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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd1524d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51935 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51935) diff --git a/old/51935-0.txt b/old/51935-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 09a839f..0000000 --- a/old/51935-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11136 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51935 *** - -HUMAN - -ALL-TOO-HUMAN - -_A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS_ - -PART I - -By - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - - -TRANSLATED BY - -HELEN ZIMMERN - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY - -J. M. KENNEDY - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Six - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1909 - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - INTRODUCTION - - AUTHOR'S PREFACE - - FIRST DIVISION: FIRST AND LAST THINGS - SECOND DIVISION: THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL - SENTIMENT - THIRD DIVISION: THE RELIGIOUS LIFE - FOURTH DIVISION: CONCERNING THE SOUL OF - ARTISTS AND AUTHORS - FIFTH DIVISION: THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND - LOWER CULTURE - SIXTH DIVISION: MAN IN SOCIETY - SEVENTH DIVISION: WIFE AND CHILD - EIGHTH DIVISION: A GLANCE AT THE STATE - AN EPODE--AMONG FRIENDS - - - - -INTRODUCTION. - - -Nietzsche's essay, _Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,_ appeared in 1876, -and his next publication was his present work, which was issued in -1878. A comparison of the books will show that the two years of -meditation intervening had brought about a great change in Nietzsche's -views, his style of expressing them, and the form in which they -were cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives way to an -Apollonian thinker with a touch of pessimism. The long essay form is -abandoned, and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some tinged with -melancholy, others with satire, several, especially towards the end, -with Nietzschian wit at its best, and a few at the beginning so very -abstruse as to require careful study. - -Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche had gradually come to -see Wagner as he really was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had -pictured in his own mind turned out to be nothing more than a rather -dilettante philosopher, an opportunistic decadent with a suspicious -tendency towards Christianity. The young philosopher thereupon -proceeded to shake off the influence which the musician had exercised -upon him. He was successful in doing so, but not without a struggle, -just as he had formerly shaken off the influence of Schopenhauer. -Hence he writes in his autobiography:[1] "_Human, all-too-Human,_ is -the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A book for _free_ spirits,' -and almost every line in it represents a victory--in its pages I freed -myself from everything foreign to my real nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title says, 'Where _you_ see ideal things, I see things -which are only--human alas! all-too-human!' I know man _better_--the -term 'free spirit' must here be understood in no other sense than this: -a _freed_ man, who has once more taken possession of himself." - -The form of this book will be better understood when it is remembered -that at this period Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach -trouble and headaches. As a cure for his complaints, he spent his time -in travel when he could get a few weeks' respite from his duties at -Basel University; and it was in the course of his solitary walks and -hill-climbing tours that the majority of these thoughts occurred to -him and were jotted down there and then. A few of them, however, date -further back, as he tells us in the preface to the second part of this -work. Many of them, he says, occupied his mind even before he published -his first book, _The Birth of Tragedy_ and several others, as we learn -from his notebooks and posthumous writings, date from the period of the -_Thoughts out of Season._ - -It must be clearly understood, however, that Nietzsche's disease must -not be looked upon in the same way as that of an ordinary man. People -are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous; but any one who rights -with and conquers his disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did, -benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In the first place, he has -passed through several stages of human psychology with which a healthy -man is entirely unacquainted; _e.g._ he has learnt by introspection -the spiteful and revengeful spirit of the sick man and his religion. -Secondly, in his moments of freedom from pain and gloom his thoughts -will be all the more brilliant. - -In support of this last statement, one instance may be selected out of -hundreds that could be adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater part -of his life in exile from his native country, tortured by headaches, -and finally dying in a foreign land as the result of a spinal disease. -His splendid works were composed in his moments of respite from -illness, and during the last years of his life, when his health was -at its worst, he gave to the world his famous _Romancero._ We would -likewise do well to recollect Goethe's saying: - - Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen, - Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.[2] - -Thus neither the form of this book--so startling at first to those who -have been brought up in the traditions of our own school--nor the -treat all men as equals, and proclaim the establishment of equal rights: - - so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on - _justice_ is possible; but, as has been said, only within - the ranks of the governing classes, which in this case - _practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations. On - the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the - Socialists of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome - of justice, but of covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces - of flesh to a beast, and then withdraw them again until - it finally begins to roar, do you think that the roaring - implies justice? - -Theologians on the other hand, as may be expected, will find no such -ready help in their difficulties from Nietzsche. They must, on the -contrary, be on their guard against so alert an adversary--a duty -which they are apparently not going to shirk; for theologians are -amongst the most ardent students of Nietzsche in this country. Their -attention may therefore be drawn to aphorism 630 of this book, dealing -with convictions and their origin, which will no doubt be successfully -refuted by the defenders of the true faith. In fact, there is not a -single paragraph in the book that does not deserve careful study by all -serious thinkers. - -On the whole, however, this is a calm book, and those who are -accustomed to Nietzsche the out-spoken Immoralist, may be somewhat -astonished at the calm tone of the present volume. The explanation is -that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on his own philosophical -path. His life-long aim, the uplifting of the type man, was still in -view, but the way leading towards it was once more uncertain. Hence the -peculiarly calm, even melancholic, and what Nietzsche himself would -call Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so different from -the style of his earlier and later writings. For this very reason, -however, the book may appeal all the more to English readers, who are -of course more Apollonian than Dionysian. Nietzsche is feeling his way, -and these aphorisms represent his first steps. As such--besides having -a high intrinsic value of themselves--they are enormous aids to the -study of his character and temperament. - - J. M. KENNEDY. - - -[Footnote 1: _Ecce Homo,_ p. 75.] - -[Footnote 2: "Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a dark -and sombre background."--J.M.K.] - - - - -PREFACE - - -1. - - -I have been told frequently, and always with great surprise, that there -is something common and distinctive in all my writings, from the _Birth -of Tragedy_ to the latest published _Prelude to a Philosophy of the -Future._ They all contain, I have been told, snares and nets for unwary -birds, and an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the inversion -of customary valuations and valued customs. What? _Everything_ -only--human-all-too-human? People lay down my writings with this sigh, -not without a certain dread and distrust of morality itself, indeed -almost tempted and encouraged to become advocates of the _worst_ -things: as being perhaps only the _best_ disparaged? My writings have -been called a school of suspicion and especially of disdain, more -happily, also, a school of courage and even of audacity. Indeed, I -myself do not think that any one has ever looked at the world with such -a profound suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's Advocate, but -equally also, to speak theologically, as enemy and impeacher of God; -and he who realises something of the consequences involved, in every -profound suspicion, something of the chills and anxieties of loneliness -to which every uncompromising _difference of outlook_ condemns him -who is affected therewith, will also understand how often I sought -shelter in some kind of reverence or hostility, or scientificality -or levity or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and, as it -were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness; also why, when I did not -find what I _needed,_ I was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit -and to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else have poets ever -done? And for what purpose has all the art in the world existed?). -What I always required most, however, for my cure and self-recovery, -was the belief that I was _not_ isolated in such circumstances, that I -did not _see_ in an isolated manner--a magic suspicion of relationship -and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a repose in the -confidence of friendship, a blindness in both parties without suspicion -or note of interrogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces -of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour, epidermis, and -outside appearance. Perhaps I might be reproached in this respect -for much "art" and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily -and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will to -morality at a time when I had become sufficiently clear-sighted about -morality; also for deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable -romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an end; also about -the Greeks, also about the Germans and their future--and there would -still probably be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing however, -that this were all true and that I were reproached with good reason, -what do _you_ know, what _could_ you know as to how much artifice of -self-preservation, how much rationality and higher protection there is -in such self-deception,--and how much falseness I still _require_ in -order to allow myself again and again the luxury of _my_ sincerity? -... In short, I still live; and life, in spite of ourselves, is not -devised by morality; it _demands_ illusion, it _lives_ by illusion -... but----There! I am already beginning again and doing what I have -always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher that I am,--I am talking -un-morally, ultra-morally, "beyond good and evil"?... - - -2. - -Thus then, when I found it necessary, I _invented_ once on a time the -"free spirits," to whom this discouragingly encouraging book with -the title _Human, all-too-Human,_ is dedicated. There are no such -"free spirits" nor have there been such, but, as already said, I then -required them for company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils -(sickness, loneliness, foreignness,--_acedia,_ inactivity) as brave -companions and ghosts with whom I could laugh and gossip when so -inclined and send to the devil when they became bores,--as compensation -for the lack of friends. That such free spirits _will be possible_ some -day, that our Europe _will_ have such bold and cheerful wights amongst -her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow, as the shadows of -a hermit's phantasmagoria--_I_ should be the last to doubt thereof. -Already I see them _coming,_ slowly, slowly; and perhaps I am doing -something to hasten their coming when I describe in advance under what -auspices I _see_ them originate, and upon what paths I _see_ them come. - - -3. - -One may suppose that a spirit in which the type "free spirit" is to -become fully mature and sweet, has had its decisive event in a _great -emancipation,_ and that it was all the more fettered previously and -apparently bound for ever to its corner and pillar. What is it that -binds most strongly? What cords are almost unrendable? In men of a -lofty and select type it will be their duties; the reverence which is -suitable to youth, respect and tenderness for all that is time-honoured -and worthy, gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand which -led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt to adore,--their most -exalted moments themselves will bind them most effectively, will lay -upon them the most enduring obligations. For those who are thus bound -the great emancipation comes suddenly, like an earthquake; the young -soul is all at once convulsed, unloosened and extricated--it does not -itself know what is happening. An impulsion and-compulsion sway and -over-master it like a command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth -on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent, dangerous curiosity -about an undiscovered world flames and flares in every sense. "Better -to die than live _here_"--says the imperious voice and seduction, and -this "here," this "at home" is all that the soul has hitherto loved! A -sudden fear and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of disdain -for what was called its "duty," a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanically -throbbing longing for travel, foreignness, estrangement, coldness, -disenchantment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious -clutch and look _backwards,_ to where it hitherto adored and loved, -perhaps a glow of shame at what it was just doing, and at the same -time a rejoicing _that_ it was doing it, an intoxicated, internal, -exulting thrill which betrays a triumph--a triumph? Over what? Over -whom? An enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but the _first_ -triumph nevertheless;--such evil and painful incidents belong to the -history of the great emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease -which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of power and will to -self-decision, self-valuation, this will to _free_ will; and how much -disease is manifested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by which -the liberated and emancipated one now seeks to demonstrate his mastery -over things! He roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; whatever -he captures has to suffer for the dangerous tension of his pride; -he tears to pieces whatever attracts him. With a malicious laugh he -twirls round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a sense of shame; -he tries how these things look when turned upside down. It is a matter -of arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness, if he now -perhaps bestow his favour on what had hitherto a bad repute,--if he -inquisitively and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden. In the -background of his activities and wanderings --for he is restless and -aimless in his course as in a desert--stands the note of interrogation -of an increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot _all_ valuations be -reversed? And is good perhaps evil? And God only an invention and -artifice of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically false? And -if we are the deceived, are we not thereby also deceivers? _Must_ we -not also be deceivers?"--Such thoughts lead and mislead him more and -more, onward and away. Solitude encircles and engirdles him, always -more threatening, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that terrible -goddess and _mater sæva cupidinum_--but who knows nowadays what -_solitude_ is?... - - -4. - -From this morbid solitariness, from the desert of such years of -experiment, it is still a long way to the copious, overflowing safety -and soundness which does not care to dispense with disease itself as -an instrument and angling-hook of knowledge;--to that _mature_ freedom -of spirit which is equally self-control and discipline of the heart, -and gives access to many and opposed modes of thought;--to that inward -comprehensiveness and daintiness of superabundance, which excludes any -danger of the spirit's becoming enamoured and lost in its own paths, -and lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that excess of -plastic, healing, formative, and restorative powers, which is exactly -the sign of _splendid_ health, that excess which gives the free spirit -the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to live by _experiments_ -and offer itself to adventure; the free spirit's prerogative of -mastership! Long years of convalescence may lie in between, years full -of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magical transformations, curbed -and led by a tough _will to health,_ which often dares to dress and -disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle condition therein, -which a man of such a fate never calls to mind later on without -emotion; a pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are peculiar -to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom, prospect, and haughtiness, a -_tertium quid_ in which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined. A -"free spirit"--this cool expression does good in every condition, it -almost warms. One no longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred, -without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near, voluntarily distant, -preferring to escape, to turn aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and -away; one is fastidious like every one who has once seen an immense -variety _beneath_ him,--and one has become the opposite of those who -trouble themselves about things which do not concern them. In fact, it -is nothing but things which now concern the free spirit,--and how many -things!--which no longer _trouble_ him! - - -5. - -A step further towards recovery, and the free spirit again draws -near to life; slowly, it is true, and almost stubbornly, almost -distrustfully. Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it were, -yellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,. thawing winds of every -kind pass lightly over him. He almost feels as if his eyes were now -first opened to what is _near._ He marvels and is still; where has -he been? The near and nearest things, how changed they appear to -him! What a bloom and magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks -back gratefully,--grateful to his wandering, his austerity and -self-estrangement, his far-sightedness and his bird-like flights -in cold heights. What a good thing that he did not always stay "at -home," "by himself," like a sensitive, stupid tenderling. He has been -_beside himself,_ there is no doubt. He now sees himself for the first -time,--and what surprises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced -hitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the old illness, in the -relapses of the convalescent! How he likes to sit still and suffer, to -practise patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as he with the -joy of winter, with the patch of sunshine upon the wall! They are the -most grateful animals in the world, and also the most unassuming, these -lizards of convalescents with their faces half-turned towards life once -more:--there are those amongst them who never let a day pass without -hanging a little hymn of praise on its trailing fringe. And, speaking -seriously, it is a radical _cure_ for all pessimism (the well-known -disease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to become ill after -the manner of these free spirits, to remain ill a good while, and then -grow well (I mean "better") for a still longer period. It is wisdom, -practical wisdom, to prescribe even health for one's self for a long -time only in small doses. - - -6. - -About this time it may at last happen, under the sudden illuminations -of still disturbed and changing health, that the enigma of that great -emancipation begins to reveal itself to the free, and ever freer, -spirit,--that enigma which had hitherto lain obscure, questionable, -and almost intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he scarcely -dared to ask himself, "Why so apart? So alone? denying everything that -I revered? denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this suspicion, -this severity towards my own virtues?"