\nhas probably gone through life not much disturbed.\n\n\n414.\n\nWOMEN IN HATRED.--In a state of hatred women are more dangerous\nthan men; for one thing, because they are hampered by no regard for\nfairness when their hostile feelings have been aroused; but let their\nhatred develop unchecked to its utmost consequences; then also,\nbecause they are expert in finding sore spots (which every man and\nevery party possess), and pouncing upon them: for which purpose their\ndagger-pointed intelligence is of good service (whilst men, hesitating\nat the sight of wounds, are often generously and conciliatorily\ninclined).\n\n\n415.\n\nLOVE.--The love idolatry which women practise is fundamentally and\noriginally an intelligent device, inasmuch as they increase their\npower by all the idealisings of love and exhibit themselves as so much\nthe more desirable in the eyes of men. But by being accustomed for\ncenturies to this exaggerated appreciation of love, it has come to pass\nthat they have been caught in their own net and have forgotten the\norigin of the device. They themselves are now still more deceived than\nthe men, and on that account also suffer more from the disillusionment\nwhich, almost necessarily, enters into the life of every woman--so far,\nat any rate, as she has sufficient imagination and intelligence to be\nable to be deceived and undeceived.\n\n\n416.\n\nTHE EMANCIPATION OF WOMEN.--Can women be at all just, when they are\nso accustomed to love and to be immediately biased for or against?\nFor that reason they are also less interested in things and more in\nindividuals: but when they are interested in things they immediately\nbecome their partisans, and thereby spoil their pure, innocent effect.\nThus there arises a danger, by no means small, in entrusting politics\nand certain portions of science to them (history, for instance). For\nwhat is rarer than a woman who really knows what science is? Indeed the\nbest of them cherish in their breasts a secret scorn for science, as if\nthey were somehow superior to it. Perhaps all this can be changed in\ntime; but meanwhile it is so.\n\n\n417.\n\nTHE INSPIRATION IN WOMEN'S JUDGMENTS.--The sudden decisions, for\nor against, which women are in the habit of making, the flashing\nillumination of personal relations caused by their spasmodic\ninclinations and aversions,--in short, the proofs of feminine injustice\nhave been invested with a lustre by men who are in love, as if all\nwomen had inspirations of wisdom, even without the Delphic cauldron and\nthe laurel wreaths; and their utterances are interpreted and duly set\nforth as Sibylline oracles for long afterwards. When one considers,\nhowever, that for every person and for every cause something can be\nsaid in favour of it but equally also something against it, that\nthings are not only two-sided, but also three and four-sided, it is\nalmost difficult to be entirely at fault in such sudden decisions;\nindeed, it might be said that the nature of things has been so arranged\nthat women should always carry their point.[2]\n\n\n418.\n\nBEING LOVED.--As one of every two persons in love is usually the one\nwho loves, the other the one who is loved, the belief has arisen that\nin every love-affair there is a constant amount of love; and that\nthe more of it the one person monopolises the less is left for the\nother. Exceptionally it happens that the vanity of each of the parties\npersuades him or her that it is _he_ or _she_ who must be loved; so\nthat both of them wish to be loved: from which cause many half funny,\nhalf absurd scenes take place, especially in married life.\n\n\n419.\n\nCONTRADICTIONS IN FEMININE MINDS.--Owing to the fact that women are\nso much more personal than objective, there are tendencies included\nin the range of their ideas which are logically in contradiction to\none another; they are accustomed in turn to become enthusiastically\nfond just of the representatives of these tendencies and accept their\nsystems in the lump; but in such wise that a dead place originates\nwherever a new personality afterwards gets the ascendancy. It may\nhappen that the whole philosophy in the mind of an old lady consists of\nnothing but such dead places.\n\n\n420.\n\nWHO SUFFERS THE MORE?--After a personal dissension and quarrel between\na woman and a man the latter party suffers chiefly from the idea of\nhaving wounded the other, whilst the former suffers chiefly from the\nidea of not having wounded the other sufficiently; so she subsequently\nendeavours by tears, sobs, and discomposed mien, to make his heart\nheavier.\n\n\n421.\n\nAN OPPORTUNITY FOR FEMININE MAGNANIMITY.--If we could disregard the\nclaims of custom in our thinking we might consider whether nature and\nreason do not suggest several marriages for men, one after another:\nperhaps that, at the age of twenty-two, he should first marry an\nolder girl who is mentally and morally his superior, and can be his\nleader through all the dangers of the twenties (ambition, hatred,\nself-contempt, and passions of all kinds). This woman's affection\nwould subsequently change entirely into maternal love, and she would\nnot only submit to it but would encourage the man in the most salutary\nmanner, if in his thirties he contracted an alliance with quite a young\ngirl whose education he himself should take in hand. Marriage is a\nnecessary institution for the twenties; a useful, but not necessary,\ninstitution for the thirties; for later life it is often harmful, and\npromotes the mental deterioration of the man.\n\n\n422.\n\nTHE TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD.--Perhaps it not infrequently happens\nthat noble men with lofty aims have to fight their hardest battle\nin childhood; by having perchance to carry out their principles in\nopposition to a base-minded father addicted to feigning and falsehood,\nor living, like Lord Byron, in constant warfare with a childish and\npassionate mother. He who has had such an experience will never be able\nto forget all his life who has been his greatest and most dangerous\nenemy.\n\n\n423.\n\nPARENTAL FOLLY.--The grossest mistakes in judging a man are made by\nhis parents,--this is a fact, but how is it to be explained? Have\nthe parents too much experience of the child and cannot any longer\narrange this experience into a unity? It has been noticed that it\nis only in the earlier period of their sojourn in foreign countries\nthat travellers rightly grasp the general distinguishing features of\na people; the better they come to know it, they are the less able to\nsee what is typical and distinguishing in a people. As soon as they\ngrow short-sighted their eyes cease to be long-sighted. Do parents,\ntherefore, judge their children falsely because they have never stood\nfar enough away from them? The following is quite another explanation:\npeople are no longer accustomed to reflect on what is close at hand and\nsurrounds them, but just accept it. Perhaps the usual thoughtlessness\nof parents is the reason why they judge so wrongly when once they are\ncompelled to judge their children.\n\n\n424.\n\nTHE FUTURE OF MARRIAGE.--The noble and liberal-minded women who take as\ntheir mission the education and elevation of the female sex, should not\noverlook one point of view: Marriage regarded in its highest aspect,\nas, the spiritual friendship of two persons of opposite sexes, and\naccordingly such as is hoped for in future, contracted for the purpose\nof producing and educating a new generation,--such marriage, which\nonly makes use of the sensual, so to speak, as a rare and occasional\nmeans to a higher purpose, will, it is to be feared, probably need a\nnatural auxiliary, namely, _concubinage._ For if, on the grounds of\nhis health, the wife is also to serve for the sole satisfaction of the\nman's sexual needs, a wrong perspective, opposed to the aims indicated,\nwill have most influence in the choice of a wife. The aims referred to:\nthe production of descendants, will be accidental, and their successful\neducation highly improbable. A good wife, who has to be friend, helper,\nchild-bearer, mother, family-head and manager, and has even perhaps\nto conduct her own business and affairs separately from those of the\nhusband, cannot at the same time be a concubine; it would, in general,\nbe asking too much of her. In the future, therefore, a state of things\nmight take place the opposite of what existed at Athens in the time\nof Pericles; the men, whose wives were then little more to them than\nconcubines, turned besides to the Aspasias, because they longed for the\ncharms of a companionship gratifying both to head and heart, such as\nthe grace and intellectual suppleness of women could alone provide. All\nhuman institutions, just like marriage, allow only a moderate amount of\npractical idealising, failing which coarse remedies immediately become\nnecessary.\n\n\n425.\n\nTHE \"STORM AND STRESS\" PERIOD of WOMEN.--In the three or four civilised\ncountries of Europe, it is possible, by several centuries of education,\nto make out of women anything we like,--even men, not in a sexual\nsense, of course, but in every other. Under such influences they will\nacquire all the masculine virtues and forces, at the same time, of\ncourse, they must also have taken all the masculine weaknesses and\nvices into the bargain: so much, as has been said, we can I command.\nBut how shall we endure the intermediate state thereby induced, which\nmay even last two or three centuries, during which feminine follies\nand injustices, woman's original birthday endowment, will still\nmaintain the ascendancy over all that has been otherwise gained and\nacquired? This will be the time when indignation will be the peculiar\nmasculine passion; indignation, because all arts and sciences have been\noverflowed and choked by an unprecedented dilettanteism, philosophy\ntalked to death by brain-bewildering chatter, politics more fantastic\nand partisan than ever, and society in complete disorganisation,\nbecause the conservatrices of ancient customs have become ridiculous\nto themselves, and have endeavoured in every way to place themselves\noutside the pale of custom. If indeed women had their greatest power in\ncustom, where will they have to look in order to reacquire a similar\nplenitude of power after having renounced custom?\n\n\n426.\n\nFREE-SPIRIT AND MARRIAGE.--Will free-thinkers live with women? In\ngeneral, I think that, like the prophesying birds of old, like the\ntruth-thinkers and truth-speakers of the present, they must prefer _to\nfly alone._\n\n\n427.\n\nTHE HAPPINESS OF MARRIAGE.--Everything to which we are accustomed draws\nan ever-tightening cobweb-net around us; and presently We notice that\nthe threads have become cords, and that we ourselves sit in the middle\nlike a spider that has here got itself caught and must feed on its own\nblood. Hence the free spirit hates all rules and customs, all that is\npermanent and definitive, hence he painfully tears asunder again and\nagain the net around him, though in consequence thereof he will suffer\nfrom numerous wounds, slight and severe; for he must break off every\nthread _from himself,_ from his body and soul. He must learn to love\nwhere he has hitherto hated, and _vice versa._ Indeed, it must not be\na thing impossible for him to sow dragon's teeth in the same field in\nwhich he formerly scattered the abundance of his bounty. From this it\ncan be inferred whether he is suited for the happiness of marriage.\n\n\n428.\n\nTOO INTIMATE.--When we live on too intimate terms with a person it\nis as if we were again and again handling a good engraving with our\nfingers; the time comes when we have soiled and damaged paper in our\nhands, and nothing more. A man's soul also gets worn out by constant\nhandling; at least, it eventually _appears_ so to us--never again do we\nsee its original design and beauty. We always lose through too familiar\nassociation with women and friends; and sometimes we lose the pearl of\nour life thereby.\n\n\n429.\n\nTHE GOLDEN CRADLE.--The free spirit will always feel relieved when he\nhas finally resolved to shake off the motherly care and guardianship\nwith which women surround him. What harm will a rough wind, from which\nhe has been so anxiously protected, do him? Of what consequence is a\ngenuine disadvantage, loss, misfortune, sickness, illness, fault, or\nfolly more or less in his life, compared with the bondage of the golden\ncradle, the peacock's-feather fan, and the oppressive feeling that he\nmust, in addition, be grateful because he is waited on and spoiled like\na baby? Hence it is that the milk which is offered him by the motherly\ndisposition of the women about him can so readily turn into gall.\n\n\n430.\n\nA VOLUNTARY VICTIM.--There is nothing by, which able women can\nso alleviate the lives of their husbands, should these be great\nand famous, as by becoming, so to speak, the receptacle for the\ngeneral disfavour and occasional ill-humour of the rest of mankind.\nContemporaries are usually accustomed to overlook many mistakes,\nfollies, and even flagrant injustices in their great men if only they\ncan find some one to maltreat and kill, as a proper victim for the\nrelief of their feelings. A wife not infrequently has the ambition to\npresent herself for this sacrifice, and then the husband may indeed\nfeel satisfied,--he being enough of an egoist to have such a voluntary\nstorm, rain, and lightning-conductor beside him.\n\n\n431.\n\nAGREEABLE ADVERSARIES.--The natural inclination, of women towards\nquiet, regular, happily tuned existences and intercourse, the oil-like\nand calming effect of their influence upon the sea of life, operates\nunconsciously against the heroic inner impulse of the free spirit.\nWithout knowing it, women act as if they were taking away the stones\nfrom the path of the wandering mineralogist in order that he might not\nstrike his foot against them--when he has gone out for the very purpose\nof striking against them.\n\n\n432.\n\nTHE DISCORD OF TWO CONCORDS.--Woman wants to serve, and finds her\nhappiness therein; the free spirit does not want to be served, and\ntherein finds his happiness.\n\n\n433.\n\nXANTIPPE.--Socrates found a wife such as he required,--but he\nwould not have sought her had he known her sufficiently well; even\nthe heroism of his free spirit would not have gone so far. As a\nmatter of fact, Xantippe forced him more and more into his peculiar\nprofession, inasmuch as she made house and home doleful and dismal\nto him; she taught him to live in the streets and wherever gossiping\nand idling went on, and thereby made him the greatest Athenian\nstreet-dialectician, who had, at last, to compare himself to a gad-fly\nwhich a god had set on the neck of the beautiful horse Athens to\nprevent it from resting.\n\n\n434.\n\nBLIND TO THE FUTURE.--Just as mothers have senses and eye only for\nthose pains of their children that are evident to the senses and eye,\nso the wives of men of high aspirations cannot accustom themselves to\nsee their husbands suffering, starving, or slighted,--although all this\nis, perhaps, not only the proof that they have rightly chosen their\nattitude in life, but even the guarantee that their great aims _must_\nbe achieved some time. Women always intrigue privately against the\nhigher souls of their husbands; they want to cheat them out of their\nfuture for the sake of a painless and comfortable present.\n\n\n435.\n\nAUTHORITY AND FREEDOM.--However highly women may honour their husbands,\nthey honour still more the powers and ideas recognised by society; they\nhave been accustomed for millennia to go along with their hands folded\non their breasts, and their heads bent before everything dominant,\ndisapproving of all resistance to public authority. They therefore\nunintentionally, and as if from instinct, hang themselves as a drag\non the wheels of free-spirited, independent endeavour, and in certain\ncircumstances make their husbands highly impatient, especially when the\nlatter persuade themselves that it is really love which prompts the\naction of their wives. To disapprove of women's methods and generously\nto honour the motives that prompt them--that is man's nature and often\nenough his despair.\n\n\n436.\n\n_CETERUM CENSEO._--It is laughable when a company of paupers decree the\nabolition of the right of inheritance, and it is not less laughable\nwhen childless persons labour for the practical law-giving of a\ncountry: they have not enough ballast in their ship to sail safely\nover the ocean of the future. But it seems equally senseless if a man\nwho has chosen for his mission the widest knowledge and estimation of\nuniversal existence, burdens himself with personal considerations for a\nfamily, with the support, protection, and care of wife and child, and\nin front of his telescope hangs that gloomy veil through which hardly a\nray from the distant firmament can penetrate. Thus I, too, agree with\nthe opinion that in matters of the highest philosophy all married men\nare to be suspected.\n\n\n437.\n\nFINALLY.--There are many kinds of hemlock, and fate generally finds\nan opportunity to put a cup of this poison to the lips of the free\nspirit,--in order to \"punish\" him, as every one then says. What do the\nwomen do about him then? They cry and lament, and perhaps disturb the\nsunset-calm of the thinker, as they did in the prison at Athens. \"Oh\nCrito, bid some one take those women away!