--he now dares and asks the -questions aloud, and already hears something like an answer to them-- -"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and master also of thine own -virtues. Formerly _they_ were thy masters; but they are only entitled -to be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst obtain power over -thy pro and contra, and learn how to put them forth and withdraw them -again in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou shouldst learn how -to take the proper perspective of every valuation--the shifting, -distortion, and apparent teleology of the horizons and everything that -belongs to perspective; also the amount of stupidity which opposite -values involve, and all the intellectual loss with which every pro -and every contra has to be paid for. Thou shouldst learn how much -_necessary_ injustice there is in every for and against, injustice -as inseparable from life, and life itself as _conditioned_ by the -perspective and its injustice. Above all thou shouldst see clearly -where the injustice is always greatest:--namely, where life has -developed most punily, restrictedly, necessitously, and incipiently, -and yet cannot help regarding _itself_ as the purpose and standard of -things, and for the sake of self-preservation, secretly, basely, and -continuously wasting away and calling in question the higher, greater, -and richer,--thou shouldst see clearly the problem of gradation of -rank, and how power and right and amplitude of perspective grow up -together. Thou shouldst----" But enough; the free spirit _knows_ -henceforth which "thou shalt" he has obeyed, and also what he _can_ now -_do,_ what he only now--_may do_.... - - -7. - -Thus doth the free spirit answer himself with regard to the riddle of -emancipation, and ends therewith, while he generalises his case, in -order thus to decide with regard to his experience. "As it has happened -to _me_," he says to himself, "so must it happen to every one in whom -a _mission_ seeks to embody itself and to 'come into the world.'" The -secret power and necessity of this mission will operate in and upon -the destined individuals like an unconscious pregnancy,--long before -they have had the mission itself in view and have known its name. Our -destiny rules over us, even when we are not yet aware of it; it is -the future that makes laws for our to-day. Granted that it is _the -problem of the gradations of rank,_ of which we may say that it is -_our_ problem, we free spirits; now only in the midday of our life do -we first understand what preparations, detours, tests, experiments, -and disguises the problem needed, before it _was permitted_ to rise -before us, and how we had first to experience the most manifold and -opposing conditions of distress and happiness in soul and body, as -adventurers and circumnavigators of the inner world called "man," as -surveyors of all the "higher" and the "one-above-another," also called -"man"--penetrating everywhere, almost without fear, rejecting nothing, -losing nothing, tasting everything, cleansing everything from all that -is accidental, and, as it were, sifting it out--until at last we could -say, we free spirits, "Here--a _new_ problem! Here a long ladder, -the rungs of which we ourselves have sat upon and mounted,--which we -ourselves at some time have _been_! Here a higher place, a lower place, -an under-us, an immeasurably long order, a hierarchy which we _see;_ -here--_our_ problem!" - - -8. - -No psychologist or augur will be in doubt for a moment as to what stage -of the development just described the following book belongs (or is -assigned to). But where are these psychologists nowadays? In France, -certainly; perhaps in Russia; assuredly not in Germany. Reasons are -not lacking why the present-day Germans could still even count this -as an honour to them--bad enough, surely, for one who in this respect -is un-German in disposition and constitution! This _German_ book, -which has been able to find readers in a wide circle of countries -and nations--it has been about ten years going its rounds--and must -understand some sort of music and piping art, by means of which -even coy foreign ears are seduced into listening,--it is precisely -in Germany that this book has been most negligently read, and worst -_listened to;_ what is the reason?" It demands too much, "I have been -told," it appeals to men free from the pressure of coarse duties, it -wants refined and fastidious senses, it needs superfluity--superfluity -of time, of clearness of sky and heart, of _otium_ in the boldest -sense of the term:--purely good things, which we Germans of to-day do -not possess and therefore cannot give." After such a polite answer -my philosophy advises me to be silent and not to question further; -besides, in certain cases, as the proverb points out, one only -_remains_ a philosopher by being--silent.[1] - -NICE, _Spring_ 1886. - - -[Footnote 1: An allusion to the mediæval Latin distich: - -O si tacuisses, -Philosophus mansisses.--J.M.K. -] - - - - -HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN. - - - - -FIRST DIVISION. - - -FIRST AND LAST THINGS. - - - -1. - -CHEMISTRY OF IDEAS AND SENSATIONS.--Philosophical problems adopt in -almost all matters the same form of question as they did two thousand -years ago; how can anything spring from its opposite? for instance, -reason out of unreason, the sentient out of the dead, logic out of -unlogic, disinterested contemplation out of covetous willing, life for -others out of egoism, truth out of error? Metaphysical philosophy has -helped itself over those difficulties hitherto by denying the origin of -one thing in another, and assuming a miraculous origin for more highly -valued things, immediately out of the kernel and essence of the "thing -in itself." Historical philosophy, on the contrary, which is no longer -to be thought of as separate from physical science, the youngest of all -philosophical methods, has ascertained in single cases (and presumably -this will happen in everything) that there are no opposites except in -the usual exaggeration of the popular or metaphysical point of view, -and that an error of reason lies at the bottom of the opposition: -according to this explanation, strictly understood, there is neither -an unegoistical action nor an entirely disinterested point of view, -they are both only sublimations in which the fundamental element -appears almost evaporated, and is only to be discovered by the closest -observation. All that we require, and which can only be given us by the -present advance of the single sciences, is a _chemistry_ of the moral, -religious, æsthetic ideas and sentiments, as also of those emotions -which we experience in ourselves both in the great and in the small -phases of social and intellectual intercourse, and even in solitude; -but what if this chemistry should result in the fact that also in this -case the most beautiful colours have been obtained from base, even -despised materials? Would many be inclined to pursue such examinations? -Humanity likes to put all questions as to origin and beginning out -of its mind; must one not be almost dehumanised to feel a contrary -tendency in one's self? - - -2. - -INHERITED FAULTS OF PHILOSOPHERS.--All philosophers have the common -fault that they start from man in his present state and hope to attain -their end by an analysis of him. Unconsciously they look upon "man" -as an _cetema Veritas,_ as a thing unchangeable in all commotion, as -a sure standard of things. But everything that the philosopher says -about man is really nothing more than testimony about the man of a -_very limited_ space of time. A lack of the historical sense is the -hereditary fault of all philosophers; many, indeed, unconsciously -mistake the very latest variety of man, such as has arisen under the -influence of certain religions, certain political events, for the -permanent form from which one must set out. They will not learn that -man has developed, that his faculty of knowledge has developed also; -whilst for some of them the entire world is spun out of this faculty -of knowledge. Now everything _essential_ in human development happened -in pre-historic times, long before those four thousand years which we -know something of; man may not have changed much during this time. But -the philosopher sees "instincts" in the present man and takes it for -granted that this is one of the unalterable facts of mankind, and, -consequently, can furnish a key to the understanding of the world; the -entire teleology is so constructed that man of the last four thousand -years is spoken of as an _eternal_ being, towards which all things in -the world have from the beginning a natural direction. But everything -has evolved; there are _no eternal facts,_ as there are likewise no -absolute truths. Therefore, _historical philosophising_ is henceforth -necessary, and with it the virtue of diffidence. - - -3. - -APPRECIATION OF UNPRETENTIOUS TRUTHS.--It is a mark of a higher -culture to value the little unpretentious truths, which have been -found by means of strict method, more highly than the joy-diffusing -and dazzling errors which spring from metaphysical and artistic times -and peoples. First of all one has scorn on the lips for the former, -as if here nothing could have equal privileges with anything else, -so unassuming, simple, bashful, apparently discouraging are they, -so beautiful, stately, intoxicating, perhaps even animating, are -the others. But the hardly attained, the certain, the lasting, and -therefore of great consequence for all wider knowledge, is still -the higher; to keep one's self to that is manly and shows bravery, -simplicity, and forbearance. Gradually not only single individuals -but the whole of mankind will be raised to this manliness, when -it has at last accustomed itself to the higher appreciation of -durable, lasting knowledge, and has lost all belief in inspiration -and the miraculous communication of truths. Respecters of _forms,_ -certainly, with their standard of the beautiful and noble, will first -of all have good reasons for mockery, as soon as the appreciation of -unpretentious truths, and the scientific spirit, begin to obtain the -mastery; but only because their eye has either not yet recognised the -charm of the _simplest_ form, or because men educated in that spirit -are not yet completely and inwardly saturated by it, so that they -still thoughtlessly imitate old forms (and badly enough, as one does -who no longer cares much about the matter). Formerly the spirit was -not occupied with strict thought, its earnestness then lay in the -spinning out of symbols and forms. This is changed; that earnestness -in the symbolical has become the mark of a lower culture. As our arts -themselves grow evermore intellectual, our senses more spiritual, and -as, for instance, people now judge concerning what sounds well to the -senses quite differently from how they did a hundred years ago, so the -forms of our life grow ever more _spiritual,_ to the eye of older ages -perhaps _uglier,_ but only because it is incapable of perceiving how -the kingdom of the inward, spiritual beauty constantly grows deeper -and wider, and to what extent the inner intellectual look may be of -more importance to us all than the most beautiful bodily frame and the -noblest architectural structure. - - -4. - -ASTROLOGY AND THE LIKE.--It is probable that the objects of religious, -moral, æsthetic and logical sentiment likewise belong only to the -surface of things, while man willingly believes that here, at least, -he has touched the heart of the world; he deceives himself, because -those things enrapture him so profoundly, and make him so profoundly -unhappy, and he therefore shows the same pride here as in astrology. -For astrology believes that the firmament moves round the destiny of -man; the moral man, however, takes it for granted that what he has -essentially at heart must also be the essence and heart of things. - - -5. - -MISUNDERSTANDING OF DREAMS.--In the ages of a rude and primitive -civilisation man believed that in dreams he became acquainted with -a _second actual world_; herein lies the origin of all metaphysics. -Without dreams there could have been found no reason for a division of -the world. The distinction, too, between soul and body is connected -with the most ancient comprehension of dreams, also the supposition of -an imaginary soul-body, therefore the origin of all belief in spirits, -and probably also the belief in gods. "The dead continues to live, -_for_ he appears to the living in a dream": thus men reasoned of old -for thousands and thousands of years. - - -6. - -THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT PARTIALLY BUT NOT WHOLLY POWERFUL.--The -_smallest_ subdivisions of science taken separately are dealt with -purely in relation to themselves,--the general, great sciences, on the -contrary, regarded as a whole, call up the question--certainly a very -non-objective one--"Wherefore? To what end?" It is this utilitarian -consideration which causes them to be dealt with less impersonally -when taken as a whole than when considered in their various parts. -In philosophy, above all, as the apex of the entire, pyramid of -science, the question as to the utility of knowledge is involuntarily -brought forward, and every philosophy has the unconscious intention of -ascribing to it the _greatest_ usefulness. For this reason there is so -much high-flying metaphysics in all philosophies and such a shyness of -the apparently unimportant solutions of physics; for the importance -of knowledge for life _must_ appear as great as possible. Here is the -antagonism between the separate provinces of science and philosophy. -The latter desires, what art does, to give the greatest possible depth -and meaning to life and actions; in the former one seeks knowledge and -nothing further, whatever may emerge thereby. So far there has been no -philosopher in whose hands philosophy has not grown into an apology -for knowledge; on this point, at least, every one is an optimist, that -the greatest usefulness must be ascribed to knowledge. They are all -tyrannised over by logic, and this is optimism--in its essence. - - -7. - -THE KILL-JOY IN SCIENCE.--Philosophy separated from science when it -asked the question, "Which is the knowledge of the world and of life -which enables man to live most happily?" This happened in the Socratic -schools; the veins of scientific investigation were bound up by the -point of view of _happiness,_--and are so still. - - -8. - -PNEUMATIC EXPLANATION OF NATURE.--Metaphysics explains the writing of -Nature, so to speak, _pneumatically,_ as the Church and her learned men -formerly did with the Bible. A great deal of understanding is required -to apply to Nature the same method of strict interpretation as the -philologists have now established for all books with the intention -of clearly understanding what the text means, but not suspecting a -_double_ sense or even taking it for granted. Just, however, as with -regard to books, the bad art of interpretation is by no means overcome, -and in the most cultivated society one still constantly comes across -the remains of allegorical and mystic interpretation, so it is also -with regard to Nature, indeed it is even much worse. - - -9. - -THE METAPHYSICAL WORLD.--It is true that there _might_ be a -metaphysical world; the absolute possibility of it is hardly to be -disputed. We look at everything through the human head and cannot cut -this head off; while the question remains, What would be left of the -world if it had been cut off? This is a purely scientific problem, -and one not very likely to trouble mankind; but everything which -has hitherto made metaphysical suppositions _valuable, terrible, -delightful_ for man, what has produced them, is passion, error, and -self-deception; the very worst methods of knowledge, not the best, -have taught belief therein. When these methods have been discovered as -the foundation of all existing religions and metaphysics, they have -been refuted. Then there still always remains that possibility; but -there is nothing to be done with it, much less is it possible to let -happiness, salvation, and life depend on the spider-thread of such a -possibility. For nothing could be said of the metaphysical world but -that it would be a different condition, a condition inaccessible and -incomprehensible to us; it would be a thing of negative qualities. -Were the existence of such a world ever so well proved, the fact would -nevertheless remain that it would be precisely the most irrelevant -of all forms of knowledge: more irrelevant than the knowledge of the -chemical analysis of water to the sailor in danger in a storm. - - -10. - -THE HARMLESSNESS OF METAPHYSICS IN THE FUTURE.--Directly the origins -of religion, art, and morals have been so described that one can -perfectly explain them without having recourse to metaphysical concepts -at the beginning and in the course of the path, the strongest interest -in the purely theoretical problem of the "thing-in-itself" and the -"phenomenon" ceases. For however it may be here, with religion, art, -and morals we do not touch the "essence of the world in itself"; we are -in the domain of representation, no "intuition" can carry us further. -With the greatest calmness we shall leave the question as to how our -own conception of the world can differ so widely from the revealed -essence of the world, to physiology and the history of the evolution of -organisms and ideas. - - -11. - -LANGUAGE AS A PRESUMPTIVE SCIENCE.--The importance of language for -the development of culture lies in the fact that in language man has -placed a world of his own beside the other, a position which he deemed -so fixed that he might therefrom lift the rest of the world off its -hinges, and make himself master of it. Inasmuch as man has believed in -the ideas and names of things as _æternæ veritates_ for a great length -of time, he has acquired that pride by which he has raised himself -above the animal; he really thought that in language he possessed -the knowledge of the world. The maker of language was not modest -enough to think that he only gave designations to things, he believed -rather that with his words he expressed the widest knowledge of the -things; in reality language is the first step in the endeavour after -science. Here also it is belief in ascertained truth, from which the -mightiest sources of strength have flowed. Much later--only now--it -is dawning upon men that they have propagated a tremendous error in -their belief in language. Fortunately it is now too late to reverse -the development of reason, which is founded upon that belief. _Logic,_ -also, is founded upon suppositions to which nothing in the actual -world corresponds,--for instance, on the supposition of the equality -of things, and the identity of the same thing at different points of -time,--but that particular science arose out of the contrary belief -(that such things really existed in the actual world). It is the same -with mathematics, which would certainly not have arisen if it had been -known from the beginning that in Nature there are no exactly straight -lines, no real circle, no absolute standard of size. - - -12. - -DREAM AND CULTURE.--The function of the brain which is most influenced -by sleep is the memory; not that it entirely ceases; but it is brought -back to a condition of imperfection, such as everyone may have -experienced in pre-historic times, whether asleep or awake. Arbitrary -and confused as it is, it constantly confounds things on the ground -of the most fleeting resemblances; but with the same arbitrariness -and confusion the ancients invented their mythologies, and even at -the present day travellers are accustomed to remark how prone the -savage is to forgetfulness, how, after a short tension of memory, his -mind begins to sway here and there from sheer weariness and gives -forth lies and nonsense. But in dreams we all resemble the savage; -bad recognition and erroneous comparisons are the reasons of the -bad conclusions, of which we are guilty in dreams: so that, when we -clearly recollect what we have dreamt, we are alarmed at ourselves at -harbouring so much foolishness within us. The perfect distinctness of -all dream-representations, which pre-suppose absolute faith in their -reality, recall the conditions that appertain, to primitive man, -in whom hallucination was extraordinarily frequent, and sometimes -simultaneously seized entire communities, entire nations. Therefore, in -sleep and in dreams we once more carry out the task of early humanity. - - -13. - -THE LOGIC OF DREAMS.--In sleep our nervous system is perpetually -excited by numerous inner occurrences; nearly all the organs are -disjointed and in a state of activity, the blood runs its turbulent -course, the position of the sleeper causes pressure on certain limbs, -his coverings influence his sensations in various ways, the stomach -digests and by its movements it disturbs other organs, the intestines -writhe, the position of the head occasions unaccustomed play of -muscles, the feet, unshod, not pressing upon the floor with the soles, -occasion the feeling of the unaccustomed just as does the different -clothing of the whole body: all this, according to its daily change -and extent, excites by its extraordinariness the entire system to the -very functions of the brain, and thus there are a hundred occasions -for the spirit to be surprised and to seek for the _reasons_ of this -excitation;--the dream, however, is _the seeking and representing of -the causes_ of those excited sensations,--that is, of the supposed -causes. A person who, for instance, binds his feet with two straps -will perhaps dream that two serpents are coiling round his feet; this -is first hypothesis, then a belief, with an accompanying _mental_ -picture and interpretation--" These serpents must be the _causa_ of -those sensations which I, the sleeper, experience,"--so decides the -mind of the sleeper. The immediate past, so disclosed, becomes to him -the present through his excited imagination. Thus every one knows -from experience how quickly the dreamer weaves into his dream a -loud sound that he hears, such as the ringing of bells or the firing -of cannon, that is to say, explains it from _afterwards_ so that he -first _thinks_ he experiences the producing circumstances and then -that sound. But how does it happen that the mind of the dreamer is -always so mistaken, while the same mind when awake is accustomed to be -so temperate, careful, and sceptical with regard to its hypotheses? -so that the first random hypothesis for the explanation of a feeling -suffices for him to believe immediately in its truth? (For in dreaming -we believe in the dream as if it were a reality, _i.e._ we think our -hypothesis completely proved.) I hold, that as man now still reasons in -dreams, so men reasoned also _when awake_ through thousands of years; -the first _causa_ which occurred to the mind to explain anything that -required an explanation, was sufficient and stood for truth. (Thus, -according to travellers' tales, savages still do to this very day.) -This ancient element in human nature still manifests itself in our -dreams, for it is the foundation upon which the higher reason has -developed and still develops in every individual; the dream carries -us back into remote conditions of human culture, and provides a ready -means of understanding them better. Dream-thinking is now so easy to -us because during immense periods of human development we have been -so well drilled in this form of fantastic and cheap explanation, -by means of the first agreeable notions. In so far, dreaming is a -recreation for the brain, which by day has to satisfy the stern -demands of thought, as they are laid down by the higher culture. We -can at once discern an allied process even in our awakened state, as -the door and ante-room of the dream. If we shut our eyes, the brain -produces a number of impressions of light and colour, probably as a -kind of after-play and echo of all those effects of light which crowd -in upon it by day. Now, however, the understanding, together with -the imagination, instantly works up this play of colour, shapeless -in itself, into definite figures, forms, landscapes, and animated -groups. The actual accompanying process thereby is again a kind of -conclusion from the effect to the cause: since the mind asks, "Whence -come these impressions of light and colour?" it supposes those figures -and forms as causes; it takes them for the origin of those colours and -lights, because in the daytime, with open eyes, it is accustomed to -find a producing cause for every colour, every effect of light. Here, -therefore, the imagination constantly places pictures before the mind, -since it supports itself on the visual impressions of the day in their -production, and the dream-imagination does just the same thing,--that -is, the supposed cause is deduced from the effect and represented after -the effect; all this happens with extraordinary rapidity, so that here, -as with the conjuror, a confusion of judgment may arise and a sequence -may look like something simultaneous, or even like a reversed sequence. -From these circumstances we may gather _how lately_ the more acute -logical thinking, the strict discrimination of cause and effect has -been developed, when our reasoning and understanding faculties _still_ -involuntarily hark back to those primitive forms of deduction, and -when we pass about half our life in this condition. The poet, too, and -the artist assign causes for their moods and conditions which are by -no means the true ones; in this they recall an older humanity and can -assist us to the understanding of it. - - -14. - -CO-ECHOING.