\" said Socrates at last.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: The opposite of this aphorism also holds good.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 2: It may be remarked that Nietzsche changed his view\non this subject later on, and ascribed more importance to woman's\nintuition. Cf. also Disraeli's reference to the \"High Priestesses of\npredestination.\"--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\nEIGHTH DIVISION.\n\n\nA GLANCE AT THE STATE.\n\n\n\n438.\n\nASKING TO BE HEARD.--The demagogic disposition and the intention of\nworking upon the masses is at present common to all political parties;\non this account they are all obliged to change their principles into\ngreat _al fresco_ follies and thus make a show of them. In this matter\nthere is no further alteration to be made: indeed, it is superfluous\neven to raise a finger against it; for here Voltaire's saying applies:\n\"_Quand la populace se m\u00eale de raisonner, tout est perdu.\"_ Since this\nhas happened we have to accommodate ourselves to the new conditions,\nas we have to accommodate ourselves when an earthquake has displaced\nthe old boundaries and the contour of the land and altered the value\nof property. Moreover, when it is once for all a question in the\npolitics of all parties to make life endurable to the greatest possible\nmajority, this majority may always decide what they understand by an\nendurable life; if they believe their intellect capable of finding the\nright means to this end why should we doubt about it? They _want,_\nonce for all, to be the architects of their own good or ill fortune;\nand if their feeling of free choice and their pride in the five or\nsix ideas that their brain conceals and brings to light, really makes\nlife so agreeable to them that they gladly put up with the fatal\nconsequences of their narrow-mindedness, there is little to object to,\nprovided that their narrow-mindedness does not go so far as to demand\nthat _everything_ shall become politics in this sense, that _all_ shall\nlive and act according to this standard. For, in the first place, it\nmust be more than ever permissible for some people to keep aloof from\npolitics and to stand somewhat aside. To this they are also impelled\nby the pleasure of free choice, and connected with this there may\neven be some little pride in keeping silence when too many, and only\nthe many, are speaking. Then this small group must be excused if they\ndo not attach such great importance to the happiness of the majority\n(nations or strata of population may be understood thereby), and are\noccasionally guilty of an ironical grimace; for their seriousness lies\nelsewhere, their conception of happiness is quite different, and their\naim cannot be encompassed by every clumsy hand that has just five\nfingers. Finally, there comes from time to time--what is certainly\nmost difficult to concede to them, but must also be conceded--a moment\nwhen they emerge from their silent solitariness and try once more the\nstrength of their lungs; they then call to each other like people lost\nin a wood, to make themselves known and for mutual encouragement;\nwhereby, to be sure, much becomes audible that sounds evil to ears for\nwhich it is not intended. Soon, however, silence again prevails in\nthe wood, such silence that the buzzing, humming, and fluttering of\nthe countless insects that live in, above, and beneath it, are again\nplainly heard.\n\n\n439.\n\nCULTURE AND CASTE.--A higher culture can only originate where there are\ntwo distinct castes of society: that of the working class, and that of\nthe leisured class who are capable of true leisure; or, more strongly\nexpressed, the caste of compulsory labour and the caste of free labour.\nThe point of view of the division of happiness is not essential when\nit is a question of the production of a higher culture; in any case,\nhowever, the leisured caste is more susceptible to suffering and\nsuffer more, their pleasure in existence is less and their task is\ngreater. Now supposing there should be quite an interchange between the\ntwo castes, so that on the one hand the duller and less intelligent\nfamilies and individuals are lowered from the higher caste into the\nlower, and, on the other hand, the freer men of the lower caste obtain\naccess to the higher, a condition of things would be attained beyond\nwhich one can only perceive the open sea of vague wishes. Thus speaks\nto us the vanishing voice of the olden time; but where are there still\nears to hear it?\n\n\n440.\n\nOF GOOD BLOOD.--That which men and women of good blood possess much\nmore than others, and which gives them an undoubted right to be\nmore highly appreciated, are two arts which are always increased by\ninheritance: the art of being able to command, and the art of proud\nobedience. Now wherever commanding is the business of the day (as in\nthe great world of commerce and industry), there results something\nsimilar to these families of good blood, only the noble bearing in\nobedience is lacking which is an inheritance from feudal conditions and\nhardly grows any longer in the climate of our culture.\n\n\n441.\n\nSUBORDINATION.--The subordination which is so highly valued in military\nand official ranks will soon become as incredible to us as the secret\ntactics of the Jesuits have already become; and when this subordination\nis no longer possible a multitude of astonishing results will no longer\nbe attained, and the world will be all the poorer. It must disappear,\nfor its foundation is disappearing, the belief in unconditional\nauthority, in ultimate truth; even in military ranks physical\ncompulsion is not sufficient to produce it, but only the inherited\nadoration of the princely as of something superhuman. In _freer_\ncircumstances people subordinate themselves only on conditions, in\ncompliance with a mutual contract, consequently with all the provisos\nof self-interest.\n\n\n442.\n\nTHE NATIONAL ARMY.--The greatest disadvantage of the national army,\nnow so much glorified, lies in the squandering of men of the highest\ncivilisation; it is only by the favourableness of all circumstances\nthat there are such men at all; how carefully and anxiously should we\ndeal with them, since long periods are required to create the chance\nconditions for the production of such delicately organised brains! But\nas the Greeks wallowed in the blood of Greeks, so do Europeans now in\nthe blood of Europeans: and indeed, taken relatively, it is mostly the\nhighly cultivated who are sacrificed, those who promise an abundant\nand excellent posterity; for such stand in the front of the battle as\ncommanders, and also expose themselves to most danger, by reason of\ntheir higher ambition. At present, when quite other and higher tasks\nare assigned than _patria_ and _honor,_ the rough Roman patriotism is\neither something dishonourable or a sign of being behind the times.\n\n\n443.\n\nHOPE AS PRESUMPTION.--Our social order will slowly melt away, as all\nformer orders have done, as soon as the suns of new opinions have shone\nupon mankind with a new glow. We can only _wish_ this melting away in\nthe hope thereof, and we are only reasonably entitled to hope when we\nbelieve that we and our equals have more strength in heart and head\nthan the representatives of the existing state of things. As a rule,\ntherefore, this hope will be a presumption, an _over-estimation._\n\n\n444.\n\nWAR.--Against war it may be said that it makes the victor stupid and\nthe vanquished revengeful. In favour of war it may be said that it\nbarbarises in both its above-named results, and thereby makes more\nnatural; it is the sleep or the winter period of culture; man emerges\nfrom it with greater strength for good and for evil.\n\n\n445.\n\nIN THE PRINCE'S SERVICE.--To be able to act quite regardlessly it is\nbest for a statesman to carry out his work not for himself but for a\nprince. The eye of the spectator is dazzled by the splendour of this\ngeneral disinterestedness, so that it does not see the malignancy and\nseverity which the work of a statesman brings with it.[1]\n\n\n446.\n\nA QUESTION OF POWER, NOT OF RIGHT.--As regards Socialism, in the eyes\nof those who always consider higher utility, if it is _really_ a\nrising against their oppressors of those who for centuries have been\noppressed and downtrodden, there is no problem of _right_ involved\n(notwithstanding the ridiculous, effeminate question,\" How far\n_ought_ we to grant its demands?\") but only a problem of _power_;\nthe same, therefore, as in the case of a natural force,--steam, for\ninstance,--which is either forced by man into his service, as a\nmachine-god, or which, in case of defects of the machine, that is to\nsay, defects of human calculation in its construction, destroys it and\nman together. In order to solve this question of power we must know how\nstrong Socialism is, in what modification it may yet be employed as\na powerful lever in the present mechanism of political forces; under\ncertain circumstances we should do all we can to strengthen it. With\nevery great force--be it the most dangerous--men have to think how they\ncan make of it an instrument for their purposes. Socialism acquires a\n_right_ only if war seems to have taken place between the two powers,\nthe representatives of the old and the new, when, however, a wise\ncalculation of the greatest possible preservation and advantageousness\nto both sides gives rise to a desire for a treaty. Without treaty no\nright. So far, however, there is neither war nor treaty on the ground\nin question, therefore no rights, no \"ought.\"\n\n\n447.\n\nUTILISING THE MOST TRIVIAL DISHONESTY.--The power of the press consists\nin the fact that every individual who ministers to it only feels\nhimself bound and constrained to a very small extent. He usually\nexpresses _his_ opinion, but sometimes also does _not_ express it\nin order to serve his party or the politics of his country, or\neven himself. Such little faults of dishonesty, or perhaps only of\na dishonest silence, are not hard to bear by the individual, but\nthe consequences are extraordinary, because these little faults are\ncommitted by many at the same time. Each one says to himself: \"For such\nsmall concessions I live better and can make my income; by the want of\nsuch little compliances I make myself impossible.\" Because it seems\nalmost morally indifferent to write a line more (perhaps even without\nsignature), or not to write it, a person who has money and influence\ncan make any opinion a public one. He who knows that most people are\nweak in trifles, and wishes to attain his own ends thereby, is always\ndangerous.\n\n\n448.\n\nToo LOUD A TONE IN GRIEVANCES.--Through the fact that an account of a\nbad state of things (for instance, the crimes of an administration,\nbribery and arbitrary favour in political or learned bodies) is greatly\nexaggerated, it fails in its effect on intelligent people, but has\nall the greater effect on the unintelligent (who would have remained\nindifferent to an accurate and moderate account). But as these latter\nare considerably in the majority, and harbour in themselves stronger\nwill-power and more impatient desire for action, the exaggeration\nbecomes the cause of investigations, punishments, promises, and\nreorganisations. In so far it is useful to exaggerate the accounts of\nbad states of things.\n\n\n449.\n\nTHE APPARENT WEATHER--MAKERS OF POLITICS.--Just as people tacitly\nassume that he who understands the weather, and foretells it about a\nday in advance, makes the weather, so even the educated and learned,\nwith a display of superstitious faith, ascribe to great statesmen as\ntheir most special work all the important changes and conjunctures that\nhave taken place during their administration, when it is only evident\nthat they knew something thereof a little earlier than other people and\nmade their calculations accordingly,--thus they are also looked upon as\nweather-makers--and this belief is not the least important instrument\nof their power.\n\n\n450.\n\nNEW AND OLD CONCEPTIONS OF GOVERNMENT.--To draw such a distinction\nbetween Government and people as if two separate spheres of power,\na stronger and higher, and a weaker and lower, negotiated and came\nto terms with each other, is a remnant of transmitted political\nsentiment, which still accurately represents the historic establishment\nof the conditions of power in _most_ States. When Bismarck, for\ninstance, describes the constitutional system as a compromise between\nGovernment and people, he speaks in accordance with a principle which\nhas its reason in history (from whence, to be sure, it also derives\nits admixture of folly, without which nothing human can exist). On\nthe other hand, we must now learn--in accordance with a principle\nwhich has originated only in the _brain_ and has still to _make_\nhistory--that Government is nothing but an organ of the people,--not\nan attentive, honourable \"higher\" in relation to a \"lower\" accustomed\nto modesty. Before we accept this hitherto unhistorical and arbitrary,\nalthough logical, formulation of the conception of Government, let us\nbut consider its consequences, for the relation between people and\nGovernment is the strongest typical relation, after the pattern of\nwhich the relationship between teacher and pupil, master and servants,\nfather and family, leader and soldier, master and apprentice, is\nunconsciously formed. At present, under the influence of the prevailing\nconstitutional system of government, all these relationships are\nchanging a little,--they are becoming compromises. But how they will\nhave to be reversed and shifted, and change name and nature, when that\nnewest of all conceptions has got the upper hand everywhere in people's\nminds!--to achieve which, however, a century may yet be required. In\nthis matter there is nothing _further_ to be wished for except caution\nand slow development.\n\n\n451.\n\nJUSTICE AS THE DECOY-CRY OF PARTIES.--Well may noble (if not exactly\nvery intelligent) representatives of the governing classes asseverate:\n\"We will treat men equally and grant them equal rights\"; so far a\nsocialistic mode of thought which is based on _justice_ is possible;\nbut, as has been said, only within the ranks of the governing class,\nwhich in this case _practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations.\nOn the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the Socialists\nof the subject caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of\ncovetousness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and\nwithdraw them again, until it finally begins to roar, do you think that\nroaring implies justice?\n\n\n452.\n\nPOSSESSION AND JUSTICE.--When the Socialists point out that the\ndivision of property at the present day is the consequence of countless\ndeeds of injustice and violence, and, _in summa,_ repudiate obligation\nto anything with so unrighteous a basis, they only perceive something\nisolated. The entire past of ancient civilisation is built up on\nviolence, slavery, deception, and error; we, however, cannot annul\nourselves, the heirs of all these conditions, nay, the concrescences\nof all this past, and are not entitled to demand the withdrawal of a\nsingle fragment thereof. The unjust disposition lurks also in the souls\nof non-possessors; they are not better than the possessors and have no\nmoral prerogative; for at one time or another their ancestors have been\npossessors. Not forcible new distributions, but gradual transformations\nof opinion are necessary; justice in all matters must become greater,\nthe instinct of violence weaker.\n\n\n453.\n\nTHE HELMSMAN OF THE PASSIONS.--The statesman excites public passions in\norder to have the advantage of the counter-passions thereby aroused. To\ngive an example: a German statesman knows quite well that the Catholic\nChurch will never have the same plans as Russia; indeed, that it would\nfar rather be allied with the Turk than with the former country; he\nlikewise knows that Germany is threatened with great danger from an\nalliance between France and Russia. If he can succeed, therefore, in\nmaking France the focus and fortress of the Catholic Church, he has\naverted this danger for a lengthy period. He has, accordingly, an\ninterest in showing hatred against the Catholics in transforming, by\nall kinds of hostility, the supporters of the Pope's authority into an\nimpassioned political power which is opposed to German politics, and\nmust, as a matter of course, coalesce with France as the adversary of\nGermany; his aim is the catholicising of France, just as necessarily\nas Mirabeau saw the salvation of his native land in de-catholicising\nit. The one State, therefore, desires to muddle millions of minds\nof another State in order to gain advantage thereby. It is the same\ndisposition which supports the republican form of government of a\nneighbouring State--_le d\u00e9sordre organis\u00e9,_ as M\u00e9rim\u00e9e says--for the\nsole reason that it assumes that this form of government makes the\nnation weaker, more distracted, less fit for war.\n\n\n454.\n\nTHE DANGEROUS REVOLUTIONARY SPIRITS.--Those who are bent on\nrevolutionising society may be divided into those who seek something\nfor themselves thereby and those who seek something for their children\nand grandchildren. The latter are the more dangerous, for they have the\nbelief and the good conscience of disinterestedness. The others can be\nappeased by favours: those in power are still sufficiently rich and\nwise to adopt that expedient. The danger begins as soon as the aims\nbecome impersonal; revolutionists seeking impersonal interests may\nconsider all defenders of the present state of things as personally\ninterested, and may therefore feel themselves superior to their\nopponents.\n\n\n455.\n\nTHE POLITICAL VALUE OF PATERNITY.--When a man has no sons he has not a\nfull right to join in a discussion concerning the needs of a particular\ncommunity. A person must himself have staked his dearest object along\nwith the others: that alone binds him fast to the State; he must have\nin view the well-being of his descendants, and must, therefore, above\nall, have descendants in order to take a right and natural share in\nall institutions and the changes thereof. The development of higher\nmorality depends on a person's having sons; it disposes him to be\nun-egoistic, or, more correctly, it extends his egoism in its duration\nand permits him earnestly to strive after goals which lie beyond his\nindividual lifetime.\n\n\n456.\n\nPRIDE OF DESCENT.--A man may be justly proud of an unbroken line of\n_good_ ancestors down to his father,--not however of the line itself,\nfor every one has that. Descent from good ancestors constitutes the\nreal nobility of birth; a single break in the chain, one bad ancestor,\ntherefore, destroys the nobility of birth. Every one who talks about\nhis nobility should be asked: \"Have you no violent, avaricious,\ndissolute, wicked, cruel man amongst your ancestors?\" If with good\ncognisance and conscience he can answer No, then let his friendship be\nsought.\n\n\n457.\n\nSLAVES AND LABOURERS.--The fact that we regard the gratification of\nvanity as of more account than all other forms of well-being (security,\nposition, and pleasures of all sorts), is shown to a ludicrous\nextent by every one wishing for the abolition of slavery and utterly\nabhorring to put any one into this position (apart altogether from\npolitical reasons), while every one must acknowledge to himself that\nin all respects slaves live more securely and more happily than modern\nlabourers, and that slave labour is very easy labour compared with that\nof the \"labourer.\" We protest in the name of the \"dignity of man\"; but,\nexpressed more simply, that is just our darling vanity which feels\nnon-equality, and inferiority in public estimation, to be the hardest\nlot of all. The cynic thinks differently concerning the matter,\nbecause he despises honour:--and so Diogenes was for some time a slave\nand tutor.\n\n\n458.\n\nLEADING MINDS AND THEIR INSTRUMENTS.--We see that great statesmen, and\nin general all who have to employ many people to carry out their plans,\nsometimes proceed one way and sometimes another; they either choose\nwith great skill and care the people suitable for their plans, and then\nleave them a comparatively large amount of liberty, because they know\nthat the nature of the persons selected impels them precisely to the\npoint where they themselves would have them go; or else they choose\nbadly, in fact take whatever comes to hand, but out of every piece of\nclay they form something useful for their purpose. These latter minds\nare the more high-handed; they also desire more submissive instruments;\ntheir knowledge of mankind is usually much smaller, their contempt of\nmankind greater than in the case of the first mentioned class, but the\nmachines they construct generally work better than the machines from\nthe workshops of the former.\n\n\n459.\n\nARBITRARY LAW NECESSARY.--Jurists dispute whether the most perfectly\nthought-out law or that which is most easily understood should prevail\nin a nation. The former, the best model of which is Roman Law, seems\nincomprehensible to the layman, and is therefore not the expression of\nhis sense of justice. Popular laws, the Germanic, for instance, have\nbeen rude, superstitious, illogical, and in part idiotic, but they\nrepresented very definite, inherited national morals and sentiments.\nBut where, as with us, law i no longer custom, it can only _command_\nand be compulsion; none of us any longer possesses a traditional sense\nof justice; we must therefore content ourselves with _arbitrary laws,_\nwhich are the expressions of the necessity that there _must be_ law.\nThe most logical is then in any case the most acceptable, because it\nis the most _impartial,_ granting even that in every case the smallest\nunit of measure in the relation of crime and punishment is arbitrarily\nfixed.\n\n\n460.\n\nTHE GREAT MAN OF THE MASSES.--The recipe for what the masses call a\ngreat man is easily given. In all circumstances let a person provide\nthem with something very pleasant, or first let him put it into their\nheads that this or that would be very pleasant, and then let him give\nit to them. On no account give it _immediately,_ however: but let\nhim acquire it by the greatest exertions, or seem thus to acquire\nit. The masses must have the impression that there is a powerful,\nnay indomitable strength of will operating; at least it must seem to\nbe there operating. Everybody admires a strong will, because nobody\npossesses it, and everybody says to himself that if he did possess\nit there would no longer be any bounds for him and his egoism. If,\nthen, it becomes evident that such a strong will effects something\nvery agreeable to the masses, instead of hearkening to the wishes\nof covetousness, people admire once more, and wish good luck to\nthemselves. Moreover, if he has all the qualities of the masses, they\nare the less ashamed before him, and he is all the more popular.\nConsequently, he may be violent, envious, rapacious, intriguing,\nflattering, fawning, inflated, and, according to circumstances,\nanything whatsoever.\n\n\n461.\n\nPRINCE AND GOD.--People frequently commune with their princes in the\nsame way as with their God, as indeed the prince himself was frequently\nthe Deity's representative, or at least His high priest. This almost\nuncanny disposition of veneration, disquiet, and shame, grew, and has\ngrown, much weaker, but occasionally it flares up again, and fastens\nupon powerful persons generally. The cult of genius is an echo of this\nveneration of Gods and Princes. Wherever an effort is made to exalt\nparticular men to the superhuman, there is also a tendency to regard\nwhole grades of the population as coarser and baser than they really\nare.\n\n\n462.\n\nMY UTOPIA.--In a better arranged society the heavy work and trouble\nof life will be assigned to those who suffer least through it, to the\nmost obtuse, therefore; and so step by step up to those who are most\nsensitive to the highest and sublimest kinds of suffering, and who\ntherefore still suffer notwithstanding the greatest alleviations of\nlife.\n\n\n463.\n\nA DELUSION IN SUBVERSIVE DOCTRINES.--There are political and social\ndreamers who ardently and eloquently call for the overthrow of all\norder, in the belief that the proudest fane of beautiful humanity\nwill then rear itself immediately, almost of its own accord. In these\ndangerous dreams there is still an echo of Rousseau's superstition,\nwhich believes in a marvellous primordial goodness of human nature,\nburied up, as it were; and lays all the blame of that burying-up on\nthe institutions of civilisation, on society, State, and education.\nUnfortunately, it is well known by historical experiences that\nevery such overthrow reawakens into new life the wildest energies,\nthe long-buried horrors and extravagances of remotest ages; that\nan overthrow, therefore, may possibly be a source of strength to a\ndeteriorated humanity, but never a regulator, architect, artist,\nor perfecter of human nature. It was not _Voltaire's_ moderate\nnature, inclined towards regulating, purifying, and reconstructing,\nbut _Rousseau's_ passionate follies and half-lies that aroused the\noptimistic spirit of the Revolution, against which I cry, \"_\u00c9crasez\nl'inf\u00e2me!_\" Owing to this _the Spirit of enlightenment and progressive\ndevelopment_ has been long scared away; let us see--each of us\nindividually--if it is not possible to recall it!\n\n\n464.\n\nMODERATION.--When perfect resoluteness in thinking and investigating,\nthat is to say, freedom of spirit, has become a feature of character,\nit produces moderation of conduct; for it weakens avidity, attracts\nmuch extant energy for the furtherance of intellectual aims, and shows\nthe semi-usefulness, or uselessness and danger, of all sudden changes.\n\n\n465.\n\nTHE RESURRECTION OF THE SPIRIT.--A nation usually renews its youth on\na political sick-bed, and there finds again the spirit which it had\ngradually lost in seeking and maintaining power. Culture is indebted\nmost of all to politically weakened periods.\n\n\n466.\n\nNEW OPINIONS IN THE OLD HOME.--The overthrow of opinions is not\nimmediately followed by the overthrow of institutions; on the contrary,\nthe new opinions dwell for a long time in the desolate and haunted\nhouse of their predecessors, and conserve it even for want of a\nhabitation.\n\n\n467.\n\nPUBLIC EDUCATION.--In large States public education will always be\nextremely mediocre, for the same reason that in large kitchens the\ncooking is at best only mediocre.\n\n\n468.\n\nINNOCENT CORRUPTION.--In all institutions into which the sharp breeze\nof public criticism does not penetrate an innocent corruption grows up\nlike a fungus (for instance, in learned bodies and senates).\n\n\n469.\n\nSCHOLARS AS POLITICIANS.--To scholars who become politicians the comic\nrole is usually assigned; they have to be the good conscience of a\nstate policy.\n\n\n470.\n\nTHE WOLF HIDDEN BEHIND THE SHEEP.--Almost every politician, in certain\ncircumstances, has such need of an honest man that he breaks into the\nsheep-fold like a famished wolf; not, however, to devour a stolen\nsheep, but to hide himself behind its woolly back.\n\n\n471.\n\nHAPPY TIMES.--A happy age is no longer possible, because men only wish\nfor it but do not desire to have it; and each individual, when good\ndays come for him, learns positively to pray for disquiet and misery.\nThe destiny of mankind is arranged for _happy moments_--every life has\nsuch--but not for happy times. Nevertheless, such times will continue\nto exist in man's imagination as \"over the hills and far away,\" an\nheirloom of his earliest ancestors; for the idea of the happy age, from\nthe earliest times to the present, has no doubt been derived from the\nstate in which man, after violent exertions in hunting and warfare,\ngives himself over to repose, stretches out his limbs, and hears the\nwings of sleep rustle around him. It is a false conclusion when, in\naccordance with that old habit, man imagines that after _whole periods_\nof distress and trouble he will be able also to enjoy the state of\nhappiness in _proportionate increase and duration._\n\n\n472.\n\nRELIGION AND GOVERNMENT.--So long as the State, or, more properly, the\nGovernment, regards itself as the appointed guardian of a number of\nminors, and on their account considers the question whether religion\nshould be preserved or abolished, it is highly probable that it will\nalways decide for the preservation thereof. For religion satisfies\nthe nature of the individual in times of loss, destitution, terror,\nand distrust, in cases, therefore, where the Government feels\nitself incapable of doing anything directly for the mitigation of\nthe spiritual sufferings of the individual; indeed, even in general\nunavoidable and next to inevitable evils (famines, financial crises,\nand wars) religion gives to the masses an attitude of tranquillity and\nconfiding expectancy. Whenever the necessary or accidental deficiencies\nof the State Government, or the dangerous consequences of dynastic\ninterests, strike the eyes of the intelligent and make them refractory,\nthe unintelligent will only think they see the finger of God therein\nand will submit with patience to the dispensations from _on high_\n(a conception in which divine and human modes of government usually\ncoalesce); thus internal civil peace and continuity of development\nwill be preserved. The power, which lies in the unity of popular\nfeeling, in the existence of the same opinions and aims for all, is\nprotected and confirmed by religion,--the rare cases excepted in\nwhich a priesthood cannot agree with the State about the price, and\ntherefore comes into conflict with it. As a rule the State will know\nhow to win over the priests, because it needs their most private and\nsecret system for educating souls, and knows how to value servants who\napparently, and outwardly, represent quite other interests. Even at\npresent no power can become \"legitimate\" without the assistance of the\npriests; a fact which Napoleon understood. Thus, absolutely paternal\ngovernment and the careful preservation of religion necessarily go\nhand-in-hand. In this connection it must be taken for granted that\nthe rulers and governing classes are enlightened concerning the\nadvantages which religion affords, and consequently feel themselves\nto a certain extent superior to it, inasmuch as they use it as a\nmeans; thus freedom of spirit has its origin here. But how will it be\nwhen the totally different interpretation of the idea of Government,\nsuch as is taught in _democratic_ States, begins to prevail? When\none sees in it nothing but the instrument of the popular will, no\n\"upper\" in contrast to an \"under,\" but merely a function of the sole\nsovereign, the people? Here also only the same attitude which the\npeople assume towards religion can be assumed by the Government;\nevery diffusion of enlightenment will have to find an echo even in\nthe representatives, and the utilising and exploiting of religious\nimpulses and consolations for State purposes will not be so easy\n(unless powerful party leaders occasionally exercise an influence\nresembling that of enlightened despotism). When, however, the State\nis not permitted to derive any further advantage from religion, or\nwhen people think far too variously on religious matters to allow the\nState to adopt a consistent and uniform procedure with respect to them,\nthe way out of the difficulty will necessarily present itself, namely\nto treat religion as a private affair and leave it to the conscience\nand custom of each single individual. The first result of all is that\nreligious feeling seems to be strengthened, inasmuch as hidden and\nsuppressed impulses thereof, which the State had unintentionally or\nintentionally stifled, now break forth and rush to extremes; later\non, however, it is found that religion is over-grown with sects, and\nthat an abundance of dragon's teeth were sown as soon as religion was\nmade a private affair. The spectacle of strife, and the hostile laying\nbare of all the weaknesses of religious confessions, admit finally of\nno other expedient except that every better and more talented person\nshould make irreligiousness his private affair, a sentiment which now\nobtains the upper hand even in the minds of the governing classes,\nand, almost against their will, gives an anti-religious character to\ntheir measures. As soon as this happens, the sentiment of persons\nstill religiously disposed, who formerly adored the State as something\nhalf sacred or wholly sacred, changes into decided _hostility to the\nState;_ they lie in wait for governmental measures, seeking to hinder,\nthwart, and disturb as much as they can, and, by the fury of their\ncontradiction, drive the opposing parties, the irreligious ones, into\nan almost fanatical enthusiasm _for_ the State; in connection with\nwhich there is also the silently co-operating influence, that since\ntheir separation from religion the hearts of persons in these circles\nare conscious of a void, and seek by devotion to the State to provide\nthemselves provisionally with a substitute for religion, a kind of\nstuffing for the void. After these perhaps lengthy transitional\nstruggles, it is finally decided whether the religious parties are\nstill strong enough to revive an old condition of things, and turn the\nwheel backwards: in which case enlightened despotism (perhaps less\nenlightened and more timorous than formerly), inevitably gets the\nState into its hands,--or whether the non-religious parties achieve\ntheir purpose, and, possibly through schools and education, check the\nincrease of their opponents during several generations, and finally\nmake them no longer possible. Then, however, their enthusiasm for the\nState also abates: it always becomes more obvious that along with\nthe religious adoration which regards the State as a mystery and a\nsupernatural institution, the reverent and pious relation to it has\nalso been convulsed. Henceforth individuals see only that side of the\nState which may be useful or injurious to them, and press forward by\nall means to obtain an influence over it. But this rivalry soon becomes\ntoo great; men and parties change too rapidly, and throw each other\ndown again too furiously from the mountain when they have only just\nsucceeded in getting aloft. All the measures which such a Government\ncarries out lack the guarantee of permanence; people then fight shy of\nundertakings which would require the silent growth of future decades\nor centuries to produce ripe fruit. Nobody henceforth feels any other\nobligation to a law than to submit for the moment to the power which\nintroduced the law; people immediately set to work, however, to\nundermine it by a new power, a newly-formed majority. Finally--it may\nbe confidently asserted--the distrust of all government, the insight\ninto the useless and harassing nature of these short-winded struggles,\nmust drive men to an entirely new resolution: to the abrogation of\nthe conception of the State and the abolition of the contrast of\n\"private and public.