--All _stronger_ moods bring with them a co-echoing of -kindred sensations and moods, they grub up the memory, so to speak. -Along with them something within us remembers and becomes conscious -of similar conditions and their origin. Thus there are formed quick -habitual connections of feelings and thoughts, which eventually, when -they follow each other with lightning speed, are no longer felt as -complexes but as _unities._ In this sense one speaks of the moral -feeling, of the religious feeling, as if they were absolute unities: in -reality they are streams with a hundred sources and tributaries. Here -also, as so often happens, the unity of the word is no security for the -unity of the thing. - - -15. - -NO INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL IN THE WORLD.--As Democritus transferred the -concepts "above" and "below" to endless space where they have no sense, -so philosophers in general have transferred the concepts "Internal" -and "External" to the essence and appearance of the world; they think -that with deep feelings one can penetrate deeply into the internal and -approach the heart of Nature. But these feelings are only deep in so -far as along with them, barely noticeable, certain complicated groups -of thoughts, which we call deep, are regularly excited; a feeling -is deep because we think that the accompanying thought is deep. But -the "deep" thought can nevertheless be very far from the truth, as, -for instance, every metaphysical one; if one take away from the deep -feeling the commingled elements of thought, then the _strong_ feeling -remains, and this guarantees nothing for knowledge but itself, just -as strong faith proves only its strength and not the truth of what is -believed in. - - -16. - -PHENOMENON AND THING-IN-ITSELF.--Philosophers are in the habit of -setting themselves before life and experience--before that which they -call the world of appearance--as before a picture that is once for -all unrolled and exhibits unchangeably fixed the same process,--this -process, they think, must be rightly interpreted in order to come to -a conclusion about the being that produced the picture: about the -thing-in-itself, therefore, which is always accustomed to be regarded -as sufficient ground for the world of phenomenon. On the other hand, -since one always makes the idea of the metaphysical stand definitely -as that of the unconditioned, _consequently_ also unconditioning, one -must directly disown all connection between the unconditioned (the -metaphysical world) and the world which is known to us; so that the -thing-in-itself should most certainly _not_ appear in the phenomenon, -and every conclusion from the former as regards the latter is to be -rejected. Both sides overlook the fact that that picture--that which -we now call human life and experience--has gradually evolved,--nay, -is still in the full process of evolving,--and therefore should not -be regarded as a fixed magnitude from which a conclusion about its -originator might be deduced (the sufficing cause) or even merely -neglected. It is because for thousands of years we have looked into -the world with moral, æsthetic, and religious pretensions, with blind -inclination, passion, or fear, and have surfeited ourselves in the -vices of illogical thought, that this world has gradually _become_ so -marvellously motley, terrible, full of meaning and of soul, it has -acquired colour--but we were the colourists; the human intellect, -on the basis of human needs, of human emotions, has caused this -"phenomenon" to appear and has carried its erroneous fundamental -conceptions into things. Late, very late, it takes to thinking, and -now the world of experience and the thing-in-itself seem to it so -extraordinarily different and separated, that it gives up drawing -conclusions from the former to the latter--or in a terribly mysterious -manner demands the renunciation of our intellect, of our personal -will, in order _thereby_ to reach the essential, that one may _become -essential._ Again, others have collected all the characteristic -features of our world of phenomenon,--that is, the idea of the world -spun out of intellectual errors and inherited by us,--and _instead of -accusing the intellect_ as the offenders, they have laid the blame on -the nature of things as being the cause of the hard fact of this very -sinister character of the world, and have preached the deliverance -from Being. With all these conceptions the constant and laborious -process of science (which at last celebrates its greatest triumph in a -_history of the origin of thought_) becomes completed in various ways, -the result of which might perhaps run as follows:--"That which we now -call the world is the result of a mass of errors and fantasies which -arose gradually in the general development of organic being, which -are inter-grown with each other, and are now inherited by us as the -accumulated treasure of all the past,--as a treasure, for the value of -our humanity depends upon it. From this world of representation strict -science is really only able to liberate us to a very slight extent--as -it is also not at all desirable--inasmuch as it cannot essentially -break the power of primitive habits of feeling; but it can gradually -elucidate the history of the rise of that world as representation,--and -lift us, at least for moments, above and beyond the whole process. -Perhaps we shall then recognise that the thing in itself is worth a -Homeric laugh; that it _seemed_ so much, indeed everything, and _is_ -really empty, namely, empty of meaning." - - -17. - -METAPHYSICAL EXPLANATIONS.--The young man values metaphysical -explanations, because they show him something highly significant -in things which he found unpleasant or despicable, and if he is -dissatisfied with himself, the feeling becomes lighter when he -recognises the innermost world-puzzle or world-misery in that which he -so strongly disapproves of in himself. To feel himself less responsible -and at the same time to find things more interesting--that seems to -him a double benefit for which he has to thank metaphysics. Later on, -certainly, he gets distrustful of the whole metaphysical method of -explanation; then perhaps it grows clear to him that those results can -be obtained equally well and more scientifically in another way: that -physical and historical explanations produce the feeling of personal -relief to at least the same extent, and that the interest in life and -its problems is perhaps still more aroused thereby. - - -18. - -FUNDAMENTAL QUESTIONS OF METAPHYSICS.--When the history of the rise -of thought comes to be written, a new light will be thrown on the -following statement of a distinguished logician:--"The primordial -general law of the cognisant subject consists in the inner necessity -of recognising every object in itself in its own nature, as a thing -identical with itself, consequently self-existing and at bottom -remaining ever the same and unchangeable: in short, in recognising -everything as a substance." Even this law, which is here called -"primordial," has evolved: it will some day be shown how gradually this -tendency arises in the lower organisms, how the feeble mole-eyes of -their organisations at first see only the same thing,--;how then, when -the various awakenings of pleasure and displeasure become noticeable, -various substances are gradually distinguished, but each with one -attribute, _i.e._ one single relation to such an organism. The first -step in logic is the judgment,--the nature of which, according to the -decision of the best logicians, consists in belief. At the bottom of -all belief lies _the sensation of the pleasant or the painful_ in -relation to the _sentient subject._ A new third sensation as the result -of two previous single sensations is the judgment in its simplest -form. We organic beings have originally no interest in anything but -its relation to _us_ in connection with pleasure and pain. Between -the moments (the states of feeling) when we become conscious of -this connection, lie moments of rest, of non-feeling; the world and -everything is then without interest for us, we notice no change in it -(as even now a deeply interested person does not notice when any one -passes him). To the plant, things are as a rule tranquil and eternal, -everything like itself. From the period of the lower organisms man -has inherited the belief that _similar things_ exist (this theory -is only contradicted by the matured experience of the most advanced -science). The primordial belief of everything organic from the -beginning is perhaps even this, that all the rest of the world is one -and immovable. The point furthest removed from those early beginnings -of logic is the idea of _Causality,_--indeed we still really think -that all sensations and activities are acts of the free will; when the -sentient individual contemplates himself, he regards every sensation, -every alteration as something _isolated,_ that is to say, unconditioned -and disconnected,--it rises up in us without connection with anything -foregoing or following. We are hungry, but do not originally think that -the organism must be nourished; the feeling seems to make itself felt -_without cause and purpose,_ it isolates itself and regards itself as -arbitrary. Therefore, belief in the freedom of the will is an original -error of everything organic, as old as the existence of the awakenings -of logic in it; the belief in unconditioned substances and similar -things is equally a primordial as well as an old error of everything -organic. But inasmuch as all metaphysics has concerned itself chiefly -with substance and the freedom of will, it may be designated as the -science which treats of the fundamental errors of mankind, but treats -of them as if they were fundamental truths. - - -19. - -NUMBER.--The discovery of the laws of numbers is made upon the ground -of the original, already prevailing error, that there are many similar -things (but in reality there is nothing similar), at least, that there -are things (but there is no "thing"). The supposition of plurality -always presumes that there is something which appears frequently,--but -here already error reigns, already we imagine beings, unities, -which do not exist. Our sensations of space and time are false, for -they lead--examined in sequence--to logical contradictions. In all -scientific determinations we always reckon inevitably with certain -false quantities, but as these quantities are at least constant, as, -for instance, our sensation of time and space, the conclusions of -science have still perfect accuracy and certainty in their connection -with one another; one may continue to build upon them--until that final -limit where the erroneous original suppositions, those constant faults, -come into conflict with the conclusions, for instance in the doctrine -of atoms. There still we always feel ourselves compelled to the -acceptance of a "thing" or material "sub-stratum" that is moved, whilst -the whole scientific procedure has pursued the very task of resolving -everything substantial (material) into motion; here, too, we still -separate with our sensation the mover and the moved and cannot get -out of this circle, because the belief in things has from immemorial -times been bound up with our being. When Kant says, "The understanding -does not derive its laws from Nature, but dictates them to her," it is -perfectly true with regard to the idea of Nature which we are compelled -to associate with her (Nature = World as representation, that is to -say as error), but which is the summing up of a number of errors of -the understanding. The laws of numbers are entirely inapplicable to a -world which is not our representation--these laws obtain only in the -human world. - - -20. - -A FEW STEPS BACK.--A degree of culture, and assuredly a very high one, -is attained when man rises above superstitious and religious notions -and fears, and, for instance, no longer believes in guardian angels or -in original sin, and has also ceased to talk of the salvation of his -soul,--if he has attained to this degree of freedom, he has still also -to overcome metaphysics with the greatest exertion of his intelligence. -Then, however, a _retrogressive movement_ is necessary; he must -understand the historical justification as well as the psychological in -such representations, he must recognise how the greatest advancement -of humanity has come therefrom, and how, without such a retrocursive -movement, we should have been robbed of the best products of hitherto -existing mankind. With regard to philosophical metaphysics, I always -see increasing numbers who have attained to the negative goal (that -all positive metaphysics is error), but as yet few who climb a few -rungs backwards; one ought to look out, perhaps, over the last steps of -the ladder, but not try to stand upon them. The most enlightened only -succeed so far as to free themselves from metaphysics and look back -upon it with superiority, while it is necessary here, too, as in the -hippodrome, to turn round the end of the course. - - -21. - -CONJECTURAL VICTORY OF SCEPTICISM.--For once let the sceptical -starting-point be accepted,--granted that there were no other -metaphysical world, and all explanations drawn from metaphysics about -the only world we know were useless to us, in what light should we -then look upon men and things? We can think this out for ourselves, it -is useful, even though the question whether anything metaphysical has -been scientifically proved by Kant and Schopenhauer were altogether set -aside. For it is quite possible, according to historical probability, -that some time or other man, as a general rule, may grow _sceptical;_ -the question will then be this: What form will human society take under -the influence of such a mode of thought? Perhaps the _scientific proof_ -of some metaphysical world or other is already so _difficult_ that -mankind will never get rid of a certain distrust of it. And when there -is distrust of metaphysics, there are on the whole the same results as -if it had been directly refuted and _could_ no longer be believed in. -The historical question with regard to an unmetaphysical frame of mind -in mankind remains the same in both cases. - - -22. - -UNBELIEF IN THE "_MONUMENTUM ÆRE PERENNIUS._"--An actual drawback -which accompanies the cessation of metaphysical views lies in the fact -that the individual looks upon his short span of life too exclusively -and receives no stronger incentives to build durable institutions -intended to last for centuries,--he himself wishes to pluck the fruit -from the tree which he plants, and therefore he no longer plants those -trees which require regular care for centuries, and which are destined -to afford shade to a long series of generations. For metaphysical -views furnish the belief that in them the last conclusive foundation -has been given, upon which henceforth all the future of mankind is -compelled to settle down and establish itself; the individual furthers -his salvation, when, for instance, he founds a church or convent, he -thinks it will be reckoned to him and recompensed to him in the eternal -life of the soul, it is work for the soul's eternal salvation. Can -science also arouse such faith in its results? As a matter of fact, it -needs doubt and distrust as its most faithful auxiliaries; nevertheless -in the course of time, the sum of inviolable truths--those, namely, -which have weathered all the storms of scepticism, and all destructive -analysis--may have become so great (in the regimen of health, for -instance), that one may determine to found thereupon "eternal" works. -For the present the _contrast_ between our excited ephemeral existence -and the long-winded repose of metaphysical ages still operates too -strongly, because the two ages still stand too closely together; -the individual man himself now goes through too many inward and -outward developments for him to venture to arrange his own lifetime -permanently, and once and for all. An entirely modern man, for -instance, who is going to build himself a house, has a feeling as if -he were going to immure himself alive in a mausoleum. - - -23. - -THE AGE OF COMPARISON.--The less men are fettered by tradition, the -greater becomes the inward activity of their motives; the greater, -again, in proportion thereto, the outward restlessness, the confused -flux of mankind, the polyphony of strivings. For whom is there still an -absolute compulsion to bind himself and his descendants to one place? -For whom is there still anything strictly compulsory? As all styles of -arts are imitated simultaneously, so also are all grades and kinds of -morality, of customs, of cultures. Such an age obtains its importance -because in it the various views of the world, customs, and cultures can -be compared and experienced simultaneously,--which was formerly not -possible with the always localised sway of every culture, corresponding -to the rooting of all artistic styles in place and time. An increased -æsthetic feeling will now at last decide amongst so many forms -presenting themselves for comparison; it will allow the greater number, -that is to say all those rejected by it, to die out. In the same way -a selection amongst the forms and customs of the higher moralities is -taking place, of which the aim can be nothing else than the downfall of -the lower moralities. It is the age of comparison! That is its pride, -but more justly also its grief. Let us not be afraid of this grief! -Rather will we comprehend as adequately as possible the task our age -sets us: posterity will bless us for doing so,--a posterity which knows -itself to be as much above the terminated original national cultures as -above the culture of comparison, but which looks back with gratitude on -both kinds of culture as upon antiquities worthy of veneration. - - -24. - -THE POSSIBILITY OF PROGRESS.--When a scholar of the ancient culture -forswears the company of men who believe in progress, he does quite -right. For the greatness and goodness of ancient culture lie behind -it, and historical education compels one to admit that they can never -be fresh again; an unbearable stupidity or an equally insufferable -fanaticism would be necessary to deny this. But men can _consciously_ -resolve to develop themselves towards a new culture; whilst formerly -they only developed unconsciously and by chance, they can now create -better conditions for the rise of human beings, for their nourishment, -education and instruction; they can administer the earth economically -as a whole, and can generally weigh and restrain the powers of man. -This new, conscious culture kills the old, which, regarded as a whole, -has led an unconscious animal and plant life; it also kills distrust -in progress,--progress is _possible._ I must say that it is over-hasty -and almost nonsensical to believe that progress must _necessarily_ -follow; but how could one deny that it is possible? On the other hand, -progress in the sense and on the path of the old culture is not even -thinkable. Even if romantic fantasy has also constantly used the word -"progress" to denote its aims (for instance, circumscribed primitive -national cultures), it borrows the picture of it in any case from the -past; its thoughts and ideas on this subject are entirely without -originality. - - -25. - -PRIVATE AND ŒCUMENICAL MORALITY.--Since the belief has ceased that -a God directs in general the fate of the world and, in spite of all -apparent crookedness in the path of humanity, leads it on gloriously, -men themselves must set themselves œcumenical aims embracing the -whole earth. The older morality, especially that of Kant, required -from the individual actions which were desired from all men,--that was -a delightfully naïve thing, as if each one knew off-hand what course -of action was beneficial to the whole of humanity, and consequently -which actions in general were desirable; it is a theory like that -of free trade, taking for granted that the general harmony _must_ -result of itself according to innate laws of amelioration. Perhaps a -future contemplation of the needs of humanity will show that it is -by no means desirable that all men should act alike; in the interest -of œcumenical aims it might rather be that for whole sections of -mankind, special, and perhaps under certain circumstances even evil, -tasks would have to be set. In any case, if mankind is not to destroy -itself by such a conscious universal rule, there must previously be -found, as a scientific standard for œcumenical aims, a _knowledge of -the conditions of culture_ superior to what has hitherto been attained. -Herein lies the enormous task of the great minds of the next century. - - -26. - -REACTION AS PROGRESS.--Now and again there appear rugged, powerful, -impetuous, but nevertheless backward-lagging minds which conjure up -once more a past phase of mankind; they serve to prove that the new -tendencies against which they are working are not yet sufficiently -strong, that they still lack something, otherwise they would show -better opposition to those exorcisers. Thus, for example, Luther's -Reformation bears witness to the fact that in his century all the -movements of the freedom of the spirit were still uncertain, tender, -and youthful; science could not yet lift up its head. Indeed the whole -Renaissance seems like an early spring which is almost snowed under -again. But in this century also, Schopenhauer's Metaphysics showed -that even now the scientific spirit is not yet strong enough; thus the -whole mediæval Christian view of the world and human feeling could -celebrate its resurrection in Schopenhauer's doctrine, in spite of -the long achieved destruction of all Christian dogmas. There is much -science in his doctrine, but it does not dominate it: it is rather -the old well-known "metaphysical requirement" that does so. It is -certainly one of the greatest and quite invaluable advantages which -we gain from Schopenhauer, that he occasionally forces our sensations -back into older, mightier modes of contemplating the world and man, to -which no other path would so easily lead us. The gain to history and -justice is very great,--I do not think that any one would so easily -succeed now in doing justice to Christianity and its Asiatic relations -without Schopenhauer's assistance, which is specially impossible -from the basis of still existing Christianity. Only after this great -_success of justice,_ only after we have corrected so essential a point -as the historical mode of contemplation which the age of enlightenment -brought with it, may we again bear onward the banner of enlightenment, -the banner with the three names, Petrarch, Erasmus, Voltaire. We have -turned reaction into progress. - - -27. - -A SUBSTITUTE FOR RELIGION.--It is believed that something good -is said of philosophy when it is put forward as a substitute for -religion for the people. As a matter of fact, in the spiritual economy -there is need, at times, of an _intermediary_ order of thought: the -transition from religion to scientific contemplation is a violent, -dangerous leap, which is not to be recommended. To this extent the -recommendation is justifiable. But one should eventually learn that -the needs which have been satisfied by religion and are now to be -satisfied by philosophy are not unchangeable; these themselves can be -_weakened_ and _eradicated._ Think, for instance, of the Christian's -distress of soul, his sighing over inward corruption, his anxiety -for salvation,--all notions which originate only in errors of reason -and deserve not satisfaction but destruction. A philosophy can serve -either to _satisfy_ those needs or to _set them aside_; for they are -acquired, temporally limited needs, which are based upon suppositions -contradictory to those of science. Here, in order to make a transition, -_art_ is far rather to be employed to relieve the mind overburdened -with emotions; for those notions receive much less support from it than -from a metaphysical philosophy. It is easier, then, to pass over from -art to a really liberating philosophical science. - - -28. - -ILL-FAMED WORDS.--Away with those wearisomely hackneyed terms -Optimism and Pessimism! For the occasion for using them becomes less -and less from day to day; only the chatterboxes still find them so -absolutely necessary. For why in all the world should any one wish to -be an optimist unless he had a God to defend who _must_ have created -the best of worlds if he himself be goodness and perfection,--what -thinker, however, still needs the hypothesis of a God? But every -occasion for a pessimistic confession of faith is also lacking when -one has no interest in being annoyed at the advocates of God (the -theologians, or the theologising philosophers), and in energetically -defending the opposite view, that evil reigns, that pain is greater -than pleasure, that the world is a bungled piece of work, the -manifestation of an ill-will to life. But who still bothers about the -theologians now--except the theologians? Apart from all theology and -its contentions, it is quite clear that the world is not good and not -bad (to say nothing of its being the best or the worst), and that the -terms "good" and "bad" have only significance with respect to man, and -indeed, perhaps, they are not justified even here in the way they are -usually employed; in any case we must get rid of both the calumniating -and the glorifying conception of the world. - - -29. - -INTOXICATED BY THE SCENT OF THE BLOSSOMS.--It is supposed that the ship -of humanity has always a deeper draught, the heavier it is laden; it is -believed that the deeper a man thinks, the more delicately he feels, -the higher he values himself, the greater his distance from the other -animals,--the more he appears as a genius amongst the animals,--all -the nearer will he approach the real essence of the world and its -knowledge; this he actually does too, through science, but he _means_ -to do so still more through his religions and arts. These certainly -are blossoms of the world, but by no means any _nearer to the root of -the world_ than the stalk; it is not possible to understand the nature -of things better through them, although almost every one believes he -can. _Error_ has made man so deep, sensitive, and inventive that he has -put forth such blossoms as religions and arts. Pure knowledge could -not have been capable of it. Whoever were to unveil for us the essence -of the world would give us all the most disagreeable disillusionment. -Not the world as thing-in-itself, but the world as representation (as -error) is so full of meaning, so deep, so wonderful, bearing happiness -and unhappiness in its bosom. This result leads to a philosophy of the -logical denial of the world, which, however, can be combined with a -practical world-affirming just as well as with its opposite. - - -30. - -BAD HABITS IN REASONING.--The usual false conclusions of mankind are -these: a thing exists, therefore it has a right to exist. Here there -is inference from the ability to live to its suitability; from its -suitability to its rightfulness. Then: an opinion brings happiness; -therefore it is the true opinion. Its effect is good; therefore it is -itself good and true. To the effect is here assigned the predicate -beneficent, good, in the sense of the useful, and the cause is then -furnished with the same predicate good, but here in the sense of the -logically valid. The inversion of the sentences would read thus: an -affair cannot be carried through, or maintained, therefore it is -wrong; an opinion causes pain or excites, therefore it is false. The -free spirit who learns only too often the faultiness of this mode -of reasoning, and has to suffer from its consequences, frequently -gives way to the temptation to draw the very opposite conclusions, -which, in general, are naturally just as false: an affair cannot be -carried through, therefore it is good; an opinion is distressing and -disturbing, therefore it is true. - - -31. - -THE ILLOGICAL NECESSARY.--One of those things that may drive a thinker -into despair is the recognition of the fact that the illogical is -necessary for man, and that out of the illogical comes much that is -good. It is so firmly rooted in the passions, in language, in art, -in religion, and generally in everything that gives value to life, -that it cannot be withdrawn without thereby hopelessly injuring these -beautiful things. It is only the all-too-naïve people who can believe -that the nature of man can be changed into a purely logical one; but -if there were degrees of proximity to this goal, how many things would -not have to be lost on this course! Even the most rational man has need -of nature again from time to time, _i.e._ his _illogical fundamental -attitude_ towards all things. - - -32. - -INJUSTICE NECESSARY.--All judgments on the value of life are -illogically developed, and therefore unjust. The inexactitude of -the judgment lies, firstly, in the manner in which the material is -presented, namely very imperfectly; secondly, in the manner in which -the conclusion is formed out of it; and thirdly, in the fact that every -separate element of the material is again the result of vitiated -recognition, and this, too, of necessity. For instance, no experience -of an individual, however near he may stand to us, can be perfect, so -that we could have a logical right to make a complete estimate of him; -all estimates are rash, and must be so. Finally, the standard by which -we measure, our nature, is not of unalterable dimensions,--we have -moods and vacillations, and yet we should have to recognise ourselves -as a fixed standard in order to estimate correctly the relation of any -thing whatever to ourselves. From this it will, perhaps, follow that -we should make no judgments at all; if one could only live without -making estimations, without having likes and dislikes! For all dislike -is connected with an estimation, as well as all inclination. An -impulse towards or away from anything without a feeling that something -advantageous is desired, something injurious avoided, an impulse -without any kind of conscious valuation of the worth of the aim does -not exist in man. We are from the beginning illogical, and therefore -unjust beings, _and can recognise this_; it is one of the greatest and -most inexplicable discords of existence. - - -33. - -ERROR ABOUT LIFE NECESSARY FOR LIFE.--Every belief in the value and -worthiness of life is based on vitiated thought; it is only possible -through the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of -mankind is very weakly developed in the individual. Even the rarer -people who think outside themselves do not contemplate this general -life, but only a limited part of it. If one understands how to direct -one's attention chiefly to the exceptions,--I mean to the highly gifted -and the rich souls,--if one regards the production of these as the aim -of the whole world-development and rejoices in its operation, then -one may believe in the value of life, because one thereby _overlooks_ -the other men--one consequently thinks fallaciously. So too, when -one directs one's attention to all mankind, but only considers _one_ -species of impulses in them, the less egoistical ones, and excuses -them with regard to the other instincts, one may then again entertain -hopes of mankind in general and believe so far in the value of life, -consequently in this case also through fallaciousness of thought. Let -one, however, behave in this or that manner: with such behaviour one -is an _exception_ amongst men. Now, most people bear life without any -considerable grumbling, and consequently _believe_ in the value of -existence, but precisely because each one is solely self-seeking and -self-affirming, and does not step out of himself like those exceptions; -everything extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or at most seems -only a faint shadow. Therefore on this alone is based the value of -life for the ordinary everyday man, that he regards himself as more -important than the world. The great lack of imagination from which -he suffers is the reason why he cannot enter into the feelings of -other beings, and therefore sympathises as little as possible with -their fate and suffering. He, on the other hand, who really _could_ -sympathise therewith, would have to despair of the value of life; were -he to succeed in comprehending and feeling in himself the general -consciousness of mankind, he would collapse with a curse on existence; -for mankind as a whole has _no_ goals, consequently man, in considering -his whole course, cannot find in it his comfort and support, but his -despair. If, in all that he does, he considers the final aimlessness -of man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the character of -wastefulness. But to feel one's self just as much wasted as humanity -(and not only as an individual) as we see the single blossom of nature -wasted, is a feeling above all other feelings. But who is capable -of it? Assuredly only a poet, and poets always know how to console -themselves. - - -34. - -FOR TRANQUILLITY.--But does not our philosophy thus become a tragedy? -Does not truth become hostile to life, to improvement? A question seems -to weigh upon our tongue and yet hesitate to make itself heard: whether -one _can_ consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing one were -_obliged_ to do this, would not death be preferable? For there is no -longer any "must"; morality, in so far as it had any "must" or "shalt", -has been destroyed by our mode of contemplation, just as religion has -been destroyed. Knowledge can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and -injury to subsist as motives; but how will these motives agree with -the sense of truth? They also contain errors (for, as already said, -inclination and aversion, and their very incorrect determinations, -practically regulate our pleasure and pain). The whole of human life -is deeply immersed in untruthfulness; the individual cannot draw it -up out of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to his -whole past, without finding his present motives--those of honour, -for instance--inconsistent, and without opposing scorn and disdain -to the passions which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it true -that there remains but one sole way of thinking which brings after it -despair as a personal experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy -of dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I believe that -the decision with regard to the after-effects of the knowledge will -be given through the _temperament_ of a man; I could imagine another -after-effect, just as well as that one described, which is possible in -certain natures, by means of which a life would arise much simpler, -freer from emotions than is the present one, so that though at first, -indeed, the old motives of passionate desire might still have strength -from old hereditary habit, they would gradually become weaker under -the influence--of purifying knowledge. One would live at last amongst -men, and with one's self as with _Nature,_ without praise, reproach, -or agitation, feasting one's eyes, as if it were a _play,_ upon much -of which one was formerly afraid. One would be free from the emphasis, -and would no longer feel the goading, of the thought that one is not -only nature or more than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a -good temperament would be necessary for this, an even, mild, and -naturally joyous soul, a disposition which would not always need to be -on its guard against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would not convey -in its utterances anything of a grumbling or sudden nature,--those -well-known vexatious qualities of old dogs and men who have been long -chained up. On the contrary, a man from whom the ordinary fetters of -life have so far fallen that he continues to live only for the sake of -ever better knowledge must be able to renounce without envy and regret: -much, indeed almost everything that is precious to other men, he must -regard as the _all-sufficing_ and the most desirable condition; the -free, fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the traditional -valuations of things. The joy of this condition he imparts willingly, -and he _has_ perhaps nothing else to impart,--wherein, to be sure, -there is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless, more is -demanded from him, he will point with a friendly shake of his head to -his brother, the free man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a -little derision, for as regards this "freedom" it is a very peculiar -case. - - - - -SECOND DIVISION. - - -THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. - - - -35. - -ADVANTAGES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATION.--That reflection on the human, -all-too-human--or, according to the learned expression, psychological -observation--is one of the means by which one may lighten the burden -of life, that exercise in this art produces presence of mind in -difficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome surroundings, even -that from the most thorny and unpleasant periods of one's own life -one may gather maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this -was believed, was known in former centuries. Why was it forgotten -by our century, when in Germany at least, even in all Europe, the -poverty of psychological observation betrays itself by many signs? Not -exactly in novels, tales, and philosophical treatises,--they are the -work of exceptional individuals,--rather in the judgments on public -events and personalities; but above all there is a lack of the art of -psychological analysis and summing-up in every rank of society, in -which a great deal is talked about men, but nothing about _man._ Why -do we allow the richest and most harmless subject of conversation to -escape us? Why are not the great masters of psychological maxims more -read? For, without any exaggeration, the educated man in Europe who has -read La Rochefoucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely found, -and still more rare is he who knows them and does not blame them. It -is probable, however, that even this exceptional reader will find much -less pleasure in them than the form of this artist should afford him; -for even the clearest head is not capable of rightly estimating the -art of shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really been brought -up to it and has competed in it. Without this practical teaching one -deems this shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one has not -a sufficient perception of fitness and charm. For this reason the -present readers of maxims find in them a comparatively small pleasure, -hardly a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble the people who -generally look at cameos, who praise because they cannot love, and are -very ready to admire, but still more ready to run away. - - -36. - -OBJECTION.--Or should there be a counter-reckoning to that theory -that places psychological observation amongst the means of charming, -curing, and relieving existence? Should one have sufficiently convinced -one's self of the unpleasant consequences of this art to divert from -it designedly the attention of him who is educating himself in it? As -a matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the goodness of human -nature, an innate aversion to the analysis of human actions, a kind -of shame-facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul may -really be more desirable for the general well-being of a man than that -quality, useful in isolated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness; -and perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men and deeds, in an -abundance of impersonal goodwill in the world, has made men better -inasmuch as it has made them less distrustful. When one imitates -Plutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and turns with disgust from a -suspicious examination of the motives for their actions, it is not -truth which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human society; the -psychological mistake and, generally speaking, the insensibility -on this matter helps humanity forwards, while the recognition of -truth gains more through the stimulating power of hypothesis than La -Rochefoucauld has said in his preface to the first edition of his -"_Sentences et maximes morales." ... "Ce que le monde nomme vertu n'est -d'ordinaire qu'un fantôme formé par nos passions, à qui on donne un -nom honnête pour faire impunément ce qu'on veut."_ La Rochefoucauld -and those other French masters of soul-examination who have lately -been joined by a German, the author of _Psychological Observations_[1] -resemble good marksmen who again and again hit the bull's-eye; but it -is the bull's-eye of human nature. Their art arouses astonishment; but -in the end a spectator who is not led by the spirit of science, but -by humane intentions, will probably execrate an art which appears to -implant in the soul the sense of the disparagement and suspicion of -mankind. - - -37. - -NEVERTHELESS.--However it may be with reckoning and counter-reckoning, -in the present condition of philosophy the awakening of moral -observation is necessary. Humanity can no longer be spared the cruel -sight of the psychological dissecting-table with its knives and -forceps. For here rules that science which inquires into the origin and -history of the so-called moral sentiments, and which, in its progress, -has to draw up and solve complicated sociological problems:--the older -philosophy knows the latter one not at all, and has always avoided the -examination of the origin and history of moral sentiments on any feeble -pretext. With what consequences it is now very easy to see, after -it has been shown by many examples how the mistakes of the greatest -philosophers generally have their starting-point in a wrong explanation -of certain human actions and sensations, just as on the ground of an -erroneous analysis--for instance, that of the so-called unselfish -actions a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with this again, -religion and mythological confusion are brought in to assist, and -finally the shades of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and -the general mode of regarding the world. If it is certain, however, -that superficiality in psychological observation has laid, and still -lays, the most dangerous snares for human judgments and conclusions, -then there is need now of that endurance of work which does not grow -weary of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble; there is need of -courage not to be ashamed of such humble work and to turn a deaf ear -to scorn. And this is also true,--numberless single observations on -the human and all-too-human have first been discovered, and given -utterance to, in circles of society which were accustomed to offer -sacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please, and not to scientific -knowledge,--and the odour of that old home of the moral maxim, a very -seductive odour, has attached itself almost inseparably to the whole -species, so that on its account the scientific man involuntarily -betrays a certain distrust of this species and its earnestness. But -it is sufficient to point to the consequences, for already it begins -to be seen what results of a serious kind spring from the ground of -psychological observation. What, after all, is the principal axiom -to which the boldest and coldest thinker, the author of the book -_On the Origin of Moral Sensations_[2] has attained by means of his -incisive and decisive analyses of human actions? "The moral man," he -says, "is no nearer to the intelligible (metaphysical) world than -is the physical man." This theory, hardened and sharpened under the -hammer-blow of historical knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps -in some future period, serve as the axe which is applied to the root -of the "metaphysical need" of man,--whether _more_ as a blessing than -a curse to the general welfare it is not easy to say, but in any case -as a theory with the most important consequences, at once fruitful and -terrible, and looking into the world with that Janus-face which all -great knowledge possesses. - - -38. - -HOW FAR USEFUL.--It must remain for ever undecided whether -psychological observation is advantageous or disadvantageous to -man; but it is certain that it is necessary, because science cannot -do without it. Science, however, has no consideration for ultimate -purposes, any more than Nature has, but just as the latter occasionally -achieves things of the greatest suitableness without intending to do -so, so also true science, as the _imitator of nature in ideas,_ will -occasionally and in many ways further the usefulness and welfare of -man,--_but also without intending to do so._ - -But whoever feels too chilled by the breath of such a reflection has -perhaps too little fire in himself; let him look around him meanwhile -and he will become aware of illnesses which have need of ice-poultices, -and of men who are so "kneaded together" of heat and spirit that -they can hardly find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough. -Moreover, as individuals and nations that are too serious have need of -frivolities, as others too mobile and excitable have need occasionally -of heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their health, should not -we, the more _intellectual_ people of this age, that grows visibly more -and more inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means that exist, in -order that we may at least remain as constant, harmless, and moderate -as we still are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other as mirror -and self-contemplation for this age? - - -39. - -THE FABLE OF INTELLIGIBLE FREEDOM.