\" Private concerns gradually absorb the business\nof the State; even the toughest residue which is left over from the\nold work of governing (the business, for instance, which is meant to\nprotect private persons from private persons) will at last some day\nbe managed by private enterprise. The neglect, decline, and _death\nof the State,_ the liberation of the private person (I am careful\nnot to say the individual), are the consequences of the democratic\nconception of the State; that is its mission. When it has accomplished\nits task,--which, like everything human, involves much rationality\nand irrationality,--and when all relapses into the old malady have\nbeen overcome, then a new leaf in the story-book of humanity will be\nunrolled, on which readers will find all kinds of strange tales and\nperhaps also some amount of good. To repeat shortly what has been\nsaid: the interests of the tutelary Government and the interests of\nreligion go hand-in-hand, so that when the latter begins to decay\nthe foundations of the State are also shaken. The belief in a divine\nregulation of political affairs, in a mystery in the existence of\nthe State, is of religious origin: if religion disappears, the State\nwill inevitably lose its old veil of Isis, and will no longer arouse\nveneration. The sovereignty of the people, looked at closely, serves\nalso to dispel the final fascination and superstition in the realm\nof these sentiments; modern democracy is the historical form of the\n_decay of the State._ The outlook which results from this certain\ndecay is not, however, unfortunate in every respect; the wisdom and\nthe selfishness of men are the best developed of all their qualities;\nwhen the State no longer meets the demands of these impulses, chaos\nwill least of all result, but a still more appropriate expedient than\nthe State will get the mastery over the State. How man organising forces\nhave already been seen to die out! For example, that of the _gens_\nor clan which for millennia was far mightier than the power of the\nfamily, and indeed already ruled and regulated long before the latter\nexisted. We ourselves see the important notions of the right and might\nof the family, which once possessed the supremacy as far as the Roman\nsystem extended, always becoming paler and feebler. In the same way a\nlater generation will also see the State become meaningless in certain\nparts of the world,--an idea which many contemporaries can hardly\ncontemplate without alarm and horror. To _labour_ for the propagation\nand realisation of this idea is, certainly, another thing; one must\nthink very presumptuously of one's reason, and only half understand\nhistory, to set one's hand to the plough at present--when as yet no\none can show us the seeds that are afterwards to be sown upon the\nbroken soil. Let us, therefore, trust to the \"wisdom and selfishness\nof men\" that the State may _yet_ exist a good while longer, and that\nthe destructive attempts of over-zealous, too hasty sciolists may be in\nvain!\n\n\n473.\n\nSOCIALISM, WITH REGARD TO ITS MEANS.--Socialism is the fantastic\nyounger brother of almost decrepit despotism, which it wants to\nsucceed; its efforts are, therefore, in the deepest sense reactionary.\nFor it desires such an amount of State power as only despotism has\npossessed,--indeed, it outdoes all the past, in that it aims at the\ncomplete annihilation of the individual, whom it deems an unauthorised\nluxury of nature, which is to be improved by it into an appropriate\n_organ of the general community._ Owing to its relationship, it always\nappears in proximity to excessive developments of power, like the\nold typical socialist, Plato, at the court of the Sicilian tyrant;\nit desires (and under certain circumstances furthers) the C\u00e6sarian\ndespotism of this century, because, as has been said, it would like to\nbecome its heir. But even this inheritance would not suffice for its\nobjects, it requires the most submissive prostration of all citizens\nbefore the absolute State, such as has never yet been realised; and\nas it can no longer even count upon the old religious piety towards\nthe State, but must rather strive involuntarily and continuously for\nthe abolition thereof,--because it strives for the abolition of all\nexisting _States,_--it can only hope for existence occasionally, here\nand there for short periods, by means of the extremest terrorism. It is\ntherefore silently preparing itself for reigns of terror, and drives\nthe word \"justice\" like a nail into the heads of the half-cultured\nmasses in order to deprive them completely of their understanding\n(after they had already suffered seriously from the half-culture), and\nto provide them with a good conscience for the bad game they are to\nplay. Socialism may serve to teach, very brutally and impressively, the\ndanger of all accumulations of State power, and may serve so far to\ninspire distrust of the State itself. When its rough voice strikes up\nthe way-cry \"_as much State as possible_,\" the shout at first becomes\nlouder than ever,--but soon the opposition cry also breaks forth, with\nso much greater force: \"_as little State as possible._\"\n\n\n474.\n\nTHE DEVELOPMENT OF THE MIND FEARED BY THE STATE.--The Greek _polis_\nwas, like every organising political power, exclusive and distrustful\nof the growth of culture; its powerful fundamental impulse seemed\nalmost solely to have a paralysing and obstructive effect thereon.\nIt did not want to let any history or any becoming have a place in\nculture; the education laid down in the State laws was meant to\nbe obligatory on all generations to keep them at _one_ stage of\ndevelopment. Plato also, later on, did not desire it to be otherwise\nin his ideal State. _In spite of_ the polis culture developed itself\nin this manner; indirectly to be sure, and against its will, the polis\nfurnished assistance because the ambition of individuals therein was\nstimulated to the utmost, so that, having once found the path of\nintellectual development, they followed it to its farthest extremity.\nOn the other hand, appeal should not be made to the panegyric of\nPericles, for it is only a great optimistic dream about the alleged\nnecessary connection between the Polis and Athenian culture;\nimmediately before the night fell over Athens the plague and the\nbreakdown of tradition, Thucydides makes this culture flash up once\nmore like of the evil day that had preceded.\n\n\n475.\n\nEUROPEAN MAN AND THE DESTRUCTION OF NATIONALITIES.--Commerce and\nindustry, interchange of books and letters, the universality of\nall higher culture, the rapid changing of locality and landscape,\nand the present nomadic life of all who are not landowners,--these\ncircumstances necessarily bring with them a weakening, and finally\na destruction of nationalities, at least of European nationalities;\nso that, in consequence of perpetual crossings, there must arise\nout of them all a mixed race, that of the European man. At present\nthe isolation of nations, through the rise of _national_ enmities,\nconsciously or unconsciously counteracts this tendency; but\nnevertheless the process of fusing advances slowly, in spite of those\noccasional counter-currents. This artificial nationalism is, however,\nas dangerous as was artificial Catholicism, for it is essentially\nan un natural condition of extremity and martial la which has been\nproclaimed by the few over the many, and requires artifice, lying,\nand force maintain its reputation. It is not the interests the many\n(of the peoples), as they probably say, but it is first of all the\ninterests of certain princely dynasties, and then of certain commercial\nand social classes, which impel to this nationalism; once we have\nrecognised this fact, we should just fearlessly style ourselves _good\nEuropeans_ and labour actively for the amalgamation of nations; in\nwhich efforts Germans may assist by virtue of their hereditary position\nas _interpreters and intermediaries between nations._ By the way, the\ngreat problem of the _Jews_ only exists within the national States,\ninasmuch as their energy and higher intelligence, their intellectual\nand volitional capital, accumulated from generation to generation in\ntedious schools of suffering, must necessarily attain to universal\nsupremacy here to an extent provocative of envy and hatred; so that\nthe literary misconduct is becoming prevalent in almost all modern\nnations --and all the more so as they again set up to be national--of\nsacrificing the Jews as the scape-goats of all possible public\nand private abuses. So soon as it is no longer a question of the\npreservation or establishment of nations, but of the production and\ntraining of a European mixed-race of the greatest possible strength,\nthe Jew is just as useful and desirable an ingredient as any other\nnational remnant. Every nation, every individual, has unpleasant and\neven dangerous qualities,--it is cruel to require that the Jew should\nbe an exception. Those qualities may even be dangerous and frightful\nin a special degree in his case; and perhaps the young Stock-Exchange\nJew is in general the most repulsive invention of the human species.\nNevertheless, in a general summing up, I should like to know how much\nmust be excused in a nation which, not without blame on the part of\nall of us, has had the most mournful history of all nations, and to\nwhich we owe the most loving of men (Christ), the most upright of sages\n(Spinoza), the mightiest book, and the most effective moral law in the\nworld? Moreover, in the darkest times of the Middle Ages, when Asiatic\nclouds had gathered darkly over Europe, it was Jewish free-thinkers,\nscholars, and physicians who upheld the banner of enlightenment and of\nintellectual independence under the severest personal sufferings, and\ndefended Europe against Asia; we owe it not least to their efforts that\na more natural, more reasonable, at all events un-mythical, explanation\nof the world was finally able to get the upper hand once more, and\nthat the link of culture which now unites us with the enlightenment\nof Greco-Roman antiquity has remained unbroken. If Christianity has\ndone everything to orientalise the Occident, Judaism has assisted\nessentially in occidentalising it anew; which, in a certain sense, is\nequivalent to making Europe's mission and history a _continuation of\nthat of Greece_.\n\n\n476.\n\nAPPARENT SUPERIORITY OF THE MIDDLE AGES.--The Middle Ages present in\nthe Church an institution with an absolutely universal aim, involving\nthe whole of humanity,--an aim, moreover, which--presumedly--concerned\nman's highest interests; in comparison therewith the aims of the States\nand nations which modern history exhibits make a painful impression;\nthey seem petty, base, material, and restricted in extent. But this\ndifferent impression on our imagination should certainly not determine\nour judgment; for that universal institution corresponded to feigned\nand fictitiously fostered needs, such as the need of salvation, which,\nwherever they did not already exist, it had first of all to create:\nthe, new institutions, however, relieve actual distresses; and the\ntime is coming when institutions will arise to minister to the common,\ngenuine needs of all men, and to cast that fantastic prototype, the\nCatholic Church, into shade and oblivion.\n\n\n477.\n\nWAR INDISPENSABLE.--It is nothing but fanaticism and beautiful soulism\nto expect very much (or even, much only) from humanity when it has\nforgotten how to wage war. For the present we know of no other means\nwhereby the rough energy of the camp, the deep impersonal hatred, the\ncold-bloodedness of murder with a good conscience, the general ardour\nof the system in the destruction of the enemy, the proud indifference\nto great losses, to one's own existence and that of one's friends, the\nhollow, earthquake-like convulsion of the soul, can be as forcibly\nand certainly communicated to enervated nations as is done by every\ngreat war: owing to the brooks and streams that here break forth,\nwhich, certainly, sweep stones and rubbish of all sorts along with\nthem and destroy the meadows of delicate cultures, the mechanism in\nthe workshops of the mind is afterwards, in favourable circumstances,\nrotated by new power. Culture can by no means dispense with passions,\nvices, and malignities. When the Romans, after having become Imperial,\nhad grown rather tired of war, they attempted to gain new strength\nby beast-baitings, gladiatoral combats, and Christian persecutions.\nThe English of to-day, who appear on the whole to have also renounced\nwar, adopt other means in order to generate anew those vanishing\nforces; namely, the dangerous exploring expeditions, sea voyages and\nmountaineerings, nominally undertaken for scientific purposes, but in\nreality to bring home surplus strength from adventures and dangers of\nall kinds. Many other such substitutes for war will be discovered, but\nperhaps precisely thereby it will become more and more obvious that\nsuch a highly cultivated and therefore necessarily enfeebled humanity\nas that of modern Europe not only needs wars, but the greatest and most\nterrible wars,--consequently occasional relapses into barbarism,--lest,\nby the means of culture, it should lose its culture and its very\nexistence.\n\n\n478.\n\nINDUSTRY IN THE SOUTH AND THE NORTH.--Industry arises in two entirely\ndifferent ways. The artisans of the South are not industrious because\nof acquisitiveness but because of the constant needs of others. The\nsmith is industrious because some one is always coming who wants a\nhorse shod or a carriage mended. If nobody came he would loiter about\nin the market-place. In a fruitful land he has little trouble in\nsupporting himself, for that purpose he requires only a very small\namount of work, certainly no industry; eventually he would beg and\nbe contented. The industry of English workmen, on the contrary, has\nacquisitiveness behind it; it is conscious of itself and its aims; with\nproperty it wants power, and with power the greatest possible liberty\nand individual distinction.\n\n\n479.\n\nWEALTH AS THE ORIGIN OF A NOBILITY OF RACE.--Wealth necessarily\ncreates an aristocracy of race, for it permits the choice of the most\nbeautiful women and the engagement of the best teachers; it allows a\nman cleanliness, time for physical exercises, and, above all, immunity\nfrom dulling physical labour. So far it provides all the conditions\nfor making man, after a few generations, move and even act nobly and\nhandsomely: greater freedom of character and absence of niggardliness,\nof wretchedly petty matters, and of abasement before bread-givers. It\nis precisely these negative qualities which are the most profitable\nbirthday gift, that of happiness, for the young man; a person who is\nquite poor usually comes to grief through nobility of disposition,\nhe does not get on, and acquires nothing, his race is not capable\nof living. In this connection, however, it must be remembered that\nwealth produces almost the same effects whether one have three hundred\nor thirty thousand thalers a year; there is no further essential\nprogression of the favourable conditions afterwards. But to have less,\nto beg in boyhood and to abase one's self is terrible, although it may\nbe the proper starting-point for such as seek their happiness in the\nsplendour of courts, in subordination to the mighty, and influential,\nor for such as wish to be heads of the Church. (It teaches how to slink\ncrouching into the underground passages to favour.)\n\n\n480.\n\nENVY AND INERTIA IN DIFFERENT COURSES.--The two opposing parties,\nthe socialist and the national,--or whatever they may be called in\nthe different countries of Europe,--are worthy of each other; envy\nand laziness are the motive powers in each of them. In the one camp\nthey desire to work as little as possible with their hands, in the\nother as little as possible with their heads; in the latter they hate\nand envy prominent, self-evolving individuals, who do not willingly\nallow themselves to be drawn up in rank and file for the purpose of\na collective effect; in the former they hate and envy the better\nsocial caste, which is more favourably circumstanced outwardly, whose\npeculiar mission, the production of the highest blessings of culture,\nmakes life inwardly all the harder and more painful. Certainly, if it\nbe possible to make the spirit of the collective effect the spirit of\nthe higher classes of society, the socialist crowds are quite right,\nwhen they also seek outward equalisation between themselves and these\nclasses, since they are certainly internally equalised with one another\nalready in head and heart. Live as higher men, and always do the deeds\nof higher culture,--thus everything that lives will acknowledge your\nright, and the order of society, whose summit ye are, will be safe\nfrom every evil glance and attack!