--The history of the sentiments by -means of which we make a person responsible consists of the following -principal phases. First, all single actions are called good or bad -without any regard to their motives, but only on account of the useful -or injurious consequences which result for the community. But soon the -origin of these distinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the -qualities "good" or "bad" are contained in the action itself without -regard to its consequences, by the same error according to which -language describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,--with which, -in short, the result is regarded as the cause. Then the goodness or -badness is implanted in the motive, and the action in itself is looked -upon as morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further, and applies -the predicate good or bad no longer to single motives, but to the -whole nature of an individual, out of whom the motive grows as the -plant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man is made responsible -for his operations, then for his actions, then for his motives, and -finally for his nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this -nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an absolutely necessary -consequence concreted out of the elements and influences of past and -present things,--that man, therefore, cannot be made responsible for -anything, neither for his nature, nor his motives, nor his actions, nor -his effects. It has therewith come to be recognised that the history -of moral valuations is at the same time the history of an error, the -error of responsibility, which is based upon the error of the freedom -of will. Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because certain actions -bring ill humour ("consciousness of guilt") in their train, there -must be a responsibility; for there would be _no reason_ for this ill -humour if not only all human actions were not done of necessity,--which -is actually the case and also the belief of this philosopher,--but -man himself from the same necessity is precisely the _being_ that -he is--which Schopenhauer denies. From the fact of that ill humour -Schopenhauer thinks he can prove a liberty which man must somehow -have had, not with regard to actions, but with regard to nature; -liberty, therefore, to _be_ thus or otherwise, not to _act_ thus or -otherwise. From the _esse,_ the sphere of freedom and responsibility, -there results, in his opinion, the _operari,_ the sphere of strict -causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This ill humour is -apparently directed to the _operari,_--in so far it is erroneous,--but -in reality it is directed to the _esse,_ which is the deed of a free -will, the fundamental cause of the existence of an individual, man -becomes that which he _wishes_ to be, his will is anterior to his -existence. Here the mistaken conclusion is drawn that from the fact -of the ill humour, the justification, the reasonable _admissableness_ -of this ill humour is presupposed; and starting from this mistaken -conclusion, Schopenhauer arrives at his fantastic sequence of the -so-called intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the deed is -not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is assuredly not reasonable, for -it is based upon the erroneous presumption that the action need _not_ -have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is only because man _believes_ -himself to be free, not because he is free, that he experiences remorse -and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill humour is a habit that can -be broken off; in many people it is entirely absent in connection with -actions where others experience it. It is a very changeable thing, and -one which is connected with the development of customs and culture, -and probably only existing during a comparatively short period of the -world's history. Nobody is responsible for his actions, nobody for his -nature; to judge is identical with being unjust. This also applies when -an individual judges himself. The theory is as clear as sunlight, and -yet every one prefers to go back into the shadow and the untruth, for -fear of the consequences. - - -40. - -THE SUPER-ANIMAL.--The beast in us wishes to be deceived; morality is -a lie of necessity in order that we may not be torn in pieces by it. -Without the errors which lie in the assumption of morality, man would -have remained an animal. Thus, however, he has considered himself as -something higher and has laid strict laws upon himself. Therefore he -hates the grades which have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the -former scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to be explained as a -fact. - - -41. - -THE UNCHANGEABLE CHARACTER.--That the character is unchangeable is -not true in a strict sense; this favourite theory means, rather, that -during the short lifetime of an individual the new influencing motives -cannot penetrate deeply enough to destroy the ingrained marks of many -thousands of years. But if one were to imagine a man of eighty thousand -years, one would have in him an absolutely changeable character, so -that a number of different individuals would gradually develop out -of him. The shortness of human life misleads us into forming many -erroneous ideas about the qualities of man. - - -42. - -THE ORDER OF POSSESSIONS AND MORALITY.--The once-accepted hierarchy -of possessions, according as this or the other is coveted by a lower, -higher, or highest egoism, now decides what is moral or immoral. To -prefer a lesser good (for instance, the gratification of the senses) -to a more highly valued good (for instance, health) is accounted -immoral, and also to prefer luxury to liberty. The hierarchy of -possessions, however, is not fixed and equal at all times; if any one -prefers vengeance to justice he is moral according to the standard of -an earlier civilisation, but immoral according to the present one. To -be "immoral," therefore, denotes that an individual has not felt, or -not felt sufficiently strongly, the higher, finer, spiritual motives -which have come in with a new culture; it marks one who has remained -behind, but only according to the difference of degrees. The order of -possessions itself is _not_ raised and lowered according to a moral -point of view; but each time that it is fixed it supplies the decision -as to whether an action is moral or immoral. - - -43. - -CRUEL PEOPLE AS THOSE WHO HAVE REMAINED BEHIND.--People who are -cruel nowadays must be accounted for by us as the grades of earlier -civilisations which have survived; here are exposed those deeper -formations in the mountain of humanity which usually remain concealed. -They are backward people whose brains, through all manner of accidents -in the course of inheritance, have not been developed in so delicate -and manifold a way. They show us what we all _were_ and horrify us, but -they themselves are as little responsible as is a block of granite for -being granite. There must, too, be grooves and twists in our brains -which answer to that condition of mind, as in the form of certain -human organs there are supposed to be traces of a fish-state. But these -grooves and twists are no longer the bed through which the stream of -our sensation flows. - - -44. - -GRATITUDE AND REVENGE.--The reason why the powerful man is grateful -is this: his benefactor, through the benefit he confers, has mistaken -and intruded into the sphere of the powerful man,--now the latter, -in return, penetrates into the sphere of the benefactor by the act of -gratitude. It is a milder form of revenge. Without the satisfaction of -gratitude, the powerful man would have shown himself powerless, and -would have been reckoned as such ever after. Therefore every society of -the good, which originally meant the powerful, places gratitude amongst -the first duties.--Swift propounded the maxim that men were grateful in -the same proportion as they were revengeful. - - -45. - -THE TWOFOLD EARLY HISTORY OF GOOD AND EVIL.--The conception of good -and evil has a twofold early history, namely, _once_ in the soul of -the ruling tribes and castes. Whoever has the power of returning -good for good, evil for evil, and really practises requital, and who -is, therefore, grateful and revengeful, is called good; whoever is -powerless, and unable to requite, is reckoned as bad. As a good man one -is reckoned among the "good," a community which has common feelings -because the single individuals are bound to one another by the sense -of requital. As a bad man one belongs to the "bad," to a party of -subordinate, powerless people who have no common feeling. The good are -a caste, the bad are a mass like dust. Good and bad have for a long -time meant the same thing as noble and base, master and slave. On the -other hand, the enemy is not looked upon as evil, he can requite. In -Homer the Trojan and the Greek are both good. It is not the one who -injures us, but the one who is despicable, who is called bad. Good is -inherited in the community of the good; it is impossible that a bad man -could spring from such good soil. If, nevertheless, one of the good -ones does something which is unworthy of the good, refuge is sought in -excuses; the guilt is thrown upon a god, for instance; it is said that -he has struck the good man with blindness and madness.-- - -_Then_ in the soul of the oppressed and powerless. Here every _other_ -man is looked upon as hostile, inconsiderate, rapacious, cruel, -cunning, be he noble or base; evil is the distinguishing word for man, -even for every conceivable living creature, _e.g._ for a god; human, -divine, is the same thing as devilish, evil. The signs of goodness, -helpfulness, pity, are looked upon with fear as spite, the prelude to -a terrible result, stupefaction and out-witting,--in short, as refined -malice. With such a disposition in the individual a community could -hardly exist, or at most it could exist only in its crudest form, so -that in all places where this conception of good and evil obtains, -the downfall of the single individuals, of their tribes and races, is -at hand.--Our present civilisation has grown up on the soil of the -_ruling_ tribes and castes. - - -46. - -SYMPATHY STRONGER THAN SUFFERING.--There are cases when sympathy is -stronger than actual suffering. For instance, we are more pained when -one of our friends is guilty of something shameful than when we do -it ourselves. For one thing, we have more faith in the purity of his -character than he has himself; then our love for him, probably on -account of this very faith, is stronger than his love for himself. And -even if his egoism suffers more thereby than our egoism, inasmuch as it -has to bear more of the bad consequences of his fault, the un-egoistic -in us--this word is not to be taken too seriously, but only as a -modification of the expression--is more deeply wounded by his guilt -than is the un-egoistic in him. - - -47. - -HYPOCHONDRIA.--There are people who become hypochondriacal through -their sympathy and concern for another person; the kind of sympathy -which results therefrom is nothing but a disease. Thus there is -also a Christian hypochondria, which afflicts those solitary, -religiously-minded people who keep constantly before their eyes the -sufferings and death of Christ. - - -48. - -ECONOMY OF GOODNESS.--Goodness and love, as the most healing herbs and -powers in human intercourse, are such costly discoveries that one would -wish as much economy as possible to be exercised in the employment of -these balsamic means; but this is impossible. The economy of goodness -is the dream of the most daring Utopians. - - -49. - -GOODWILL.--Amongst the small, but countlessly frequent and therefore -very effective, things to which science should pay more attention than -to the great, rare things, is to be reckoned goodwill; I mean that -exhibition of a friendly disposition in intercourse, that smiling -eye, that clasp of the hand, that cheerfulness with which almost all -human actions are usually accompanied. Every teacher, every official, -adds this to whatever is his duty; it is the perpetual occupation -of humanity, and at the same time the waves of its light, in which -everything grows; in the narrowest circle, namely, within the family, -life blooms and flourishes only through that goodwill. Kindliness, -friendliness, the courtesy of the heart, are ever-flowing streams of -un-egoistic impulses, and have given far more powerful assistance to -culture than even those much more famous demonstrations which are -called pity, mercy, and self-sacrifice. But they are thought little -of, and, as a matter of fact, there is not much that is un-egoistic -in them. The _sum_ of these small doses is nevertheless mighty, their -united force is amongst the strongest forces. Thus one finds much more -happiness in the world than sad eyes see, if one only reckons rightly, -and does not forget all those moments of comfort in which every day is -rich, even in the most harried of human lives. - - -50. - -THE WISH TO AROUSE PITY.--In the most remarkable passage of his -auto--portrait (first printed in 1658), La Rochefoucauld assuredly -hits the nail on the head when he warns all sensible people against -pity, when he advises them to leave that to those orders of the people -who have need of passion (because it is not ruled by reason), and to -reach the point of helping the suffering and acting energetically in an -accident; while pity, according to his (and Plato's) judgment, weakens -the soul. Certainly we should _exhibit_ pity, but take good care not -to _feel_ it, for the unfortunate are so _stupid_ that to them the -exhibition of pity is the greatest good in the world. One can, perhaps, -give a more forcible warning against this feeling of pity if one looks -upon that need of the unfortunate not exactly as stupidity and lack of -intellect, a kind of mental derangement which misfortune brings with -it (and as such, indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to regard it), but -as something quite different and more serious. Observe children, who -cry and scream _in order_ to be pitied, and therefore wait for the -moment when they will be noticed; live in intercourse with the sick and -mentally oppressed, and ask yourself whether that ready complaining and -whimpering, that making a show of misfortune, does not, at bottom, aim -at _making the spectators miserable;_ the pity which the spectators -then exhibit is in so far a consolation for the weak and suffering in -that the latter recognise therein that they _possess still one power,_ -in spite of their weakness, _the power of giving pain._ The unfortunate -derives a sort of pleasure from this feeling of superiority, of which -the exhibition of pity makes him conscious; his imagination is exalted, -he is still powerful enough to give the world pain. Thus the thirst for -pity is the thirst for self-gratification, and that, moreover, at the -expense of his fellow-men; it shows man in the whole inconsiderateness -of his own dear self, but not exactly in his "stupidity," as La -Rochefoucauld thinks. In society-talk three-fourths of all questions -asked and of all answers given are intended to cause the interlocutor -a little pain; for this reason so many people pine for company; it -enables them to feel their power. There is a powerful charm of life -in such countless but very small doses in which malice makes itself -felt, just as goodwill, spread in the same way throughout the world, is -the ever-ready means of healing. But are there many honest people who -will admit that it is pleasing to give pain? that one not infrequently -amuses one's self--and amuses one's self very well--in causing -mortifications to others, at least in thought, and firing off at them -the grape-shot of petty malice? Most people are too dishonest, and a -few are too good, to know anything of this _pudendum_ these will always -deny that Prosper Mérimée is right when he says, "_Sachez aussi qu'il -n'y a rien de plus commun que de faire le mal pour le plaisir de le -faire._" - - -51. - -HOW APPEARANCE BECOMES ACTUALITY.--The actor finally reaches such a -point that even in the deepest sorrow he cannot cease from thinking -about the impression made by his own person and the general scenic -effect; for instance, even at the funeral of his child, he will weep -over his own sorrow and its expression like one of his own audience. -The hypocrite, who always plays one and the same part, ceases at -last to be a hypocrite; for instance, priests, who as young men are -generally conscious or unconscious hypocrites, become at last natural, -and are then really without any affectation, just priests; or if the -father does not succeed so far, perhaps the son does, who makes use -of his father's progress and inherits his habits. If any one long and -obstinately desires to _appear_ something, he finds it difficult at -last to _be_ anything else. The profession of almost every individual, -even of the artist, begins with hypocrisy, with an imitating from -without, with a copying of the effective. He who always wears the -mask of a friendly expression must eventually obtain a power over -well-meaning dispositions without which the expression of friendliness -is not to be compelled,--and finally, these, again, obtain a power -over him, he _is_ well-meaning. - - -52. - -THE POINT OF HONOUR IN DECEPTION.--In all great deceivers one thing -is noteworthy, to which they owe their power. In the actual act of -deception, with all their preparations, the dreadful voice, expression, -and mien, in the midst of their effective scenery they are overcome -by their _belief in themselves_ it is this, then, which speaks so -wonderfully and persuasively to the spectators. The founders of -religions are distinguished from those great deceivers in that they -never awake from their condition of self-deception; or at times, but -very rarely, they have an enlightened moment when doubt overpowers -them; they generally console themselves, however, by ascribing these -enlightened moments to the influence of the Evil One. There must -be self-deception in order that this and that may _produce_ great -_effects._ For men believe in the truth of everything that is visibly, -strongly believed in. - - -53. - -THE NOMINAL DEGREES OF TRUTH.--One of the commonest mistakes is this: -because some one is truthful and honest towards us, he must speak the -truth. Thus the child believes in its parents' judgment, the Christian -in the assertions of the Founder of the Church. In the same way men -refuse to admit that all those things which men defended in former ages -with the sacrifice of life and happiness were nothing but errors; it -is even said, perhaps, that they were degrees of the truth. But what -is really meant is that when a man has honestly believed in something, -and has fought and died for his faith, it would really be too _unjust_ -if he had only been inspired by an error. Such a thing seems a -contradiction of eternal justice; therefore the heart of sensitive man -ever enunciates against his head the axiom: between moral action and -intellectual insight there must absolutely be a necessary connection. -It is unfortunately otherwise; for there is no eternal justice. - - -54. - -FALSEHOOD.--Why do people mostly speak the truth in daily -life?--Assuredly not because a god has forbidden falsehood. But, -firstly, because it is more convenient, as falsehood requires -invention, deceit, and memory. (As Swift says, he who tells a lie is -not sensible how great a task he undertakes; for in order to uphold -one lie he must invent twenty others.) Therefore, because it is -advantageous in upright circumstances to say straight out, "I want -this, I have done that," and so on; because, in other words, the path -of compulsion and authority is surer than that of cunning. But if a -child has been brought up in complicated domestic circumstances, he -employs falsehood, naturally and unconsciously says whatever best suits -his interests; a sense of truth and a hatred of falsehood are quite -foreign and unknown to him, and so he lies in all innocence. - - -55. - -THROWING SUSPICION ON MORALITY FOR FAITH'S SAKE.--No power can be -maintained when it is only represented by hypocrites; no matter how -many "worldly" elements the Catholic Church possesses, its strength -lies in those still numerous priestly natures who render life hard -and full of meaning for themselves, and whose glance and worn bodies -speak of nocturnal vigils, hunger, burning prayers, and perhaps even of -scourging; these move men and inspire them with fear. What if it were -_necessary_ to live thus? This is the terrible question which their -aspect brings to the lips. Whilst they spread this doubt they always -uprear another pillar of their power; even the free-thinker does not -dare to withstand such unselfishness with hard words of truth, and to -say, "Thyself deceived, deceive not others!" Only the difference of -views divides them from him, certainly no difference of goodness or -badness; but men generally treat unjustly that which they do not like. -Thus we speak of the cunning and the infamous art of the Jesuits, but -overlook the self-control which every individual Jesuit practises, and -the fact that the lightened manner of life preached by Jesuit books -is by no means for their benefit, but for that of the laity. We may -even ask whether, with precisely similar tactics and organisation, -we enlightened ones would make equally good tools, equally admirable -through self-conquest, indefatigableness, and renunciation. - - -56. - -VICTORY OF KNOWLEDGE OVER RADICAL EVIL.--It is of great advantage to -him who desires to be wise to have witnessed for a time the spectacle -of a thoroughly evil and degenerate man; it is false, like the contrary -spectacle, but for whole long periods it held the mastery, and its -roots have even extended and ramified themselves to us and our world. -In order to understand _ourselves_ we must understand _it_ but then, in -order to mount higher we must rise above it. We recognise, then, that -there exist no sins in the metaphysical sense; but, in the same sense, -also no virtues; we recognise that the entire domain of ethical ideas -is perpetually tottering, that there are higher and deeper conceptions -of good and evil, of moral and immoral. He who does not desire much -more from things than a knowledge of them easily makes peace with his -soul, and will make a mistake (or commit a sin, as the world calls -it) at the most from ignorance, but hardly from covetousness. He will -no longer wish to excommunicate and exterminate desires; but his -only, his wholly dominating ambition, to _know_ as well as possible -at all times, will make him cool and will soften all the savageness -in his disposition. Moreover, he has been freed from a number of -tormenting conceptions, he has no more feeling at the mention of the -words "punishments of hell," "sinfulness," "incapacity for good," he -recognises in them only the vanishing shadow-pictures of false views of -the world and of life. - - -57. - -MORALITY AS THE SELF-DISINTEGRATION OF MAN.