\n\n\n481.\n\nHIGH POLITICS AND THEIR DETRIMENTS.--Just as a nation does not suffer\nthe greatest losses that war and readiness for war involve through\nthe expenses of the war, or the stoppage of trade and traffic, or\nthrough the maintenance of a standing army,--however great these\nlosses may now be, when eight European States expend yearly the sum\nof five milliards of marks thereon,--but owing to the fact that\nyear after year its ablest, strongest, and most industrious men are\nwithdrawn in extraordinary numbers from their proper occupations and\ncallings to be turned into soldiers: in the same way, a nation that\nsets about practising high politics and securing a decisive voice\namong the great Powers does not suffer its greatest losses where\nthey are usually supposed to be. In fact, from this time onward it\nconstantly sacrifices a number of its most conspicuous talents upon\nthe \"Altar of the Fatherland\" or of national ambition, whilst formerly\nother spheres of activity were open to those talents which are now\nswallowed up by politics. But apart from these public hecatombs, and\nin reality much more horrible, there is a drama which is constantly\nbeing performed simultaneously in a hundred thousand acts; every able,\nindustrious, intellectually striving man of a nation that thus covets\npolitical laurels, is swayed by this covetousness, and no longer\nbelongs entirely to himself alone as he did formerly; the new daily\nquestions and cares of the public welfare devour a daily tribute of\nthe intellectual and emotional capital of every citizen; the sum of\nall these sacrifices and losses of, individual energy and labour is\nso enormous, that the political growth of a nation almost necessarily\nentails an intellectual impoverishment and lassitude, a diminished\ncapacity for the performance of works that require great concentration\nand specialisation. The question may finally be asked: \"Does it then\n_pay,_ all this bloom and magnificence of the total (which indeed only\nmanifests itself as the fear of the new Colossus in other nations, and\nas the compulsory favouring by them of national trade and commerce)\nwhen all the nobler, finer, and more intellectual plants and products,\nin which its soil was hitherto so rich, must be sacrificed to this\ncoarse and opalescent flower of the nation?\"[2]\n\n\n482.\n\nREPEATED ONCE MORE.--Public opinion--private laziness.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: This aphorism may have been suggested by Nietzsche's\nobserving the behaviour of his great contemporary, Bismarck, towards\nthe dynasty.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 2: This is once more an allusion to modern Germany.--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\nNINTH DIVISION.\n\nMAN ALONE BY HIMSELF.\n\n\n\n483.\n\nTHE ENEMIES OF TRUTH.--Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth\nthan lies.\n\n\n484.\n\nA TOPSY-TURVY WORLD.--We criticise a thinker more severely when he puts\nan unpleasant statement before us; and yet it would be more reasonable\nto do so when we find his statement pleasant.\n\n\n485.\n\nDECIDED CHARACTER.--A man far oftener appears to have a decided\ncharacter from persistently following his temperament than from\npersistently following his principles.\n\n\n486.\n\nTHE ONE THING NEEDFUL.--One thing a man must have: either a naturally\nlight disposition or a disposition _lightened_ by art and knowledge.\n\n\n487.\n\nTHE PASSION FOR THINGS.--Whoever sets his passion on things (sciences,\narts, the common weal, the interests of culture) withdraws much fervour\nfrom his passion for persons (even when they are the representatives\nof those things; as statesmen, philosophers, and artists are the\nrepresentatives of their creations).\n\n\n488.\n\nCALMNESS IN ACTION.--As a cascade in its descent becomes more\ndeliberate and suspended, so the great man of action usually acts with\n_more_ calmness than his strong passions previous to action would lead\none to expect.\n\n\n489.\n\nNOT TOO DEEP.--Persons who grasp a matter in all its depth seldom\nremain permanently true to it. They have just brought the depth up into\nthe light, and there is always much evil to be seen there.\n\n\n490.\n\nTHE ILLUSION OF IDEALISTS.--All idealists imagine that the cause which\nthey serve is essentially better than all other causes, and will not\nbelieve that if their cause is really to flourish it requires precisely\nthe same evil-smelling manure which all other human undertakings have\nneed of.\n\n\n491.\n\nSELF-OBSERVATION.--Man is exceedingly well protected from himself and\nguarded against his self-exploring and self-besieging; as a rule he can\nperceive nothing of himself but his outworks. The actual fortress is\ninaccessible, and even invisible, to him, unless friends and enemies\nbecome traitors and lead him inside by secret paths.\n\n\n492.\n\nTHE RIGHT CALLING.--Men can seldom hold on to a calling unless they\nbelieve or persuade themselves that it is really more important than\nany other. Women are the same with their lovers.\n\n\n493.\n\nNOBILITY OF DISPOSITION.--Nobility of disposition consists largely in\ngood-nature and absence of distrust, and therefore contains precisely\nthat upon which money-grabbing and successful men take a pleasure in\nwalking with superiority and scorn.\n\n\n494.\n\nGOAL AND PATH.--Many are obstinate with regard to the once-chosen path,\nfew with regard to the goal.\n\n\n495.\n\nTHE OFFENSIVENESS IN AN INDIVIDUAL WAY OF LIFE.--All specially\nindividual lines of conduct excite irritation against him who adopts\nthem; people feel themselves reduced to the level of commonplace\ncreatures by the extraordinary treatment he bestows on himself.\n\n\n496.\n\nTHE PRIVILEGE OF GREATNESS.--It is the privilege of greatness to confer\nintense happiness with insignificant gifts.\n\n\n497.\n\nUNINTENTIONALLY NOBLE.--A person behaves with unintentional nobleness\nwhen he has accustomed himself to seek naught from others and always to\ngive to them.\n\n\n498.\n\nA CONDITION OF HEROISM.--When a person wishes to become a hero, the\nserpent must previously have become a dragon, otherwise he lacks his\nproper enemy.\n\n\n499.\n\nFRIENDS.--Fellowship in joy, and, not sympathy in sorrow, makes people\nfriends.\n\n\n500.\n\nMAKING USE OF EBB AND FLOW.--For the purpose of knowledge we must know\nhow to make use of the inward current which draws us towards a thing,\nand also of the current which after a time draws us away from it.\n\n\n501.\n\nJOY IN ITSELF.--\"Joy in the Thing\" people say; but in reality it is joy\nin itself by means of the thing.\n\n\n502.\n\nTHE UNASSUMING MAN.--He who is unassuming towards persons manifests his\npresumption all the more with regard to things (town, State, society,\ntime, humanity). That is his revenge.\n\n\n503.\n\nENVY AND JEALOUSY.--Envy and jealousy are the pudenda of the human\nsoul. The comparison may perhaps be carried further.\n\n\n504.\n\nTHE NOBLEST HYPOCRITE.--It is a very noble hypocrisy not to talk of\none's self at all.\n\n\n505.\n\nVEXATION.--Vexation is a physical disease, which is not by any means\ncured when its cause is subsequently removed.\n\n\n506.\n\nTHE CHAMPIONS OF TRUTH.--Truth does not find fewest champions when it\nis dangerous to speak it, but when it is dull.\n\n\n507.\n\nMORE TROUBLESOME EVEN THAN ENEMIES.--Persons of whose sympathetic\nattitude we are not, in all circumstances, convinced, while for\nsome reason or other (gratitude, for instance) we are obliged to\nmaintain the appearance of unqualified sympathy with them, trouble our\nimagination far more than our enemies do.\n\n\n508.\n\nFREE NATURE.--We are so fond of being out among Nature, because it has\nno opinions about us.\n\n\n509.\n\nEACH SUPERIOR IN ONE THING.--In civilised intercourse every one feels\nhimself superior to all others in at least one thing; kindly feelings\ngenerally are based thereon, inasmuch as every one can, in certain\ncircumstances, render help, and is therefore entitled to accept help\nwithout shame.\n\n\n510.\n\nCONSOLATORY ARGUMENTS.--In the case of a death we mostly use\nconsolatory arguments not so much to alleviate the grief as to make\nexcuses for feeling so easily consoled.\n\n\n511.\n\nPERSONS LOYAL TO THEIR CONVICTIONS.--Whoever is very busy retains his\ngeneral views and opinions almost unchanged. So also does every one\nwho labours in the service of an idea; he will nevermore examine the\nidea itself, he no longer has any time to do so; indeed, it is against\nhis interests to consider it as still admitting of discussion.\n\n\n512.\n\nMORALITY AND QUANTITY.--The higher morality of one man as compared\nwith that of another, often lies merely in the fact that his aims are\nquantitively greater. The other, living in a circumscribed sphere, is\ndragged down by petty occupations.\n\n\n513.\n\n\"THE LIFE\" AS THE PROCEEDS OF LIFE.--A man may stretch himself out ever\nso far with his knowledge; he may seem to himself ever so objective,\nbut eventually he realises nothing therefrom but his own biography.\n\n\n514.\n\nIRON NECESSITY.--Iron necessity is a thing which has been found, in the\ncourse of history, to be neither iron nor necessary.\n\n\n515.\n\nFROM EXPERIENCE.--The unreasonableness of a thing is no argument\nagainst its existence, but rather a condition thereof.\n\n\n516.\n\nTRUTH.--Nobody dies nowadays of fatal truths, there are too many\nantidotes to them.\n\n\n517.\n\nA FUNDAMENTAL INSIGHT.--There is no pre-established harmony between the\npromotion of truth and the welfare of mankind.\n\n\n518.\n\nMAN'S LOT.--He who thinks most deeply knows that he is always in the\nwrong, however he may act and decide.\n\n\n519.\n\nTRUTH AS CIRCE.--Error has made animals into men; is truth perhaps\ncapable of making man into an animal again?\n\n\n520.\n\nTHE DANGER OF OUR CULTURE.--We belong to a period of which the culture\nis in danger of being destroyed by the appliances of culture.\n\n\n521.\n\nGREATNESS MEANS LEADING THE WAY.--No stream is large and copious of\nitself, but becomes great by receiving and leading on so many tributary\nstreams. It is so, also, with all intellectual greatnesses. It is only\na question of some one indicating the direction to be followed by so\nmany affluents; not whether he was richly or poorly gifted originally.\n\n\n522.\n\nA FEEBLE CONSCIENCE.--People who talk about their importance to mankind\nhave a feeble conscience for common bourgeois rectitude, keeping of\ncontracts, promises, etc.\n\n\n523.\n\nDESIRING TO BE LOVED.--The demand to be loved is the greatest of\npresumptions.\n\n\n524.\n\nCONTEMPT FOR MEN.--The most unequivocal sign of contempt for man is\nto regard everybody merely as a means to _one's own_ ends, or of no\naccount whatever.\n\n\n525.\n\nPARTISANS THROUGH CONTRADICTION.--Whoever has driven men to fury\nagainst himself has also gained a party in his favour.\n\n\n526.\n\nFORGETTING EXPERIENCES.--Whoever thinks much and to good purpose\neasily forgets his own experiences, but not the thoughts which these\nexperiences have called forth.\n\n\n527.\n\nSTICKING TO AN OPINION.--One person sticks to an opinion because he\ntakes pride in having acquired it himself,--another sticks to it\nbecause he has learnt it with difficulty and is proud of having\nunderstood it; both of them, therefore, out of vanity.\n\n\n528.\n\nAVOIDING THE LIGHT.--Good deeds avoid the light just as anxiously as\nevil deeds; the latter fear that pain will result from publicity (as\npunishment), the former fear that pleasure will vanish with publicity\n(the pure pleasure _per se,_ which ceases as soon as satisfaction of\nvanity is added to it).\n\n\n529.\n\nTHE LENGTH OF THE DAY.--When one has much to put into them, a day has a\nhundred pockets.\n\n\n530.\n\nTHE GENIUS OF TYRANNY.--When an invincible desire to obtain tyrannical\npower has been awakened in the soul, and constantly keeps up its\nfervour, even a very mediocre talent (in politicians, artists, etc.)\ngradually becomes an almost irresistible natural force.\n\n\n531.\n\nTHE ENEMY'S LIFE.--He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an\ninterest in the preservation of the enemy's life.[1]\n\n\n532.\n\nMORE IMPORTANT.--Unexplained, obscure matters are regarded as more\nimportant than explained, clear ones.\n\n\n533.\n\nVALUATION OF SERVICES RENDERED.--We estimate services rendered to\nus according to the value set on them by those who render them, not\naccording to the value they have for us.\n\n\n534.\n\nUNHAPPINESS.--The distinction associated with unhappiness (as if it\nwere a sign of stupidity, unambitiousness, or commonplaceness to feel\nhappy) is so great that when any one says to us, \"How happy you are!\"\nwe usually protest.\n\n\n535.\n\nIMAGINATION IN ANGUISH.--When one is afraid of anything, one's\nimagination plays the part of that evil spirit which springs on one's\nback just when one has the heaviest load to bear.\n\n\n536.\n\nTHE VALUE OF INSIPID OPPONENTS.--We sometimes remain faithful to a\ncause merely because its opponents never cease to be insipid.\n\n\n537.\n\nTHE VALUE OF A PROFESSION.--A profession makes us thoughtless; that\nis its greatest blessing. For it is a bulwark behind which we are\npermitted to withdraw when commonplace doubts and cares assail us.\n\n\n538.\n\nTALENT.--Many a man's talent appears less than it is, because he has\nalways set himself too heavy tasks.\n\n\n539.\n\nYOUTH.--Youth is an unpleasant period; for then it is not possible or\nnot prudent to be productive in any sense whatsoever.\n\n\n540.\n\nTOO GREAT AIMS.--Whoever aims publicly at great things and at length\nperceives secretly that he is too weak to achieve them, has usually\nalso insufficient strength to renounce his aims publicly, and then\ninevitably becomes a hypocrite.\n\n\n541.\n\nIN THE CURRENT.--Mighty waters sweep many stones and shrubs away with\nthem; mighty spirits many foolish and confused minds.\n\n\n542.\n\nTHE DANGERS OF INTELLECTUAL EMANCIPATION.--In a seriously intended\nintellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also\nhope to find their advantage.\n\n\n543.\n\nTHE INCARNATION OF THE MIND.--When any one thinks much and to good\npurpose, not only his face but also his body acquires a sage look.\n\n\n544.\n\nSEEING BADLY AND HEARING BADLY.--The man who sees little always sees\nless than there is to see; the man who hears badly always hears\nsomething more than there is to hear.\n\n\n545.\n\nSELF-ENJOYMENT IN VANITY.--The vain man does not wish so much to be\nprominent as to feel himself prominent; he therefore disdains none of\nthe expedients for self-deception and self-out-witting. It is not the\nopinion of others that he sets his heart on, but his opinion of their\nopinion\n\n\n546.\n\nEXCEPTIONALLY VAIN.--He who is usually self-sufficient becomes\nexceptionally vain, and keenly alive to fame and praise when he is\nphysically ill. The more he loses himself the more he has to endeavour\nto regain his position by means of the opinion of others.\n\n\n547.\n\nTHE \"WITTY.\"--Those who seek wit do not possess it.\n\n\n548.\n\nA HINT TO THE HEADS OF PARTIES.--When one can make people publicly\nsupport a cause they have also generally been brought to the point of\ninwardly declaring themselves in its favour, because they wish to be\nregarded as consistent.\n\n\n549.\n\nCONTEMPT.--Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to\nself-contempt.\n\n\n550.\n\nTHE TIE OF GRATITUDE.--There are servile souls who carry so far their\nsense of obligation for benefits received that they strangle themselves\nwith the tie of gratitude.\n\n\n551.\n\nTHE PROPHET'S KNACK.--In predicting beforehand the procedure of\nordinary individuals, it must be taken for granted that they always\nmake use of the smallest intellectual expenditure in freeing themselves\nfrom disagreeable situations.\n\n\n552.\n\nMAN'S SOLE RIGHT.--He who swerves from the traditional is a victim of\nthe unusual; he who keeps to the traditional is its slave. The man is\nruined in either case.\n\n\n553.\n\nBELOW THE BEAST.--When a man roars with laughter he surpasses all the\nanimals by his vulgarity.\n\n\n554.\n\nPARTIAL KNOWLEDGE.--He who speaks a foreign language imperfectly has\nmore enjoyment therein than he who speaks it well. The enjoyment is\nwith the partially initiated.\n\n\n555.\n\nDANGEROUS HELPFULNESS.--There are people who wish to make human life\nharder for no other reason than to be able afterwards to offer men\ntheir life-alleviating recipes--their Christianity, for example.\n\n\n556.\n\nINDUSTRIOUSNESS AND CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.--Industriousness and\nconscientiousness are often antagonists, owing to the fact that\nindustriousness wants to pluck the fruit sour from the tree while\nconscientiousness wants to let it hang too long, until it falls and is\nbruised.\n\n\n557.\n\nCASTING SUSPICION.--We endeavour to cast suspicion on persons whom we\ncannot endure.\n\n\n558.\n\nTHE CONDITIONS ARE LACKING.--Many people wait all their lives for the\nopportunity to be good in _their own way._\n\n\n559.\n\nLACK OF FRIENDS.--Lack of friends leads to the inference that a person\nis envious or presumptuous. Many a man owes his friends merely to the\nfortunate circumstance that he has no occasion for envy.\n\n\n560.\n\nDANGER IN MANIFOLDNESS.--With one talent more we often stand less\nfirmly than with one less; just as a table stands better on three feet\nthan on four.\n\n\n561.\n\nAN EXEMPLAR FOR OTHERS.--Whoever wants to set a good example must add a\ngrain of folly to his virtue; people then imitate their exemplar and at\nthe same time raise themselves above him, a thing they love to do.\n\n\n562.\n\nBEING A TARGET.--The bad things others say about us are often not\nreally aimed at us, but are the manifestations of spite or ill-humour\noccasioned by quite different causes.\n\n\n563.\n\nEASILY RESIGNED.--We suffer but little on account of ungratified wishes\nif we have exercised our imagination in distorting the past.\n\n\n564.\n\nIN DANGER.--One is in greatest danger of being run over when one has\njust got out of the way of a carriage.\n\n\n565.\n\nTHE ROLE ACCORDING TO THE VOICE.--Whoever is obliged to speak louder\nthan he naturally does (say, to a partially deaf person or before a\nlarge audience), usually exaggerates what he has to communicate. Many\na one becomes a conspirator, malevolent gossip, or intriguer, merely\nbecause his voice is best suited for whispering.\n\n\n566.\n\nLOVE AND HATRED.--Love and hatred are not blind, but are dazzled by the\nfire which they carry about with them.\n\n\n567.\n\nADVANTAGEOUSLY PERSECUTED.--People who cannot make their merits\nperfectly obvious to the world endeavour to awaken a strong hostility\nagainst themselves. They have then the consolation of thinking that\nthis hostility stands between their merits and the acknowledgment\nthereof--- and that many others think the same thing, which is very\nadvantageous for their recognition.\n\n\n568.\n\nCONFESSION.--We forget our fault when we have confessed it to another\nperson, but he does not generally forget it.\n\n\n569.\n\nSELF-SUFFICIENCY.--The Golden Fleece of self-sufficiency is a\nprotection against blows, but not against needle-pricks.\n\n\n570.\n\nSHADOWS IN THE FLAME.--The flame is not so bright to itself as to those\nwhom it illuminates,--so also the wise man.\n\n\n571.\n\nOUR OWN OPINIONS.--The first opinion that occurs to us when we are\nsuddenly asked about anything is not usually our own, but only the\ncurrent opinion belonging to our caste, position, or family; our own\nopinions seldom float on the surface.\n\n\n572.\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF COURAGE.--The ordinary man is as courageous and\ninvulnerable as a hero when he does not see the danger, when he has no\neyes for it. Reversely, the hero has his one vulnerable spot upon the\nback, where he has no eyes.\n\n\n573.\n\nTHE DANGER IN THE PHYSICIAN.--One must be born for one's physician,\notherwise one comes to grief through him.\n\n\n574.\n\nMARVELLOUS VANITY.--Whoever has courageously prophesied the weather\nthree times and has been successful in his hits, acquires a certain\namount of inward confidence in his prophetic gift. We give credence to\nthe marvellous and irrational when it flatters our self-esteem.\n\n\n575.\n\nA PROFESSION.--A profession is the backbone of life.\n\n\n576.\n\nTHE DANGER OF PERSONAL INFLUENCE.--Whoever feels that he exercises a\ngreat inward influence over another person must give him a perfectly\nfree rein, must, in fact, welcome and even induce occasional\nopposition, otherwise he will inevitably make an enemy.\n\n\n577.\n\nRECOGNITION OF THE HEIR.--Whoever has founded something great in an\nunselfish spirit is careful to rear heirs for his work. It is the sign\nof a tyrannical and ignoble nature to see opponents in all possible\nheirs, and to live in a state of self-defence against them.\n\n\n578.\n\nPARTIAL KNOWLEDGE.--Partial knowledge is more triumphant than complete\nknowledge; it takes things to be simpler than they are, and so makes\nits theory more popular and convincing.\n\n\n579.\n\nUNSUITABLE FOR A PARTY-MAN.--Whoever thinks much is unsuitable for a\nparty-man; his thinking leads him too quickly beyond the party.\n\n\n580.\n\nA BAD MEMORY.--The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several\ntimes the same good things for the _first_ time.\n\n\n581.\n\nSELF-AFFLICTION.--Want of consideration is often the sign of a\ndiscordant inner nature, which craves for stupefaction.\n\n\n582.\n\nMARTYRS.--The disciples of a martyr suffer more than the martyr.\n\n\n583.\n\nARREARS OF VANITY.--The vanity of many people who have no occasion to\nbe vain is the inveterate habit, still surviving from the time when\npeople had no right to the belief in themselves and only begged it in\nsmall sums from others.\n\n\n584.\n\n_PUNCTUM SALIENS_ OF PASSION.--A person falling into a rage or into a\nviolent passion of love reaches a point when the soul is full like a\nhogshead, but nevertheless a drop of water has still to be added, the\ngood will for the passion (which is also generally called the evil\nwill). This item only is necessary, and then the hogshead overflows.\n\n\n585.\n\nA GLOOMY THOUGHT.--It is with men as with the charcoal fires in the\nforest. It is only when young men have cooled down and have got\ncharred, like these piles, that they become _useful._ As long as they\nfume and smoke they are perhaps more interesting, but they are useless\nand too often uncomfortable. Humanity ruthlessly uses every individual\nas material for the heating of its great machines; but what then is the\npurpose of the machines, when all individuals (that is, the human race)\nare useful only to maintain them? Machines that are ends in themselves:\nis that the _umana commedia_?\n\n\n586.\n\nTHE HOUR-HAND OF LIFE.--Life consists of rare single moments of the\ngreatest importance, and of countless intervals during which, at best,\nthe phantoms of those moments hover around us. Love, the Spring, every\nfine melody, the mountains, the moon, the sea--all speak but once\nfully to the heart, if, indeed, they ever do quite attain to speech.\nFor many people have not those moments at all, and are themselves\nintervals and pauses in the symphony of actual life.\n\n\n587.\n\nATTACK OR COMPROMISE.--We often make the mistake of showing violent\nenmity towards a tendency, party, or period, because we happen only\nto get a sight of its most exposed side, its stuntedness, or the\ninevitable \"faults of its virtues,\"--perhaps because we ourselves have\ntaken a prominent part in them. We then turn our backs on them and\nseek a diametrically opposite course; but the better way would be to\nseek out their strong good sides, or to develop them in ourselves. To\nbe sure, a keener glance and a better will are needed to improve the\nbecoming and the imperfect than are required to see through it in its\nimperfection and to deny it.\n\n588.\n\n\nMODESTY.--There is true modesty (that is the knowledge that we are\nnot the works we create); and it is especially becoming in a great\nmind, because such a mind can well grasp the thought of absolute\nirresponsibility (even for the good it creates). People do not hate\na great man's presumptuousness in so far as he feels his strength,\nbut because he wishes to prove it by injuring others, by dominating\nthem, and seeing how long they will stand it. This, as a rule, is even\na proof of the absence of a secure sense of power, and makes people\ndoubt his greatness. We must therefore beware of presumption from the\nstand-point of wisdom.\n\n\n589.\n\nTHE DAY'S FIRST THOUGHT.--The best way to begin a day well is to think,\non awakening, whether we cannot give pleasure during the day to at\nleast one person. If this could become a substitute for the religious\nhabit of prayer our fellow-men would benefit by the change.\n\n\n590.\n\nPRESUMPTION AS THE LAST CONSOLATION.--When we so interpret a\nmisfortune, an intellectual defect, or a disease that we see therein\nour predestined fate, our trial, or the mysterious punishment of our\nformer misdeeds, we thereby make our nature interesting and exalt\nourselves in imagination above our fellows. The proud sinner is a\nwell-known figure in all religious sects.\n\n\n591.\n\nTHE VEGETATION OF HAPPINESS.--Close beside the world's woe, and\noften upon its volcanic soil, man has laid out his little garden of\nhappiness. Whether one regard life with the eyes of him who only seeks\nknowledge therefrom, or of him who submits and is resigned, or of him\nwho rejoices over surmounted difficulties--everywhere one will find\nsome happiness springing up beside the evil--and in fact always the\nmore happiness the more volcanic the soil has been,--only it would be\nabsurd to say that suffering itself is justified by this happiness.\n\n\n592.\n\nTHE PATH OF OUR ANCESTORS.--It is sensible when a person develops still\nfurther in himself the _talent_ upon which his father or grandfather\nspent much trouble, and does not shift to something entirely new;\notherwise he deprives himself of the possibility of attaining\nperfection in any one craft. That is why the proverb says, \"Which road\nshouldst thou ride?--That of thine ancestors.\"\n\n\n593.\n\nVANITY AND AMBITION AS EDUCATORS.--As long as a person has not become\nan instrument of general utility, ambition may torment him; if,\nhowever, that point has been reached, if he necessarily works like a\nmachine for the good of all, then vanity may result; it will humanise\nhim in small matters and make him more sociable, endurable, and\nconsiderate, when ambition has completed the coarser work of making him\nuseful.\n\n\n594.\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL NOVICES.--Immediately we have comprehended the wisdom of\na philosopher, we go through the streets with a feeling as if we had\nbeen re-created and had become great men; for we encounter only those\nwho are ignorant of this wisdom, and have therefore to deliver new and\nunknown verdicts concerning everything. Because we now recognise a\nlaw-book we think we must also comport ourselves as judges.\n\n\n595.\n\nPLEASING BY DISPLEASING.--People who prefer to attract attention, and\nthereby to displease, desire the same thing as those who neither wish\nto please nor to attract attention, only they seek it more ardently and\nindirectly by means of a step by which they apparently move away from\ntheir goal. They desire influence and power, and therefore show their\nsuperiority, even to such an extent that it becomes disagreeable; for\nthey know that he who has finally attained power, pleases in almost all\nhe says and does, and that even when he displeases he still seems to\nplease. The free spirit also, and in like manner the believer, desire\npower, in order some day to please thereby; when, on account of their\ndoctrine, evil fate, persecution, dungeon, or execution threaten them,\nthey rejoice in the thought that their teaching will thus be engraved\nand branded on the heart of mankind; though its effect is remote they\naccept their fate as a painful but powerful means of still attaining to\npower.\n\n\n596.\n\n_CASUS BELLI_ AND THE LIKE.--The prince who, for his determination\nto make war against his neighbour, invents a _casus belli,_ is like\na father who foists on his child a mother who is henceforth to be\nregarded as such. And are not almost all publicly avowed motives of\naction just such spurious mothers?\n\n\n597.\n\nPASSION AND RIGHT.--Nobody talks more passionately of his rights than\nhe who, in the depths of his soul, is doubtful about them. By getting\npassion on his side he seeks to confound his understanding and its\ndoubts,--he thus obtains a good conscience, and along with it success\nwith his fellow-men.\n\n\n598.\n\nTHE TRICK OF THE RESIGNING ONE.--He who protests against marriage,\nafter the manner of Catholic priests, will conceive of it in its\nlowest and vulgarest form. In the same way he who disavows the honour\nof his contemporaries will have a mean opinion of it; he can thus\ndispense with it and struggle against it more easily. Moreover, he\nwho denies himself much in great matters will readily indulge himself\nin small things. It might be possible that he who is superior to the\napprobation of his contemporaries would nevertheless not deny himself\nthe gratification of small vanities.\n\n\n599.\n\nTHE YEARS OF PRESUMPTION.--The proper period of presumption in gifted\npeople is between their twenty-sixth and thirtieth years; it is the\ntime of early ripeness, with a large residue of sourness. On the\nground of what we feel within ourselves we demand honour and humility\nfrom men who see little or nothing of it, and because this tribute\nis not immediately forthcoming we revenge ourselves by the look, the\ngesture of arrogance, and the tone of voice, which a keen ear and\neye recognise in every product of those years, whether it be poetry,\nphilosophy, or pictures and music. Older men of experience smile\nthereat, and think with emotion of those beautiful years in which one\nresents the fate of _being_ so much and _seeming_ so little. Later on\none really _seems_ more,--but one has lost the good belief in _being_\nmuch,--unless one remain for life an incorrigible fool of vanity.\n\n\n600.\n\nDECEPTIVE AND YET DEFENSIBLE.--Just as in order to pass by an abyss or\nto cross a deep stream on a plank we require a railing, not to hold\nfast by,--for it would instantly break down with us,--but to give\nthe notion of security to the eye, so in youth we require persons\nwho unconsciously render us the service of that railing. It is true\nthey would not help us if we really wished to lean upon them in great\ndanger, but they afford the tranquillising sensation of protection\nclose to one (for instance, fathers, teachers, friends, as all three\nusually are).\n\n\n601.\n\nLEARNING TO LOVE.--One must learn to love, one must learn to be kind,\nand this from childhood onwards; when education and chance give us no\nopportunity for the exercise of these feelings our soul becomes dried\nup, and even incapable of understanding the fine devices of loving men.\nIn the same way hatred must be learnt and fostered, when one wants to\nbecome a proficient hater,--otherwise the germ of it will gradually die\nout.\n\n\n602.\n\nRUIN AS ORNAMENT.--Persons who pass through numerous mental phases\nretain certain sentiments and habits of their earlier states, which\nthen project like a piece of inexplicable antiquity and grey stonework\ninto their new thought and action, often to the embellishment of the\nwhole surroundings.\n\n\n603.\n\nLOVE AND HONOUR.--Love desires, fear avoids. That is why one cannot\nbe both loved and honoured by the same person, at least not at the\nsame time.[2] For he who honours recognises power,--that is to say, he\nfears it, he is in a state of reverential fear (_Ehr-furcht_) But love\nrecognises no power, nothing that divides, detaches, superordinates,\nor subordinates. Because it does not honour them, ambitious people\nsecretly or openly resent being loved.\n\n\n604.\n\nA PREJUDICE IN FAVOUR OF COLD NATURES.--People who quickly take fire\ngrow cold quickly, and therefore are, on the whole, unreliable. For\nthose, therefore, who are always cold, or pretend to be so, there\nis the favourable prejudice that they are particularly trustworthy,\nreliable persons; they are confounded with those who take fire slowly\nand retain it long.\n\n\n605.\n\nTHE DANGER IN FREE OPINIONS.--Frivolous occupation with free opinions\nhas a charm, like a kind of itching; if one yields to it further,\none begins to chafe the places; until at last an open, painful wound\nresults; that is to say, until the free opinion begins to disturb and\ntorment us in our position in life and in our human relations.\n\n\n606.\n\nDESIRE FOR SORE AFFLICTION.--When passion is over it leaves behind an\nobscure longing for it, and even in disappearing it casts a seductive\nglance at us. It must have afforded a kind of pleasure to have\nbeen beaten with this scourge. Compared with it, the more moderate\nsensations appear insipid; we still prefer, apparently, the more\nviolent displeasure to languid delight.\n\n\n607.\n\nDISSATISFACTION WITH OTHERS AND WITH THE WORLD.--When, as so frequently\nhappens, we vent our dissatisfaction on others when we are really\ndissatisfied with ourselves, we are in fact attempting to mystify and\ndeceive our judgment; we desire to find a motive _a posteriori_ for\nthis dissatisfaction, in the mistakes or deficiencies of others, and\nso lose sight of ourselves. Strictly religious people, who have been\nrelentless judges of themselves, have at the same time spoken most ill\nof humanity generally; there has never been a saint who reserved sin\nfor himself and virture for others, any more than a man who, according\nto Buddha's rule, hides his good qualities from people and only shows\nhis bad ones.\n\n\n608.\n\nCONFUSION OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.--Unconsciously we seek the principles\nand opinions which are suited to our temperament, so that at last it\nseems as if these principles and opinions had formed our character\nand given it support and stability, whereas exactly the contrary has\ntaken place. Our thoughts and judgments are, apparently, to be taken\nsubsequently as the causes of our nature, but as a matter of fact _our_\nnature is the cause of our so thinking and judging. And what induces\nus to play this almost unconscious comedy? Inertness and convenience,\nand to a large extent also the vain desire to be regarded as thoroughly\nconsistent and homogeneous in nature and thought; for this wins\nrespect and gives confidence and power.\n\n\n609.\n\nAGE IN RELATION TO TRUTH.