--A good author, who -really has his heart in his work, wishes that some one could come -and annihilate him by representing the same thing in a clearer way -and answering without more ado the problems therein proposed. The -loving girl wishes she could prove the self-sacrificing faithfulness -of her love by the unfaithfulness of her beloved. The soldier hopes -to die on the field of battle for his victorious fatherland; for his -loftiest desires triumph in the victory of his country. The mother -gives to the child that of which she deprives herself--sleep, the best -food, sometimes her health and fortune. But are all these un-egoistic -conditions? Are these deeds of morality _miracles,_ because, to use -Schopenhauer's expression, they are "impossible and yet performed"? Is -it not clear that in all four cases the individual loves _something -of himself,_ a thought, a desire, a production, better than _anything -else of himself;_ that he therefore divides his nature and to one part -sacrifices all the rest? Is it something _entirely_ different when an -obstinate man says, "I would rather be shot than move a step out of -my way for this man"? The _desire for something_ (wish, inclination, -longing) is present in all the instances mentioned; to give way to it, -with all its consequences, is certainly not "un-egoistic."--In ethics -man does not consider himself as _Individuum_ but as _dividuum._ - - -58. - -WHAT ONE MAY PROMISE.--One may promise actions, but no sentiments, for -these are involuntary. Whoever promises to love or hate a person, or be -faithful to him for ever, promises something which is not within his -power; he can certainly promise such actions as are usually the results -of love, hate, or fidelity, but which may also spring from other -motives; for many ways and motives lead to one and the same action. -The promise to love some one for ever is, therefore, really: So long -as I love you I will act towards you in a loving way; if I cease to -love you, you will still receive the same treatment from me, although -inspired by other motives, so that our fellow-men will still be deluded -into the belief that our love is unchanged and ever the same. One -promises, therefore, the continuation of the semblance of love, when, -without self-deception, one speaks vows of eternal love. - - -59. - -INTELLECT AND MORALITY.--One must have a good memory to be able to keep -a given promise. One must have a strong power of imagination to be -able to feel pity. So closely is morality bound to the goodness of the -intellect. - - -60. - -TO WISH FOR REVENGE AND TO TAKE REVENGE.--To have a revengeful thought -and to carry it into effect is to have a violent attack of fever, -which passes off, however,--but to have a revengeful thought without -the strength and courage to carry it out is a chronic disease, a -poisoning of body and soul which we have to bear about with us. -Morality, which only takes intentions into account, considers the -two cases as equal; usually the former case is regarded as the worse -(because of the evil consequences which may perhaps result from the -deed of revenge). Both estimates are short-sighted. - - -61. - -THE POWER OF WAITING.--Waiting is so difficult that even great poets -have not disdained to take incapability of waiting as the motive for -their works. Thus Shakespeare in Othello or Sophocles in Ajax, to whom -suicide, had he been able to let his feelings cool down for one day, -would no longer have seemed necessary, as the oracle intimated; he -would probably have snapped his fingers at the terrible whisperings -of wounded vanity, and said to himself, "Who has not already, in -my circumstances, mistaken a fool for a hero? Is it something so -very extraordinary?" On the contrary, it is something very commonly -human; Ajax might allow himself that consolation. Passion will not -wait; the tragedy in the lives of great men frequently lies _not_ in -their conflict with the times and the baseness of their fellow-men, -but in their incapacity of postponing their work for a year or two; -they cannot wait. In all duels advising friends have one thing to -decide, namely whether the parties concerned can still wait awhile; -if this is not the case, then a duel is advisable, inasmuch as each -of the two says, "Either I continue to live and that other man must -die immediately, or _vice versa_." In such case waiting would mean a -prolonged suffering of the terrible martyrdom of wounded honour in the -face of the insulter, and this may entail more suffering than life is -worth. - - -62. - -REVELLING IN VENGEANCE.--Coarser individuals who feel themselves -insulted, make out the insult to be as great as possible, and relate -the affair in greatly exaggerated language, in order to be able to -revel thoroughly in the rarely awakened feelings of hatred and revenge. - - -63. - -THE VALUE OF DISPARAGEMENT.--In order to maintain their self-respect -in their own eyes and a certain thoroughness of action, not a few men, -perhaps even the majority, find it absolutely necessary to run down and -disparage all their acquaintances. But as mean natures are numerous, -and since it is very important whether they possess that thoroughness -or lose it, hence---- - - -64. - -THE MAN IN A PASSION.--We must beware of one who is in a passion -against us as of one who has once sought our life; for the fact that -we still live is due to the absence of power to kill,--if looks would -suffice, we should have been dead long ago. It is a piece of rough -civilisation to force some one into silence by the exhibition of -physical savageness and the inspiring of fear. That cold glance which -exalted persons employ towards their servants is also a relic of that -caste division between man and man, a piece of rough antiquity; women, -the preservers of ancient things, have also faithfully retained this -_survival_ of an ancient habit. - - -65. - -WHITHER HONESTY CAN LEAD.--Somebody had the bad habit of occasionally -talking quite frankly about the motives of his actions, which were as -good and as bad as the motives of most men. He first gave offence, -then aroused suspicion, was then gradually excluded from society and -declared a social outlaw, until at last justice remembered such an -abandoned creature, on occasions when it would otherwise have had no -eyes, or would have closed them. The lack of power to hold his tongue -concerning the common secret, and the irresponsible tendency to see -what no one wishes to see--himself--brought him to a prison and an -early death. - - -66. - -PUNISHABLE, BUT NEVER PUNISHED.--Our crime against criminals lies in -the fact that we treat them like rascals. - - -67. - -_SANCTA SIMPLICITAS_ OF VIRTUE.--Every virtue has its privileges; for -example, that of contributing its own little faggot to the scaffold of -every condemned man. - - -68. - -MORALITY AND CONSEQUENCES.--It is not only the spectators of a deed -who frequently judge of its morality or immorality according to its -consequences, but the doer of the deed himself does so. For the motives -and intentions are seldom sufficiently clear and simple, and sometimes -memory itself seems clouded by the consequences of the deed, so that -one ascribes the deed to false motives or looks upon unessential -motives as essential. Success often gives an action the whole honest -glamour of a good conscience; failure casts the shadow of remorse -over the most estimable deed. Hence arises the well-known practice -of the politician, who thinks, "Only grant me success, with that I -bring all honest souls over to my side and make myself honest in my -own eyes." In the same way success must replace a better argument. -Many educated people still believe that the triumph of Christianity -over Greek philosophy is a proof of the greater truthfulness of -the former,--although in this case it is only the coarser and more -powerful that has triumphed over the more spiritual and delicate. -Which possesses the greater truth may be seen from the fact that the -awakening sciences have agreed with Epicurus' philosophy on point after -point, but on point after point have rejected Christianity. - - -69. - -LOVE AND JUSTICE.--Why do we over-estimate love to the disadvantage -of justice, and say the most beautiful things about it, as if it were -something very much higher than the latter? Is it not visibly more -stupid than justice? Certainly, but precisely for that reason all the -_pleasanter_ for every one. It is blind, and possesses an abundant -cornucopia, out of which it distributes its gifts to all, even if they -do not deserve them, even if they express no thanks for them. It is as -impartial as the rain, which, according to the Bible and experience, -makes not only the unjust, but also occasionally the just wet through -to the skin. - - -70. - -EXECUTION.--How is it that every execution offends us more than does a -murder? It is the coldness of the judges, the painful preparations, the -conviction that a human being is here being used as a warning to scare -others. For the guilt is not punished, even if it existed--it lies with -educators, parents, surroundings, in ourselves, not in the murderer--I -mean the determining circumstances. - - -71. - -HOPE.--Pandora brought the box of ills and opened it. It was the gift -of the gods to men, outwardly a beautiful and seductive gift, and -called the Casket of Happiness. Out of it flew all the evils, living -winged creatures, thence they now circulate and do men injury day and -night. One single evil had not yet escaped from the box, and by the -will of Zeus Pandora closed the lid and it remained within. Now for -ever man has the casket of happiness in his house and thinks he holds a -great treasure; it is at his disposal, he stretches out his hand for it -whenever he desires; for he does not know the box which Pandora brought -was the casket of evil, and he believes the ill which remains within to -be the greatest blessing,--it is hope. Zeus did not wish man, however -much he might be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his life, -but to go on letting himself be tormented again and again. Therefore he -gives man hope,--in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it -prolongs the torments of man. - - -72. - -THE DEGREE OF MORAL INFLAMMABILITY UNKNOWN.--According to whether we -have or have not had certain disturbing views and impressions--for -instance, an unjustly executed, killed, or martered father; a faithless -wife; a cruel hostile attack--it depends whether our passions reach -fever heat and influence our whole life or not. No one knows to -what he may be driven by circumstances, pity, or indignation; he -does not know the degree of his own inflammability. Miserable little -circumstances make us miserable; it is generally not the quantity of -experiences, but their quality, on which lower and higher man depends, -in good and evil. - - -73. - -THE MARTYR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.--There was a man belonging to a party -who was too nervous and cowardly ever to contradict his comrades; they -made use of him for everything, they demanded everything from him, -because he was more afraid of the bad opinion of his companions than -of death itself; his was a miserable, feeble soul. They recognised -this, and on the ground of these qualities they made a hero of him, and -finally even a martyr. Although the coward inwardly always said No, -with his lips he always said Yes, even on the scaffold, when he was -about to die for the opinions of his party; for beside him stood one of -his old companions, who so tyrannised over him by word and look that -he really suffered death in the most respectable manner, and has ever -since been celebrated as a martyr and a great character. - - -74. - -I THE EVERY-DAY STANDARD.--One will seldom go wrong if one attributes -extreme actions to vanity, average ones to habit, and petty ones to -fear. - - -75. - -MISUNDERSTANDING CONCERNING VIRTUE.--Whoever has known immorality -in connection with pleasure, as is the case with a man who has a -pleasure-seeking youth behind him, imagines that virtue must be -connected with absence of pleasure.--Whoever, on the contrary, has been -much plagued by his passions and vices, longs to find in virtue peace -and the soul's happiness. Hence it is possible for two virtuous persons -not to understand each other at all. - - -76. - -THE ASCETIC.--The ascetic makes a necessity of virtue. - - -77. - -TRANSFERRING HONOUR FROM THE PERSON TO THE THING.--Deeds of love and -sacrifice for the benefit of one's neighbour are generally honoured, -wherever they are manifested. Thereby we multiply the valuation of -things which are thus loved, or for which we sacrifice ourselves, -although perhaps they are not worth much in themselves. A brave army is -convinced of the cause for which it fights. - - -78. - -AMBITION A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE MORAL SENSE.--The moral sense must not be -lacking in those natures which have no ambition. The ambitious manage -without it, with almost the same results. For this reason the sons of -unpretentious, unambitious families, when once they lose the moral -sense, generally degenerate very quickly into complete scamps. - - -79. - -VANITY ENRICHES.--How poor would be the human mind without vanity! -Thus, however, it resembles a well-stocked and constantly replenished -bazaar which attracts buyers of every kind. There they can find almost -everything, obtain almost everything, provided that they bring the -right sort of coin, namely admiration. - - -80. - -OLD AGE AND DEATH.--Apart from the commands of religion, the question -may well be asked, Why is it more worthy for an old man who feels his -powers decline, to await his slow exhaustion and extinction than with -full consciousness to set a limit to his life? Suicide in this case is -a perfectly natural, obvious action, which should justly arouse respect -as a triumph of reason, and did arouse it in those times when the heads -of Greek philosophy and the sturdiest patriots used to seek death -through suicide. The seeking, on the contrary, to prolong existence -from day to day, with anxious consultation of doctors and painful mode -of living, without the power of drawing nearer to the actual aim of -life, is far less worthy. Religion is rich in excuses to reply to the -demand for suicide, and thus it ingratiates itself with those who wish -to cling to life. - - -81. - -ERRORS OF THE SUFFERER AND THE DOER.--When a rich man deprives a poor -man of a possession (for instance, a prince taking the sweetheart of -a plebeian), an error arises in the mind of the poor man; he thinks -that the rich man must be utterly infamous to take away from him the -little that he has. But the rich man does not estimate so highly the -value of a _single_ possession, because he is accustomed to have many; -hence he cannot imagine himself in the poor man's place, and does not -commit nearly so great a wrong as the latter supposes. They each have a -mistaken idea of the other. The injustice of the powerful, which, more -than anything else, rouses indignation in history, is by no means so -great as it appears. Alone the mere inherited consciousness of being a -higher creation, with higher claims, produces a cold temperament, and -leaves the conscience quiet; we all of us feel no injustice when the -difference is very great between ourselves and another creature, and -kill a fly, for instance, without any pricks of conscience. Therefore -it was no sign of badness in Xerxes (whom even all Greeks describe -as superlatively noble) when he took a son away from his father and -had him cut in pieces, because he had expressed a nervous, ominous -distrust of the whole campaign; in this case the individual is put out -of the way like an unpleasant insect; he is too lowly to be allowed -any longer to cause annoyance to a ruler of the world. Yes, every -cruel man is not so cruel as the ill-treated one imagines the idea of -pain is not the same as its endurance. It is the same thing in the -case of unjust judges, of the journalist who leads public opinion -astray by small dishonesties. In all these cases cause and effect are -surrounded by entirely different groups of feelings and thoughts; yet -one unconsciously takes it for granted that doer and sufferer think and -feel alike, and according to this supposition we measure the guilt of -the one by the pain of the other. - - -82. - -THE SKIN OF THE SOUL.--As the bones, flesh, entrails, and blood-vessels -are enclosed within a skin, which makes the aspect of man endurable, so -the emotions and passions of the soul are enwrapped with vanity,--it is -the skin of the soul. - - -83. - -THE SLEEP OF VIRTUE.--When virtue has slept, it will arise again all -the fresher. - - -84. - -THE REFINEMENT OF SHAME.--People are not ashamed to think something -foul, but they are ashamed when they think these foul thoughts are -attributed to them. - - -85. - -MALICE IS RARE.--Most people are far too much occupied with themselves -to be malicious. - - -86. - -THE TONGUE IN THE BALANCE.--We praise or blame according as the one or -the other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment. - - -87. - -ST. LUKE XVIII. 14, IMPROVED.--He that humbleth himself wishes to be -exalted. - - -88. - -THE PREVENTION OF SUICIDE.--There is a certain right by which we may -deprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death; -this is mere cruelty. - - -89. - -VANITY.--We care for the good opinion of men, firstly because they are -useful to us, and then because we wish to please them (children their -parents, pupils their teachers, and well-meaning people generally their -fellow-men). Only where the good opinion of men is of importance to -some one, apart from the advantage thereof or his wish to please, can -we speak of vanity. In this case the man wishes to please himself, -but at the expense of his fellow-men, either by misleading them into -holding a false opinion about him, or by aiming at a degree of "good -opinion" which must be painful to every one else (by arousing envy). -The individual usually wishes to corroborate the opinion he holds of -himself by the opinion of others, and to strengthen it in his own -eyes; but the strong habit of authority--a habit as old as man himself ---induces many to support by authority their belief in themselves: that -is to say, they accept it first from others; they trust the judgment -of others more than their own. The interest in himself, the wish to -please himself, attains to such a height in a vain man that he misleads -others into having a false, all too elevated estimation of him, and yet -nevertheless sets store by their authority,--thus causing an error and -yet believing in it. It must be confessed, therefore, that vain people -do not wish to please others so much as themselves, and that they go -so far therein as to neglect their advantage, for they often endeavour -to prejudice their fellow-men unfavourably, inimicably, enviously, -consequently injuriously against themselves, merely in order to have -pleasure in themselves, personal pleasure. - - -90. - -THE LIMITS OF HUMAN LOVE.--A man who has declared that another is an -idiot and a bad companion, is angry when the latter eventually proves -himself to be otherwise. - - -91. - -_MORALITÉ LARMOYANTE._--What a great deal of pleasure morality gives! -Only think what a sea of pleasant tears has been shed over descriptions -of noble and unselfish deeds! This charm of life would vanish if the -belief in absolute irresponsibility were to obtain supremacy. - - -92. - -THE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE.--Justice (equity) has, its origin amongst powers -which are fairly equal, as Thucydides (in the terrible dialogue between -the Athenian and Melian ambassadors) rightly comprehended: that is to -say, where there is no clearly recognisable supremacy, and where a -conflict would be useless and would injure both sides, there arises the -thought of coming to an understanding and settling the opposing claims; -the character of _exchange_ is the primary character of justice. Each -party satisfies the other, as each obtains what he values more than the -other. Each one receives that which he desires, as his own henceforth, -and whatever is desired is received in return. Justice, therefore, -is recompense and exchange based on the hypothesis of a fairly equal -degree of power,--thus, originally, revenge belongs to the province -of justice, it is an exchange. Also gratitude.--Justice naturally is -based on the point of view of a judicious self-preservation, on the -egoism, therefore, of that reflection, "Why should I injure myself -uselessly and perhaps not attain my aim after all?" So much about the -_origin_ of justice. Because man, according to his intellectual custom, -has _forgotten_ the original purpose of so-called just and reasonable -actions, and particularly because for hundreds of years children have -been taught to admire and imitate such actions, the idea has gradually -arisen that such an action is un-egoistic; upon this idea, however, is -based the high estimation in which it is held: which, moreover, like -all valuations, is constantly growing, for something that is valued -highly is striven after, imitated, multiplied, and increases, because -the value of the output of toil and enthusiasm of each individual is -added to the value of the thing itself. How little moral would the -world look without this forgetfulness! A poet might say that God had -placed forgetfulness as door-keeper in the temple of human dignity. - - -93. - -THE RIGHT OF THE WEAKER.--When any one submits under certain -conditions to a greater power, as a besieged town for instance, the -counter-condition is that one can destroy one's self, burn the town, -and so cause the mighty one a great loss. Therefore there is a kind of -_equalisation_ here, on the basis of which rights may be determined. -The enemy has his advantage in maintaining it. In so far there are -also rights between slaves and masters, that is, precisely so far as -the possession of the slave is useful and important to his master. The -_right_ originally extends _so far as_ one _appears_ to be valuable to -the other, essentially unlosable, unconquerable, and so forth. In so -far the weaker one also has rights, but lesser ones. Hence the famous -_unusquisque tantum juris habet, quantum potentia valet_ (or more -exactly, _quantum potentia valere creditur_). - - -94. - -THE THREE PHASES OF HITHERTO EXISTING MORALITY.--It is the first -sign that the animal has become man when its actions no longer have -regard only to momentary welfare, but to what is enduring, when it -grows _useful_ and _practical_; there the free rule of reason first -breaks out. A still higher step is reached when he acts according to -the principle of _honour_ by this means he brings himself into order, -submits to common feelings, and that exalts him still higher over -the phase in which he was led only by the idea of usefulness from a -personal point of view; he respects and wishes to be respected, _i.e._ -he understands usefulness as dependent upon what he thinks of others -and what others think of him. Eventually he acts, on the highest step -of the _hitherto_ existing--morality, according to _his_ standard of -things and men; he himself decides for himself and others what is -honourable, what is useful; he has become the law-giver of opinions, -in accordance with the ever more highly developed idea of what is -useful and honourable. Knowledge enables him to place that which is -most useful, that is to say the general, enduring usefulness, above the -personal, the honourable recognition of general, enduring validity -above the momentary; he lives and acts as a collective individual. - - -95. - -THE MORALITY OF THE MATURE INDIVIDUAL.