--Young people love what is interesting and\nexceptional, indifferent whether it is truth or falsehood. Riper minds\nlove what is interesting and extraordinary when it is truth. Matured\nminds, finally, love truth even in those in whom it appears plain and\nsimple and is found tiresome by ordinary people, because they have\nobserved that truth is in the habit of giving utterance to its highest\nintellectual verities with all the appearance of simplicity.\n\n\n610.\n\nMEN AS BAD POETS.--Just as bad poets seek a thought to fit the rhyme\nin the second half of the verse, so men in the second half of life,\nhaving become more scrupulous, are in the habit of seeking pursuits,\npositions, and conditions which suit those of their earlier life, so\nthat outwardly all sounds well, but their life is no longer ruled and\ncontinuously determined anew by a powerful thought: in place thereof\nthere is merely the intention of finding a rhyme.\n\n\n611.\n\nENNUI AND PLAY.--Necessity compels us to work, with the product of\nwhich the necessity is appeased; the ever new awakening of necessity,\nhowever, accustoms us to work. But in the intervals in which necessity\nis appeased and asleep, as it were, we are attacked by ennui. What is\nthis? In a word it is the habituation to work, which now makes itself\nfelt as a new and additional necessity; it will be all the stronger the\nmore a person has been accustomed to work, perhaps, even, the more a\nperson has suffered from necessities. In order to escape ennui, a man\neither works beyond the extent of his former necessities, or he invents\nplay, that is to say, work that is only intended to appease the general\nnecessity for work. He who has become satiated with play, and has no\nnew necessities impelling him to work, is sometimes attacked by the\nlonging for a third state, which is related to play as gliding is to\ndancing, as dancing is to walking, a blessed, tranquil movement; it is\nthe artists' and philosophers' vision of happiness.\n\n\n612.\n\nLESSONS FROM PICTURES.--If we look at a series of pictures of\nourselves, from the time of later childhood to the time of mature\nmanhood, we discover with pleased surprise that the man bears more\nresemblance to the child than to the youth: that probably, therefore,\nin accordance with this fact, there has been in the interval a\ntemporary alienation of the fundamental character, over which the\ncollected, concentrated force of the man has again become master. With\nthis observation this other is also in accordance, namely, that all\nstrong influences of passions, teachers, and political events, which\nin our youthful years draw us hither and thither, seem later on to be\nreferred back again to a fixed standard; of course they still continue\nto exist and operate within us, but our fundamental sentiments and\nopinions have now the upper hand, and use their influence perhaps as a\nsource of strength, but are no longer merely regulative, as was perhaps\nthe case in our twenties. Thus even the thoughts and sentiments of the\nman appear more in accordance with those of his childish years,--and\nthis objective fact expresses itself in the above-mentioned subjective\nfact.\n\n\n613.\n\nTHE TONE OF VOICE OF DIFFERENT AGES.--The tone in which youths speak,\npraise, blame, and versify, displeases an older person because it is\ntoo loud, and yet at the same time dull and confused like a sound in\na vault, which acquires such a loud ring owing to the emptiness; for\nmost of the thought of youths does not gush forth out of the fulness\nof their own nature, but is the accord and the echo of what has been\nthought, said, praised or blamed around them. As their sentiments,\nhowever (their inclinations and aversions), resound much more forcibly\nthan the reasons thereof, there is heard, whenever they divulge these\nsentiments, the dull, clanging tone which is a sign of the absence\nor scarcity of reasons. The tone of riper age is rigorous, abruptly\nconcise, moderately loud, but, like everything distinctly articulated,\nis heard very far off. Old age, finally, often brings a certain\nmildness and consideration into the tone of the voice, and as it were,\nsweetens it; in many cases, to be sure it also sours it.\n\n\n614.\n\nTHE ATAVIST AND THE FORERUNNER.--The man of unpleasant character,\nfull of distrust, envious of the success of fellow-competitors and\nneighbours, violent and enraged at divergent opinions, shows that he\nbelongs to an earlier grade of culture, and is, therefore, an atavism;\nfor the way in which he behaves to people was right and suitable only\nfor an age of club-law; he is an _atavist._ The man of a different\ncharacter, rich in sympathy, winning friends everywhere, finding all\nthat is growing and becoming amiable, rejoicing at the honours and\nsuccesses of others and claiming no privilege of solely knowing the\ntruth, but full of a modest distrust,--he is a forerunner who presses\nupward towards a higher human culture. The man of unpleasant character\ndates from the times when the rude basis of human intercourse had\nyet to be laid, the other lives on the upper floor of the edifice of\nculture, removed as far as possible from the howling and raging wild\nbeast imprisoned in the cellars.\n\n\n615.\n\nCONSOLATION FOR HYPOCHONDRIACS.--When a great thinker is temporarily\nsubjected to hypochondriacal self-torture he can say to himself, by\nway of consolation: \"It is thine own great strength on which this\nparasite feeds and grows; if thy strength were smaller thou wouldst\nhave less to suffer.\" The statesman may say just the same thing when\njealousy and vengeful feeling, or, in a word, the tone of the _bellum\nomnium contra omnes,_ for which, as the representative of a nation, he\nmust necessarily have a great capacity, occasionally intrudes into his\npersonal relations and makes his life hard.\n\n\n616.\n\nESTRANGED FROM THE PRESENT.--There are great advantages in estranging\none's self for once to a large extent from one's age, and being as\nit were driven back from its shores into the ocean of past views of\nthings. Looking thence towards the coast one commands a view, perhaps\nfor the first time, of its aggregate formation, and when one again\napproaches the land one has the advantage of understanding it better,\non the whole, than those who have never left it.\n\n\n617.\n\nSOWING AND REAPING ON THE FIELD OF PERSONAL DEFECTS.--Men like Rousseau\nunderstand how to use their weaknesses, defects, and vices as manure\nfor their talent. When Rousseau bewails the corruption and degeneration\nof society as the evil results of culture, there is a personal\nexperience at the bottom of it, the bitterness which gives sharpness to\nhis general condemnation and poisons the arrows with which he shoots;\nhe unburdens himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting a\nremedy which, while benefiting society directly, will also benefit\nhimself indirectly by means of society.\n\n\n618.\n\nPHILOSOPHICALLY MINDED.--We usually endeavour to acquire _one_\nattitude of mind, _one_ set of opinions for all situations and events\nof life--it is mostly called being philosophically minded. But for\nthe acquisition of knowledge it may be of greater importance not to\nmake ourselves thus uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the\ndifferent situations in life; these bring their own opinions with\nthem. We thus take an intelligent interest in the life and nature of\nmany persons by not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single\nindividuals.\n\n\n619.\n\nIN THE FIRE OF CONTEMPT.--It is a fresh step towards independence when\none first dares to give utterance to opinions which it is considered as\ndisgraceful for a person to entertain; even friends and acquaintances\nare then accustomed to grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass\nthrough this fire; it afterwards belongs far more to itself.\n\n\n620.\n\nSELF-SACRIFICE.--In the event of choice, a great sacrifice is preferred\nto a small one, because we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice\nby self-admiration, which is not possible in the case of a small one.\n\n\n621.\n\nLOVE AS AN ARTIFICE.--Whoever really wishes to _become acquainted\nwith_ something new (whether it be a person, an event, or a book),\ndoes well to take up the matter with all possible love, and to avert\nhis eye quickly from all that seems hostile, objectionable, and false\ntherein,--in fact to forget such things; so that, for instance, he\ngives the author of a book the best start possible, and straightway,\njust as in a race, longs with beating heart that he may reach the goal.\nIn this manner one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its\nmoving point, and this is called becoming acquainted with it. This\nstage having been arrived at, the understanding afterwards makes its\nrestrictions; the over-estimation and the temporary suspension of the\ncritical pendulum were only artifices to lure forth the soul of the\nmatter.\n\n\n622.\n\nTHINKING TOO WELL AND TOO ILL OF THE WORLD.--Whether we think too\nwell or too ill of things, we always have the advantage of deriving\ntherefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good preconception we\nusually put more sweetness into things (experiences) than they actually\ncontain. A too bad preconception causes a pleasant disappointment, the\npleasantness that lay in the things themselves is increased by the\npleasantness of the surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will have\nthe reverse experience in both cases.\n\n\n623.\n\nPROFOUND PEOPLE.--Those whose strength lies in the deepening of\nimpressions--they are usually called profound people--are relatively\nself-possessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for in the first\nmoment the impression is still shallow, it only then _becomes_ deep.\nLong foreseen, long expected events or persons, however, excite such\nnatures most, and make them almost incapable of eventually having\npresence of mind on the arrival thereof.\n\n\n624.\n\nINTERCOURSE WITH THE HIGHER SELF.--Every one has his good day, when\nhe finds his higher self; and true humanity demands that a person\nshall be estimated according to this state and not according to his\nwork-days of constraint and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be\nappraised and honoured according to the most exalted vision he could\nsee and represent. But men themselves commune very differently with\nthis their higher self, and are frequently their own playactors, in so\nfar as they repeatedly imitate what they are in those moments. Some\nstand in awe and humility before their ideal, and would fain deny it;\nthey are afraid of their higher self because, when it speaks, it speaks\npretentiously. Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and\nstaying away just as it pleases; on that account it is often called a\ngift of the gods, while in fact everything else is a gift of the gods\n(of chance); this, however, is the man himself.\n\n\n625.\n\nLONELY PEOPLE.--Some people are so much accustomed to being alone\nin self-communion that they do not at all compare themselves with\nothers, but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet, happy mood,\nconversing pleasantly, and even hilariously, with themselves. If,\nhowever, they are brought to the point of comparing themselves with\nothers, they are inclined to a brooding under-estimation of their own\nworth, so that they have first to be compelled by others _to form_ once\nmore a good and just opinion of themselves, and even from this acquired\nopinion they will always want to subtract and abate something. We must\nnot, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneliness or foolishly\ncommiserate them on that account, as is so often done.\n\n\n626.\n\nWITHOUT MELODY.--There are persons to whom a constant repose in\nthemselves and the harmonious ordering of all their capacities is\nso natural that every definite activity is repugnant to them. They\nresemble music which consists of nothing but prolonged, harmonious\naccords, without even the tendency to an organised and animated melody\nshowing itself. All external movement serves only to restore to the\nboat its equilibrium on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men\nusually become excessively impatient when they meet such natures, who\n_will never be anything in_ the world, only it is not allowable to say\nof them that they _are nothing._ But in certain moods the sight of them\nraises the unusual question: \"Why should there be melody at all? Why\nshould it not suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a deep\nlake?\" The Middle Ages were richer in such natures than our times. How\nseldom one now meets with any one who can live on so peacefully and\nhappily with himself even in the midst of the crowd, saying to himself,\nlike Goethe, \"The best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live\nand grow in opposition to the world, and gain what it cannot take away\nfrom me with fire and sword.\"\n\n\n627.\n\nTO LIVE AND EXPERIENCE.--If we observe how some people can deal with\ntheir experiences--their unimportant, everyday experiences--so that\nthese become soil which yields fruit thrice a year; whilst others--and\nhow many!--are driven through the surf of the most exciting adventures,\nthe most diversified movements of times and peoples, and yet always\nremain light, always remain on the surface, like cork; we are finally\ntempted to divide mankind into a minority (minimality) of those who\nknow how to make much out of little, and a majority of those who\nknow how to make little out of much; indeed, we even meet with the\ncounter-sorcerers who, instead of making the world out of nothing,\nmake a nothing out of the world.\n\n\n628.\n\nSERIOUSNESS IN PLAY.---In Genoa one evening, in the twilight, I heard\nfrom a tower a long chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and\nsounded as if insatiable above the noise of the streets, out into the\nevening sky and sea-air, so thrilling, and at the same time so childish\nand so sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and suddenly felt the\nforce of them in my heart: \"_Human matters, one and all, are not worthy\nof great seriousness; nevertheless ..._\"\n\n\n629.\n\nCONVICTION AND JUSTICE.--The requirement that a person must afterwards,\nwhen cool and sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves\nduring passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that weigh upon mankind.\nTo have to acknowledge for all future time the consequences of anger,\nof fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to a bitterness\nagainst these feelings proportionate to the idolatry with which they\nare idolised, especially by artists. These cultivate to its full extent\nthe _esteem of the passions,_ and have always done so; to be sure, they\nalso glorify the terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person\naffords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with death, mutilation, or\nvoluntary banishment in their train, and the resignation of the broken\nheart. In any case they keep alive curiosity about the passions; it is\nas if they said: \"Without passions you have no experience whatever.\"\nBecause we have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely fictitious\nbeing, such as a god), because we have surrendered our heart to a\nprince, a party, a woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker,\nin a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm over us and made\nthose beings appear worthy of all veneration, and every sacrifice--are\nwe, therefore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we not, after all,\ndeceive ourselves then? Was there not a hypothetical promise, under the\ntacit presupposition that those beings to whom we consecrated ourselves\nwere really the beings they seemed to be in our imagination? Are we\nunder obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with the knowledge\nthat by this fidelity we shall cause injury to our higher selves? No,\nthere is no law, no obligation of that sort; we _must_ become traitors,\nwe must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals again and again. We\ncannot advance from one period of life into another without causing\nthese pains of treachery and also suffering from them. Might it be\nnecessary to guard against the ebullitions of our feelings in order\nto escape these pains? Would not the world then become too arid, too\nghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves whether these pains\nare _necessary_ on a change of convictions, or whether they do not\ndepend on a _mistaken_ opinion and estimate. Why do we admire a person\nwho remains true to his convictions and despise him who changes them?\nI fear the answer must be, \"because every one takes for granted that\nsuch a change is caused only by motives of more general utility or of\npersonal trouble.\" That is to say, we believe at bottom that nobody\nalters his opinions as long as they are advantageous to him, or at\nleast as long as they do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however,\nit furnishes a bad proof of the _intellectual_ significance of all\nconvictions. Let us once examine how convictions arise, and let us see\nwhether their importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will thereby\nbe seen that the _change_ of convictions also is in all circumstances\njudged according to a false standard, that we have hitherto been\naccustomed to suffer _too much_ from this change.