--The impersonal has hitherto -been looked upon as the actual distinguishing mark of moral action; and -it has been pointed out that in the beginning it was in consideration -of the common good that all impersonal actions were praised and -distinguished. Is not an important change in these views impending, -now when it is more and more recognised that it is precisely in the -_most personal_ possible considerations that the common good is the -greatest, so that a _strictly personal_ action now best illustrates -the present idea of morality, as utility for the mass? To make a -whole _personality_ out of ourselves, and in all that we do to keep -that personality's _highest good_ in view, carries us further than -those sympathetic emotions and actions for the benefit of others. We -all still suffer, certainly, from the too small consideration of the -personal in us; it is badly developed,--let us admit it; rather has -our mind been forcibly drawn away from it and offered as a sacrifice -to the State, to science, or to those who stand in need of help, as if -it were the bad part which must be sacrificed. We are still willing to -work for our fellow-men, but only so far as we find our own greatest -advantage in this work, no more and no less. It is only a question of -what we understand as _our advantage;_ the unripe, undeveloped, crude -individual will understand it in the crudest way. - - -96. - -CUSTOM AND MORALITY.--To be moral, correct, and virtuous is to be -obedient to an old-established law and custom. Whether we submit -with difficulty or willingly is immaterial, enough that we do so. He -is called "good" who, as if naturally, after long precedent, easily -and willingly, therefore, does what is right, according to whatever -this may be (as, for instance, taking revenge, if to take revenge be -considered as right, as amongst the ancient Greeks). He is called -good because he is good "for something"; but as goodwill, pity, -consideration, moderation, and such like, have come, with the change -in manners, to be looked upon as "good for something," as useful, the -good-natured and helpful have, later on, come to be distinguished -specially as "good." (In the beginning other and more important kinds -of usefulness stood in the foreground.) To be evil is to be "not -moral" (immoral), to be immoral is to be in opposition to tradition, -however sensible or stupid it may be; injury to the community (the -"neighbour" being understood thereby) has, however, been looked upon -by the social laws of all different ages as being eminently the actual -"immorality," so that now at the word "evil" we immediately think of -voluntary injury to one's neighbour. The fundamental antithesis which -has taught man the distinction between moral and immoral, between good -and evil, is not the "egoistic" and "un-egoistic," but the being bound -to the tradition, law, and solution thereof. How the tradition has -_arisen_ is immaterial, at all events without regard to good and evil -or any immanent categorical imperative, but above all for the purpose -of preserving a _community,_ a generation, an association, a people; -every superstitious custom that has arisen on account of some falsely -explained accident, creates a tradition, which it is moral to follow; -to separate one's self from it is dangerous, but more dangerous for the -_community_ than for the individual (because the Godhead punishes the -community for every outrage and every violation of its rights, and the -individual only in proportion). Now every tradition grows continually -more venerable, the farther off lies its origin, the more this is -lost sight of; the veneration paid it accumulates from generation to -generation, the tradition at last becomes holy and excites awe; and -thus in any case the morality of piety is a much older morality than -that which requires un-egoistic actions. - - -97. - -PLEASURE IN TRADITIONAL CUSTOM.--An important species of pleasure, -and therewith the source of morality, arises out of habit. Man does -what is habitual to him more easily, better, and therefore more -willingly; he feels a pleasure therein, and knows from experience -that the habitual has been tested, and is therefore useful; a custom -that we can live with is proved to be wholesome and advantageous in -contrast to all new and not yet tested experiments. According to -this, morality is the union of the pleasant and the useful; moreover, -it requires no reflection. As soon as man can use compulsion, he uses -it to introduce and enforce his _customs_; for in his eyes they are -proved as the wisdom of life. In the same way a company of individuals -compels each single one to adopt the same customs. Here the inference -is wrong; because we feel at ease with a morality, or at least -because we are able to carry on existence with it, therefore this -morality is necessary, for it seems to be the _only_ possibility of -feeling at ease; the ease of life seems to grow out of it alone. This -comprehension of the habitual as a necessity of existence is pursued -even to the smallest details of custom,--as insight into genuine -causality is very small with lower peoples and civilisations, they -take precautions with superstitious fear that everything should go in -its same groove; even where custom is difficult, hard, and burdensome, -it is preserved on account of its apparent highest usefulness. It is -not known that the same degree of well-being can also exist with other -customs, and that even higher degrees may be attained. We become aware, -however, that all customs, even the hardest, grow pleasanter and milder -with time, and that the severest way of life may become a habit and -therefore a pleasure. - - -98. - -PLEASURE AND SOCIAL INSTINCT.--Out of his relations with other men, man -obtains a new species of _pleasure_ in addition to those pleasurable -sensations which he derives from himself; whereby he greatly increases -the scope of enjoyment. Perhaps he has already taken too many of the -pleasures of this sphere from animals, which visibly feel pleasure -when they play with each other, especially the mother with her young. -Then consider the sexual relations, which make almost every female -interesting to a male with regard to pleasure, and _vice versa._ The -feeling of pleasure on the basis of human relations generally makes -man better; joy in common, pleasure enjoyed together is increased, it -gives the individual security, makes him good-tempered, and dispels -mistrust and envy, for we feel ourselves at ease and see others at -ease. _Similar manifestations of pleasure_ awaken the idea of the same -sensations, the feeling of being like something; a like effect is -produced by common sufferings, the same bad weather, dangers, enemies. -Upon this foundation is based the oldest alliance, the object of which -is the mutual obviating and averting of a threatening danger for the -benefit of each individual. And thus the social instinct grows out of -pleasure. - - -99. - -THE INNOCENT SIDE OF SO-CALLED EVIL ACTIONS.--All "evil" actions are -prompted by the instinct of preservation, or, more exactly, by the -desire for pleasure and the avoidance of pain on the part of the -individual; thus prompted, but not evil. "To cause pain _per se_" does -not exist, except in the brains of philosophers, neither does "to give -pleasure _per se_" (pity in Schopenhauer's meaning). In the social -condition _before_ the State we kill the creature, be it ape or man, -who tries to take from us the fruit of a tree when we are hungry and -approach the tree, as we should still do with animals in inhospitable -countries. The evil actions which now most rouse our indignation, are -based upon the error that he who causes them has a free will, that he -had the option, therefore, of not doing us this injury. This belief in -option arouses hatred, desire for revenge, spite, and the deterioration -of the whole imagination, while we are much less angry with an animal -because we consider it irresponsible. To do injury, not from the -instinct of preservation, but as _requital,_ is the consequence of a -false judgment and therefore equally innocent. The individual can in -the condition which lies before the State, act sternly and cruelly -towards other creatures for the purpose of _terrifying,_ to establish -his existence firmly by such terrifying proofs of his power. Thus -act the violent, the mighty, the original founders of States, who -subdue the weaker to themselves. They have the right to do so, such -as the State still takes for itself; or rather, there is no right -that can hinder this. The ground for all-morality can only be made -ready when a stronger individual or a collective individual, for -instance society or the State, subdues the single individuals,.draws -them out of their singleness, and forms them into an association.. -_Compulsion_ precedes morality, indeed morality itself is compulsion -for a time, to which one submits for the avoidance of pain. Later on -it becomes custom,--later still, free obedience, and finally almost -instinct,--then, like everything long accustomed and natural, it is -connected with pleasure--and is henceforth called _virtue_. - - -100. - -SHAME.--Shame exists everywhere where there is a "mystery"; this, -however, is a religious idea, which was widely extended in the older -times of human civilisation. Everywhere were found bounded domains -to which access was forbidden by divine right, except under certain -conditions ; at first locally, as, for example, certain spots that -ought not to be trodden by the feet of the uninitiated, in the -neighbourhood of which these latter experienced horror and fear. -This feeling was a good deal carried over into other relations, for -instance, the sex relations, which, as a privilege and _ἃδoυτον_ of -riper years, had to be withheld from the knowledge of the young for -their advantage, relations for the protection and sanctification of -which many gods were invented and were set up as guardians in the -nuptial chamber. (In Turkish this room is on this account called harem, -"sanctuary," and is distinguished with the same name, therefore, that -is used for the entrance courts of the mosques.) Thus the kingdom is as -a centre from which radiate power and glory, to the subjects a mystery -full of secrecy and shame, of which many after-effects may still be -felt among nations which otherwise do not by any means belong to the -bashful type. Similarly, the whole world of inner conditions, the -so-called "soul," is still a mystery for all who are not philosophers, -after it has been looked upon for endless ages as of divine origin and -as worthy of divine intercourse; according to this it is an _ἃδoυτον_ -and arouses shame. - - -101. - -JUDGE NOT.--In considering earlier periods, care must be taken not -to fall into unjust abuse. The injustice in slavery, the cruelty in -the suppression of persons and nations, is not to be measured by our -standard. For the instinct of justice was not then so far developed. -Who dares to reproach the Genevese Calvin with the burning of the -physician Servet? It was an action following and resulting from his -convictions, and in the same way the Inquisition had a good right; -only the ruling views were false, and produced a result which seems -hard to us because those views have now grown strange to us. Besides, -what is the burning of a single individual compared with eternal -pains of hell for almost all! And yet this idea was universal at that -time, without essentially injuring by its dreadfulness the conception -of a God. With us, too, political sectarians are hardly and cruelly -treated, but because one is accustomed to believe in the necessity of -the State, the cruelty is not so deeply felt here as it is where we -repudiate the views. Cruelty to animals in children and Italians is -due to ignorance, _i.e._ the animal, through the interests of Church -teaching, has been placed too far behind man. Much that is dreadful and -inhuman in history, much that one hardly likes to believe, is mitigated -by the reflection that the one who commands and the one who carries -out are different persons,--the former does not behold the right and -therefore does not experience the strong impression on the imagination; -the latter obeys a superior and therefore feels no responsibility. Most -princes and military heads, through lack of imagination, easily appear -hard and cruel without really being so. _Egoism is not evil,_ because -the idea of the "neighbour"--the word is of Christian origin and does -not represent the truth--is very weak in us; and we feel ourselves -almost as free and irresponsible towards him as towards plants and -stones. We have yet to _learn_ that others suffer, and this can never -be completely learnt. - - -102. - -"MAN ALWAYS ACTS RIGHTLY."--We do not complain of nature as immoral -because it sends a thunderstorm and makes us wet,--why do we call those -who injure us immoral? Because in the latter case we take for granted -a free will functioning voluntarily; in the former we see necessity. -But this distinction is an error. Thus we do not call even intentional -injury immoral in all circumstances; for instance, we kill a fly -unhesitatingly and intentionally, only because its buzzing annoys us; -we punish a criminal intentionally and hurt him in order to protect -ourselves and society. In the first case it is the individual who, in -order to preserve himself, or even to protect himself from worry, does -intentional injury; in the second case it is the State. All morals -allow intentional injury _in the case of necessity,_ that is, when -it is a matter of _self-preservation_! But these two points of view -suffice to explain all evil actions committed by men against men, we -are desirous of obtaining pleasure or avoiding pain; in any case it is -always a question of self-preservation. Socrates and Plato are right: -whatever man does he always does well, that is, he does that which -seems to him good (useful) according to the degree of his intellect, -the particular standard of his reasonableness. - - -103. - -THE HARMLESSNESS OF MALICE.--The aim of malice is _not_ the suffering -of others in itself, but our own enjoyment; for instance, as the -feeling of revenge, or stronger nervous excitement. All teasing, -even, shows the pleasure it gives to exercise our power on others and -bring it to an enjoyable feeling of preponderance. Is it _immoral_ to -taste pleasure at the expense of another's pain? Is malicious joy[3] -devilish, as Schopenhauer says? We give ourselves pleasure in nature -by breaking off twigs, loosening stones, fighting with wild animals, -and do this in order to become thereby conscious of our strength. Is -the knowledge, therefore, that another suffers through us, the same -thing concerning which we otherwise feel irresponsible, supposed to -make us immoral? But if we did not know this we would not thereby have -the enjoyment of our own superiority, which can only _manifest_ itself -by the suffering of others, for instance in teasing. All pleasure -_per se_ is neither good nor evil; whence should come the decision -that in order to have pleasure ourselves we may not cause displeasure -to others? From the point of view of usefulness alone, that is, out -of consideration for the _consequences,_ for _possible_ displeasure, -when the injured one or the replacing State gives the expectation of -resentment and revenge: this only can have been the original reason -for denying ourselves such actions. _Pity_ aims just as little at -the pleasure of others as malice at the pain of others _per se._ For -it contains at least two (perhaps many more) elements of a personal -pleasure, and is so far self-gratification; in the first place as the -pleasure of emotion, which is the kind of pity that exists in tragedy, -and then, when it impels to action, as the pleasure of satisfaction -in the exercise of power. If, besides this, a suffering person is -very dear to us, we lift a sorrow from ourselves by the exercise of -sympathetic actions. Except by a few philosophers, pity has always been -placed very low in the scale of moral feelings, and rightly so. - - -104. - -SELF-DEFENCE.--If self-defence is allowed to pass as moral, then almost -all manifestations of the so-called immoral egoism must also stand; -men injure, rob, or kill in order to preserve or defend themselves, -to prevent personal injury; they lie where cunning and dissimulation -are the right means of self-preservation. _Intentional injury,_ when -our existence or safety (preservation of our comfort) is concerned, is -conceded to be moral; the State itself injures, according to this point -of view, when it punishes. In unintentional injury, of course, there -can be nothing immoral, that is ruled by chance. Is there, then, a kind -of intentional injury where our existence or the preservation of our -comfort is _not_ concerned? Is there an injuring out of pure _malice,_ -for instance in cruelty? If one does not know how much an action hurts, -it is no deed of malice; thus the child is not malicious towards the -animal, not evil; he examines and destroys it like a toy. But _do_ we -ever know entirely how an action hurts another? As far as our nervous -system extends we protect ourselves from pain; if it extended farther, -to our fellow-men, namely, we should do no one an injury (except in -such cases as we injure ourselves, where we cut ourselves for the -sake of cure, tire and exert ourselves for the sake of health). We -_conclude_ by analogy that something hurts somebody, and through memory -and the strength of imagination we may suffer from it ourselves. But -still what a difference there is between toothache and the pain (pity) -that the sight of toothache calls forth! Therefore, in injury out of -so-called malice the _degree_ of pain produced is always unknown to -us; but inasmuch as there is _pleasure_ in the action (the feeling of -one's own power, one's own strong excitement), the action is committed, -in order to preserve the comfort of the individual, and is regarded, -therefore, from a similar point of view as defence and falsehood in -necessity. No life without pleasure; the struggle for pleasure is the -struggle for life. Whether the individual so fights this fight that -men call him good, or so that they call him evil, is determined by the -measure and the constitution of his _intellect._ - - -105. - -RECOMPENSING JUSTICE.--Whoever has completely comprehended the doctrine -of absolute irresponsibility can no longer include the so-called -punishing and recompensing justice in the idea of justice, should this -consist of giving to each man his due. For he who is punished does -not deserve the punishment, he is only used as a means of henceforth -warning away from certain actions; equally so, he who is rewarded -does not merit this reward, he could not act otherwise than he did. -Therefore the reward is meant only as an encouragement to him and -others, to provide a motive for subsequent actions; words of praise are -flung to the runners on the course, not to the one who has reached -the goal. Neither punishment nor reward is anything that comes to one -as _one's own;_ they are given from motives of usefulness, without one -having a right to claim them. Hence we must say, "The wise man gives -no reward because the deed has been well done," just as we have said, -"The wise man does not punish because evil has been committed, but in -order that evil shall not be committed." If punishment and reward no -longer existed, then the strongest motives which deter men from certain -actions and impel them to certain other actions, would also no longer -exist; the needs of mankind require their continuance; and inasmuch as -punishment and reward, blame and praise, work most sensibly on vanity, -the same need requires the continuance of vanity. - - -106. - -AT THE WATERFALL.--In looking at a water-fall we imagine that there is -freedom of will and fancy in the countless turnings, twistings, and -breakings of the waves; but everything is compulsory, every movement -can be mathematically calculated. So it is also with human actions; -one would have to be able to calculate every single action beforehand -if one were all-knowing; equally so all progress of knowledge, every -error, all malice. The one who acts certainly labours under the -illusion of voluntariness; if the world's wheel were to stand still -for a moment and an all-knowing, calculating reason were there to make -use of this pause, it could foretell the future of every creature to -the remotest times, and mark out every track upon which that wheel -would continue to roll. The delusion of the acting agent about himself, -the supposition of a free will, belongs to this mechanism which still -remains to be calculated. - - -107. - -IRRESPONSIBILITY AND INNOCENCE.--The complete irresponsibility of -man for his actions and his nature is the bitterest drop which he -who understands must swallow if he was accustomed to see the patent -of nobility of his humanity in responsibility and duty. All his -valuations, distinctions, disinclinations, are thereby deprived of -value and become false,--his deepest feeling for the sufferer and -the hero was based on an error; he may no longer either praise or -blame, for it is absurd to praise and blame nature and necessity. In -the same way as he loves a fine work of art, but does not praise it, -because it can do nothing for itself; in the same way as he regards -plants, so must he regard his own actions and those of mankind. He can -admire strength, beauty, abundance, in themselves; but must find no -merit therein,--the chemical progress and the strife of the elements, -the torments of the sick person who thirsts after recovery, are all -equally as little merits as those struggles of the soul and states of -distress in which we are torn hither and thither by different impulses -until we finally decide for the strongest--as we say (but in reality -it is the strongest motive which decides for us). All these motives, -however, whatever fine names we may give them, have all grown out of -the same root, in which we believe the evil poisons to be situated; -between good and evil actions there is no difference of species, but -at most of degree. Good actions are sublimated evil ones; evil actions -are vulgarised and stupefied good ones. The single longing of the -individual for self-gratification (together with the fear of losing it) -satisfies itself in all circumstances: man may act as he can, that is -as he must, be it in deeds of vanity, revenge, pleasure, usefulness, -malice, cunning; be it in deeds of sacrifice, of pity, of knowledge. -The degrees of the power of judgment determine whither any one lets -himself be drawn through this longing; to every society, to every -individual, a scale of possessions is continually present, according to -which he determines his actions and judges those of others. But this -standard changes constantly; many actions are called evil and are only -stupid, because the degree of intelligence which decided for them was -very low. In a certain sense, even, _all_ actions are still stupid; -for the highest degree of human intelligence which can now be attained -will assuredly be yet surpassed, and then, in a retrospect, all our -actions and judgments will appear as limited and hasty as the actions -and judgments of primitive wild peoples now appear limited and hasty to -us. To recognise all this may be deeply painful, but consolation comes -after; such pains are the pangs of birth. The butterfly wants to break -through its chrysalis: it rends and tears it, and is then blinded and -confused by the unaccustomed light, the kingdom of liberty. In such -people as are _capable_ of such sadness--and how few are!