\n\n\n630.\n\nConviction is belief in the possession of absolute truth on any matter\nof knowledge. This belief takes it for granted, therefore, that there\nare absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have been found for\nattaining to them; and finally, that every one who has convictions\nmakes use of these perfect methods. All three notions show at once that\nthe man of convictions is not the man of scientific thought; he seems\nto us still in the age of theoretical innocence, and is practically\na child, however grown-up he may be. Whole centuries, however, have\nbeen lived under the influence of those childlike presuppositions, and\nout of them have flowed the mightiest sources of human strength. The\ncountless numbers who sacrificed themselves for their convictions\nbelieved they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth. They were\nall wrong, however; probably no one has ever sacrificed himself for\nTruth; at least, the dogmatic expression of the faith of any such\nperson has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But really,\npeople wanted to carry their point because they believed that they\n_must be_ in the right. To allow their belief to be wrested from\nthem probably meant calling in question their eternal salvation. In\nan affair of such extreme importance the \"will\" was too audibly the\nprompter of the intellect. The presupposition of every believer of\nevery shade of belief has been that he _could not_ be confuted; if the\ncounter-arguments happened to be very strong, it always remained for\nhim to decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set up the\n\"_credo quia absurdum est_\" as the standard of extreme fanaticism. It\nis not the struggle of opinions that has made history so turbulent; but\nthe struggle of belief in opinions,--that is to say, of convictions.\nIf all those who thought so highly of their convictions, who made\nsacrifices of all kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body,\nnor life in their service, had only devoted half of their energy to\nexamining their right to adhere to this or that conviction and by what\nroad they arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of mankind now\nappear! How much more knowledge would there be! All the cruel scenes\nin connection with the persecution of heretics of all kinds would have\nbeen avoided, for two reasons: firstly, because the inquisitors would\nabove all have inquired of themselves, and would have recognised\nthe presumption of defending absolute truth; and secondly, because\nthe heretics themselves would, after examination, have taken no more\ninterest in such badly established doctrines as those of all religious\nsectarians and \"orthodox\" believers.\n\n\n631.\n\nFrom the ages in which it was customary to believe in the possession\nof absolute truth, people have inherited a profound _dislike_ of all\nsceptical and relative attitudes with regard to questions of knowledge;\nthey mostly prefer to acquiesce, for good or evil, in the convictions\nof those in authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and they\nhave a kind of remorse of conscience when they do not do so. This\ntendency is quite comprehensible, and its results furnish no ground\nfor condemnation of the course of the development of human reason.\nThe scientific spirit in man, however, has gradually to bring to\nmaturity the virtue of _cautious forbearance,_ the wise moderation,\nwhich is better known in practical than in theoretical life, and\nwhich, for instance, Goethe has represented in \"Antonio,\" as an object\nof provocation for all Tassos,--that is to say, for unscientific and\nat the same time inactive natures. The man of convictions has in\nhimself the right not to comprehend the man of cautious thought, the\ntheoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the other hand, has no\nright to blame the former on that account, he takes no notice thereof,\nand knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former will yet cling\nto him, as Tasso finally clung to Antonio.\n\n\n632.\n\nHe who has not passed through different phases of conviction, but\nsticks to the faith in whose net he was first caught, is, under\nall circumstances, just on account of this unchangeableness, a\nrepresentative of _atavistic_ culture; in accordance with this lack\nof culture (which always presupposes plasticity for culture), he\nis severe, unintelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever\nsuspicious person, an unscrupulous person who has recourse to all\nexpedients for enforcing his opinions because he cannot conceive that\nthere must be other opinions; he is, in such respects, perhaps a\nsource of strength, and even wholesome in cultures that have become\ntoo emancipated and languid, but only because he strongly incites to\nopposition: for thereby the delicate organisation of the new culture,\nwhich is forced to struggle with him, becomes strong itself.\n\n\n633.\n\nIn essential respects we are still the same men as those of the time\nof the Reformation; how could it be otherwise? But the fact that we\n_no longer_ allow ourselves certain means for promoting the triumph\nof our opinions distinguishes us from that age, and proves that we\nbelong to a higher culture. He who still combats and overthrows\nopinions with calumnies and outbursts of rage, after the manner of\nthe Reformation men, obviously betrays the fact that he would have\nburnt his adversaries had he lived in other times, and that he would\nhave resorted to all the methods of the Inquisition if he had been\nan opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition was rational at that\ntime; for it represented nothing else than the universal application of\nmartial law, which had to be proclaimed throughout the entire domain\nof the Church, and which, like all martial law, gave a right to the\nextremest methods, under the presupposition, of course, (which we now\nno longer share with those people), that the Church _possessed_ truth\nand had to preserve it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the\nsalvation of mankind. Now, however, one does not so readily concede to\nany one that he possesses the truth; strict methods of investigation\nhave diffused enough of distrust and precaution, so that every one who\nviolently advocates opinions in word and deed is looked upon as an\nenemy of our modern culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter\nof fact the pathos that man possesses truth is now of very little\nconsequence in comparison with the certainly milder and less noisy\npathos of the search for truth, which is never weary of learning afresh\nand examining anew.\n\n\n634.\n\nMoreover, the methodical search for truth is itself the outcome of\nthose ages in which convictions were at war with each other. If the\nindividual had not cared about _his_ \"truth,\" that is to say, about\ncarrying his point, there would have been no method of investigation;\nthus, however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of different\nindividuals to absolute truth, people went on step by step to find\nirrefragable principles according to which the rights of the claims\ncould be tested and the dispute settled. At first people decided\naccording to authorities; later on they criticised one another's ways\nand means of finding the presumed truth; in the interval there was a\nperiod when people deduced the consequences of the adverse theory, and\nperhaps found them to be productive of injury and unhappiness; from\nwhich it was then to be inferred by every one that the conviction of\nthe adversary involved an error. The _personal struggle of the thinker_\nat last so sharpened his methods that real truths could be discovered,\nand the mistakes of former methods exposed before the eyes of all.\n\n\n635.\n\nOn the whole, scientific methods are at least as important results\nof investigation as any other results, for the scientific spirit is\nbased upon a knowledge of method, and if the methods were lost, all\nthe results of science could not prevent the renewed prevalence of\nsuperstition and absurdity. Clever people may _learn_ as much as\nthey like of the results of science, but one still notices in their\nconversation, and especially in the hypotheses they make, that they\nlack the scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive distrust of\nthe devious courses of thinking which, in consequence of long training,\nhas taken root in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough for\nthem to find any kind of hypothesis on a subject, they are then all\non fire for it, and imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have\nan opinion is with them equivalent to immediately becoming fanatical\nfor it, and finally taking it to heart as a conviction. In the case\nof an unexplained matter they become heated for the first idea that\ncomes into their head which has any resemblance to an explanation--a\ncourse from which the worst results constantly follow, especially in\nthe field of politics. On that account everybody should nowadays have\nbecome thoroughly acquainted with at least _one_ science, for then\nsurely he knows what is meant by method, and how necessary is the\nextremest carefulness. To women in particular this advice is to be\ngiven at present; as to those who are irretrievably the victims of all\nhypotheses, especially when these have the appearance of being witty,\nattractive, enlivening, and invigorating. Indeed, on close inspection\none sees that by far the greater number of educated people still desire\nconvictions from a thinker and nothing but _convictions,_ and that\nonly a small minority want _certainty._ The former want to be forcibly\ncarried away in order thereby to obtain an increase of strength; the\nlatter few have the real interest which disregards personal advantages\nand the increase of strength also. The former class, who greatly\npredominate, are always reckoned upon when the thinker comports himself\nand labels himself as a _genius,_ and thus views himself as a higher\nbeing to whom authority belongs. In so far as genius of this kind\nupholds the ardour of convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious\nand modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of truth, however much it\nmay think itself the wooer thereof.\n\n\n636.\n\nThere is, certainly, also an entirely different species of genius, that\nof justice; and I cannot make up my mind to estimate it lower than any\nkind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius. Its peculiarity\nis to go, with heartfelt aversion, out of the way of everything that\nblinds and confuses people's judgment of things; it is consequently\nan _adversary of convictions,_ for it wants to give their own to all,\nwhether they be living or dead, real or imaginary--and for that purpose\nit must know thoroughly; it therefore places everything in the best\nlight and goes around it with careful eyes. Finally, it will even give\nto its adversary the blind or short-sighted \"conviction\" (as men call\nit,--among women it is called \"faith\"), what is due to conviction--for\nthe sake of truth.\n\n\n637.\n\nOpinions evolve out of _passions; indolence of intellect_ allows those\nto congeal into _convictions._ He, however, who is conscious of himself\nas a _free,_ restless, lively spirit can prevent this congelation by\nconstant change; and if he is altogether a thinking snowball, he will\nnot have opinions in his head at all, but only certainties and properly\nestimated probabilities. But we, who are of a mixed nature, alternately\ninspired with ardour and chilled through and through by the intellect,\nwant to kneel before justice, as the only goddess we acknowledge. The\n_fire_ in us generally makes us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our\ngoddess; in this condition we are not permitted to take her hand, and\nthe serious smile of her approval never rests upon us. We reverence\nher as the veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her our pain\nas penance and sacrifice when the fire threatens to burn and consume\nus. It is the _intellect_ that saves us from being utterly burnt and\nreduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away from the sacrificial\naltar of justice or enwraps us in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from\nthe fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass from opinion to\nopinion, through the change of parties, as noble _betrayers_ of all\nthings that can in any way be betrayed--and nevertheless without a\nfeeling of guilt.\n\n\n638.\n\nTHE WANDERER.--He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any\nextent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as\na wanderer on the face of the earth--and not even as a traveller\n_towards_ a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly\nwants to observe and keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens\nin the world; therefore he cannot attach his heart too firmly to\nanything individual; he must have in himself something wandering that\ntakes pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be sure such a man will\nhave bad nights, when he is weary and finds the gates of the town that\nshould offer him rest closed; perhaps he may also find that, as in\nthe East, the desert reaches to the gates, that wild beasts howl far\nand near, that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take away his\nbeasts of burden. Then the dreadful night closes over him like a second\ndesert upon the desert, and his heart grows weary of wandering. Then\nwhen the morning sun rises upon him, glowing like a Deity of anger,\nwhen the town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of the dwellers\ntherein still more desert, uncleanliness, deceit, and insecurity than\noutside the gates--and the day is almost worse than the night. Thus\nit may occasionally happen to the wanderer; but then there come as,\ncompensation the delightful mornings of other lands and days, when\nalready in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of muses dancing\nby, close to him, in the mist of the mountain; when afterwards, in\nthe symmetry of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under\nthe trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-places all manner of\ngood and bright things are flung to him, the gifts of all the free\nspirits who are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes, and who,\nlike himself, alternately merry and thoughtful, are wanderers and\nphilosophers. Born of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the\nquestion how the day, between the hours of ten and twelve, can have\nsuch a pure, transparent, and gloriously cheerful countenance: they\nseek the _ante-meridian_ philosophy.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: This is why Nietzsche pointed out later on that he had an\ninterest in the preservation of Christianity, and that he was sure his\nteaching would not undermine this faith--just as little as anarchists\nhave undermined kings; but have left them seated all the more firmly on\ntheir thrones.--J.M.K.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Women never understand this.--J.M.K.]\n\n\n\n\n                        AN EPODE.\n\n\n                        AMONG FRIENDS.\n\n\n                        (Translated by T. COMMON.)\n\n\n\n                        Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming,\n                        Nicer still when we are laughing,\n                        'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding,\n                        On the moss the book a-reading,\n                        Sweetly loud with friends all laughing\n                        Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming.\n                        Do I well, we're mute and humble;\n                        Do I ill--we'll laugh exceeding;\n                        Make it worse and worse, unheeding,\n                        Worse proceeding, more laughs needing,\n                        Till into the grave we stumble.\n                        Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain?\n                        Amen! Till we meet again.\n\n\n                        II.\n\n                        No excuses need be started!\n                        Give, ye glad ones, open hearted,\n                        To this foolish book before you\n                        Ear and heart and lodging meet;\n                        Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you,\n                        Though of folly I may treat!\n                        What I find, seek, and am needing,\n                        Was it e'er in book for reading?\n                        Honour now fools in my name,\n                        Learn from out this book by reading\n                        How \"our sense\" from reason came.\n                        Thus, my friends, shall it obtain?\n                        Amen! Till we meet again.","title":"Human, All-Too-Human: A Book for Free Spirits, Part 1: Complete Works, Volume Six","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":92189}