--the first -experiment made is to see whether _mankind can change itself_ from a -_moral_ into a _wise_ mankind. The sun of a new gospel throws its rays -upon the highest point in the soul of each single individual, then -the mists gather thicker than ever, and the brightest light and the -dreariest shadow lie side by side. Everything is necessity--so says the -new knowledge, and this knowledge itself is necessity. Everything is -innocence, and knowledge is the road to insight into this innocence. -Are pleasure, egoism, vanity _necessary_ for the production of the -moral phenomena and their highest result, the sense for truth and -justice in knowledge; were error and the confusion of the imagination -the only means through which mankind could raise itself gradually to -this degree of self-enlightenment and self-liberation--who would dare -to undervalue these means? Who would dare to be sad if he perceived the -goal to which those roads led? Everything in the domain of morality -has evolved, is changeable, unstable, everything is dissolved, it is -true; but _everything is also streaming towards one goal._ Even if -the inherited habit of erroneous valuation, love and hatred, continue -to reign in us, yet under the influence of growing knowledge it will -become weaker; a new habit, that of comprehension, of not loving, not -hating, of overlooking, is gradually implanting itself in us upon the -same ground, and in thousands of years will perhaps be powerful enough -to give humanity the strength to produce wise, innocent (consciously -innocent) men, as it now produces unwise, guilt-conscious men,--_that -is the necessary preliminary step, not its opposite._ - - -[Footnote 1: Dr. Paul Rée.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: Dr. Paul Rée.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 3: This is the untranslatable word _Schadenfreude,_ which -means joy at the misfortune of others.--J.M.K.] - - - - -THIRD DIVISION. - - -THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. - - - -108. - -THE DOUBLE FIGHT AGAINST EVIL.--When misfortune overtakes us we can -either pass over I it so lightly that its cause is removed, or so -that the result which it has on our temperament is altered, through a -changing, therefore, of the evil into a good, the utility of which is -perhaps not visible until later on. Religion and art (also metaphysical -philosophy) work upon the changing of the temperament, partly through -the changing of our judgment on events (for instance, with the help -of the phrase "whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth"), partly through -the awakening of a pleasure in pain, in emotion generally (whence -the tragic art takes its starting-point). The more a man is inclined -to twist and arrange meanings the less he will grasp the causes of -evil and disperse them; the momentary mitigation and influence of -a narcotic, as for example in toothache, suffices him even in more -serious sufferings. The more the dominion of creeds and all arts -dispense with narcotics, the more strictly men attend to the actual -removing of the evil, which is certainly bad for writers of tragedy; -for the material for tragedy is growing scarcer because the domain of -pitiless, inexorable fate is growing ever narrower,--but worse still -for the priests, for they have hitherto lived on the narcotisation of -human woes. - - -109. - -SORROW IS KNOWLEDGE.--How greatly we should like to exchange the -false assertions of the priests, that there is a god who desires good -from us, a guardian and witness of every action, every moment, every -thought, who loves us and seeks our welfare in all misfortune,--how -greatly we would like to exchange these ideas for truths which would be -just as healing, pacifying and beneficial as those errors! But there -are no such truths; at most philosophy can oppose to them metaphysical -appearances (at bottom also untruths). The tragedy consists in the fact -that we cannot _believe_ those dogmas of religion and metaphysics, -if we have strict methods of truth in heart and brain: on the other -hand, mankind has, through development, become so delicate, irritable -and suffering, that it has need of the highest means of healing and -consolation; whence also the danger arises that man would bleed to -death from recognised truth, or, more correctly, from discovered error. -Byron has expressed this in the immortal lines:-- - - Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most - Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, - The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. - -For such troubles there is no better help than to recall the stately -levity of Horace, at least for the worst hours and eclipses of the -soul, and to say with him: - - ... quid æternis minorem - consiliis animum fatigas? - cur non sub alta vel platano vel hac - pinu jacentes.[1] - -But assuredly frivolity or melancholy of every degree is better than -a romantic retrospection and desertion of the flag, an approach to -Christianity in any form; for according to the present condition of -knowledge it is absolutely impossible to approach it without hopelessly -soiling our _intellectual conscience_ and giving ourselves away to -ourselves and others. Those pains may be unpleasant enough, but we -cannot become leaders and educators of mankind without pain; and woe -to him who would wish to attempt this and no longer have that clear -conscience! - - -110. - -THE TRUTH IN RELIGION.--In the period of rationalism justice was not -done to the importance of religion, of that there is no doubt, but -equally there is no doubt that in the reaction that followed this -rationalism justice was far overstepped; for religions were treated -lovingly, even amorously, and, for instance, a deeper, even the -very deepest, understanding of the world was ascribed to them; which -science has only to strip of its dogmatic garment in order to possess -the "truth" in unmythical form. Religions should, therefore,--this -was the opinion of all opposers of rationalism,--_sensu allegorico,_ -with all consideration for the understanding of the masses, give -utterance to that ancient wisdom which is wisdom itself, inasmuch -as all true science of later times has always led up to it instead -of away from it, so that between the oldest wisdom of mankind and -all later harmonies similarity of discernment and a progress of -knowledge--in case one should wish to speak of such a thing--rests -not upon the nature but upon the way of communicating it. This whole -conception of religion and science is thoroughly erroneous, and none -would still dare to profess it if Schopenhauer's eloquence had not -taken it under its protection; this resonant eloquence which, however, -only reached its hearers a generation later. As surely as from -Schopenhauer's religious-moral interpretations of men and the world -much may be gained for the understanding of the Christian and other -religions, so surely also is he mistaken about the _value of religion -for knowledge._ Therein he himself was only a too docile pupil of the -scientific teachers of his time, who all worshipped romanticism and had -forsworn the spirit of enlightenment; had he been born in our present -age he could not possibly have talked about the _sensus allegoricus_ -of religion; he would much rather have given honour to truth, as he -used to do, with the words, "_no religion, direct or indirect, either -as dogma or as allegory, has ever contained a truth._" For each has -been born of fear and necessity, through the byways of reason did it -slip into existence; once, perhaps, when imperilled by science, some -philosophic doctrine has lied itself into its system in order that -it may be found there later, but this is a theological trick of the -time when a religion already doubts itself. These tricks of theology -(which certainly were practised in the early days of Christianity, -as the religion of a scholarly period steeped in philosophy) have -led to that superstition of the _sensus allegoricus,_ but yet more -the habits of the philosophers (especially the half-natures, the -poetical philosophers and the philosophising artists), to treat all the -sensations which they discovered in _themselves_ as the fundamental -nature of man in general, and hence to allow their own religious -feelings an important influence in the building up of their systems. -As philosophers frequently philosophised under the custom of religious -habits, or at least under the anciently inherited power of that -"metaphysical need," they developed doctrinal opinions which really -bore a great resemblance to the Jewish or Christian or Indian religious -views,--a resemblance, namely, such as children usually bear to their -mothers, only that in this case the fathers were not clear about that -motherhood, as happens sometimes,--but in their innocence romanced -about a family likeness between all religion and science. In reality, -between religions and real science there exists neither relationship -nor friendship, nor even enmity; they live on different planets. Every -philosophy which shows a religious comet's tail shining in the darkness -of its last prospects makes all the science it contains suspicious; all -this is presumably also religion, even though in the guise of science. -Moreover, if all nations were to agree about certain religious matters, -for instance the existence of a God (which, it may be remarked, is not -the case with regard to this point), this would only be an argument -_against_ those affirmed matters, for instance the existence of a God; -the _consensus gentium_ and _hominum_ in general can only take place in -case of a huge folly. On the other hand, there is no _consensus omnium -sapientium,_ with regard to any single thing, with that exception -mentioned in Goethe's lines: - - "Alle die Weisesten aller der Zeiten - Lächeln und winken und stimmen mit ein: - Thöricht, auf Bess'rung der Thoren zu harren! - Kinder der Klugheit, o habet die Narren - Eben zum Narren auch, wie sich's gehört!"[2] - -Spoken without verse and rhyme and applied to our case, the _consensus -sapientium_ consists in this: that the _consensus gentium_ counts as a -folly. - - -111. - -THE ORIGIN OF THE RELIGIOUS CULT.--If we go back to the times in -which the religious life flourished to the greatest extent, we find a -fundamental conviction, which we now no longer share, and whereby the -doors leading to a religious life are closed to us once for all,--it -concerns Nature and intercourse with her. In those times people knew -nothing of natural laws; neither for earth nor for heaven is there a -"must"; a season, the sunshine, the rain may come or may not come. In -short, every idea of natural causality is lacking. When one rows, it -is not the rowing that moves the boat, but rowing is only a magical -ceremony by which one compels a _dæmon_ to move the boat. All maladies, -even death itself, are the result of magical influences. Illness -and death never happen naturally; the whole conception of "natural -sequence" is lacking,--it dawned first amongst the older Greeks, that -is, in a very late phase of humanity, in the conception of _Moira,_ -enthroned above the gods. When a man shoots with a bow, there is still -always present an irrational hand and strength; if the wells suddenly -dry up, men think first of subterranean _dæmons_ and their tricks; it -must be the arrow of a god beneath whose invisible blow a man suddenly -sinks down. In India (says Lubbock) a carpenter is accustomed to offer -sacrifice to his hammer, his hatchet, and the rest of his tools; in -the same way a Brahmin treats the pen with which he writes, a soldier -the weapons he requires in the field of battle, a mason his trowel, a -labourer his plough. In the imagination of religious people all nature -is a summary of the actions of conscious and voluntary creatures, -an enormous complex of _arbitrariness._ No conclusion may be drawn -with regard to everything that is outside of us, that anything will -_be_ so and so, _must_ be so and so; the approximately sure, reliable -are _we,_--man is the _rule,_ nature is _irregularity,_--this theory -contains the fundamental conviction which obtains in rude, religiously -productive primitive civilisations. We latter-day men feel just -the contrary,--the richer man now feels himself inwardly, the more -polyphonous is the music and the noise of his soul the more powerfully -the symmetry of nature works upon him; we all recognise with Goethe -the great means in nature for the appeasing of the modern soul; we -listen to the pendulum swing of this greatest of clocks with a longing -for rest, for home and tranquillity, as if we could absorb this -symmetry into ourselves and could only thereby arrive at the enjoyment -of ourselves. Formerly it was otherwise; if we consider the rude, -early condition of nations, or contemplate present-day savages' at -close quarters, we find them most strongly influenced by _law_ and by -_tradition_: the individual is almost automatically bound to them, and -moves with the uniformity of a pendulum. To him Nature--uncomprehended, -terrible, mysterious Nature--must appear as the _sphere of liberty,_ -of voluntariness, of the higher power, even as a superhuman degree -of existence, as God. In those times and conditions, however, every -individual felt that his existence, his happiness, and that of the -family and the State, and the success of all undertakings, depended -on those spontaneities of nature; certain natural events must appear -at the right time, others be absent at the right time. How can one -have any influence on these terrible unknown things, how can one -bind the sphere of liberty? Thus he asks himself, thus he inquires -anxiously;--is there, then, no means of making those powers as regular -through tradition and law as you are yourself? The aim of those who -believe in magic and miracles is to _impose a law on nature,_--and, -briefly, the religious cult is a result of this aim. The problem which -those people have set themselves is closely related to this: how can -the _weaker_ race dictate laws to the _stronger,_ rule it, and guide -its actions (in relation to the weaker)? One would first remember the -most harmless sort of compulsion, that compulsion which one exercises -when one has gained any one's affection. By imploring and praying, by -submission, by the obligation of regular taxes and gifts, by flattering -glorifications, it is also possible to exercise an influence upon the -powers of nature, inasmuch as one gains the affections; love binds and -becomes bound. Then one can make compacts by which one is mutually -bound to a certain behaviour, where one gives pledges and exchanges -vows. But far more important is a species of more forcible compulsion, -by magic and witchcraft. As with the sorcerer's help man is able to -injure a more powerful enemy and keep him in fear, as the love-charm -works at a distance, so the weaker man believes he can influence the -mightier spirits of nature. The principal thing in all witchcraft -is that we must get into our possession something that belongs to -some one, hair, nails, food from their table, even their portrait, -their name. With such apparatus we can then practise sorcery; for the -fundamental rule is, to everything spiritual there belongs something -corporeal; with the help of this we are able to bind the spirit, to -injure it, and destroy it; the corporeal furnishes the handles with -which we can grasp the spiritual. As man controls man, so he controls -some natural spirit or other; for this has also its corporeal part -by which it may be grasped. The tree and, compared with it, the seed -from which it sprang,--this enigmatical contrast seems to prove that -the same spirit embodied itself in both forms, now small, now large. -A stone that begins to roll suddenly is the body in which a spirit -operates; if there is an enormous rock lying on a lonely heath it seems -impossible to conceive human strength sufficient to have brought it -there, consequently the stone must have moved there by itself, that -is, it must be possessed by a spirit. Everything that has a body is -susceptible to witchcraft, therefore also the natural spirits. If a god -is bound to his image we can use the most direct compulsion against him -(through refusal of sacrificial food, scourging, binding in fetters, -and so on). In order to obtain by force the missing favour of their -god the lower classes in China wind cords round the image of the one -who has left them in the lurch, pull it down and drag it through the -streets in the dust and the dirt: "You dog of a spirit," they say, "we -gave you a magnificent temple to live in, we gilded you prettily, we -fed you well, we offered you sacrifice, and yet you are so ungrateful." -Similar forcible measures against pictures of the Saints and Virgin -when they refused to do their duty in pestilence or drought, have -been witnessed even during the present century in Catholic countries. -Through all these magic relations to nature, countless ceremonies -have been called into life; and at last, when the confusion has -grown too great, an endeavour has been made to order and systematise -them, in order that the favourable course of the whole progress of -nature, _i.e._ of the great succession of the seasons, may seem to -be guaranteed by a corresponding course of a system of procedure. -The essence of the religious cult is to determine and confine nature -to human advantage, _to impress it with a legality, therefore, which -it did not originally possess_; while at the present time we wish to -recognise the legality of nature in order to adapt ourselves to it. -In short, then, the religious cult is based upon the representations -of sorcery between man and man,--and the sorcerer is older than the -priest. But it is likewise based upon other and nobler representations; -it premises the sympathetic relation of man to man, the presence of -goodwill, gratitude, the hearing of pleaders, of treaties between -enemies, the granting of pledges, and the claim to the protection of -property. In very low stages of civilisation man does not stand in the -relation of a helpless slave to nature, he is _not_ necessarily its -involuntary, bondsman. In the _Greek_ grade of religion, particularly -in relation to the Olympian gods, there may even be imagined a common -life between two castes, a nobler and more powerful one, and one less -noble; but in their origin both belong to each other somehow, and -are of one kind; they need not be ashamed of each other. That is the -nobility of the Greek religion. - - -112. - -AT THE SIGHT OF CERTAIN ANTIQUE SACRIFICIAL IMPLEMENTS.--The fact of -how many feelings are lost to us may be seen, for instance, in the -mingling of the _droll,_ even of the _obscene,_ with the religious -feeling. The sensation of the possibility of this mixture vanishes, we -only comprehend historically that it existed in the feasts of Demeter -and Dionysus, in the Christian Easter-plays and Mysteries. But we also -know that which is noble in alliance with burlesque and such like, the -touching mingled with the laughable, which perhaps a later age will not -be able to understand. - - -113. - -CHRISTIANITY AS ANTIQUITY.--When on a Sunday morning we hear the old -bells ring out, we ask ourselves, "Is it possible! This is done on -account of a Jew crucified two thousand years ago who said he was the -Son of God. The proof of such an assertion is wanting." Certainly in -our times the Christian religion is an antiquity that dates from -very early ages, and the fact that its assertions are still believed, -when otherwise all claims are subjected to such strict examination, -is perhaps the oldest part of this heritage. A God who creates a son -from a mortal woman; a sage who requires that man should no longer -work, no longer judge, but should pay attention to the signs of the -approaching end of the world; a justice that accepts an innocent being -as a substitute in sacrifice; one who commands his disciples to drink -his blood; prayers for miraculous intervention; sins committed against -a God and atoned for through a God; the fear of a future to which death -is the portal; the form of the cross in an age which no longer knows -the signification and the shame of the cross,[3] how terrible all this -appears to us, as if risen from the grave of the ancient past! Is it -credible that such things are still believed? - - -114. - -WHAT IS UN-GREEK IN CHRISTIANITY.--The Greeks did not regard the -Homeric gods as raised above them like masters, nor themselves as -being under them like servants, as the Jews did. They only saw, as -in a mirror, the most perfect examples of their own caste; an ideal, -therefore, and not an opposite of their own nature. There is a feeling -of relationship, a mutual interest arises, a kind of symmachy. Man -thinks highly of himself when he gives himself such gods, and places -himself in a relation like that of the lower nobility towards the -higher; while the Italian nations hold a genuine peasant-faith, with -perpetual fear of evil and mischievous powers and tormenting spirits. -Wherever the Olympian gods retreated into the background, Greek life -was more sombre and more anxious. Christianity, on the contrary, -oppressed man and crushed him utterly, sinking him as if in deep mire; -then into the feeling of absolute depravity it suddenly threw the light -of divine mercy, so that the surprised man, dazzled by forgiveness, -gave a cry of joy and for a moment believed that he bore all heaven -within himself. All psychological feelings of Christianity work upon -this unhealthy excess of sentiment, and upon the deep corruption of -head and heart it necessitates; it desires to destroy, break, stupefy, -confuse,--only one thing it does not desire, namely _moderation,_ and -therefore it is in the deepest sense barbaric, Asiatic, ignoble and -un-Greek. - - -115. - -TO BE RELIGIOUS WITH ADVANTAGE.--There are sober and industrious people -on whom religion is embroidered like a hem of higher humanity; these -do well to remain religious, it beautifies them. All people who do -not understand some kind of trade in weapons--tongue and pen included -as weapons--become servile; for such the Christian religion is very -useful, for then servility assumes the appearance of Christian virtues -and is surprisingly beautified. People to whom their daily life appears -too empty and monotonous easily grow religious; this is comprehensible -and excusable, only they have no right to demand religious sentiments -from those whose daily life is not empty and monotonous.[4] - - -116. - -THE COMMONPLACE CHRISTIAN.--If Christianity were right, with its -theories of an avenging God, of general sinfulness, of redemption, and -the danger of eternal damnation, it would be a sign of weak intellect -and lack of character _not_ to become a priest, apostle or hermit, -and to work only with fear and trembling for one's own salvation; it -would be senseless thus to neglect eternal benefits for temporary -comfort. Taking it for granted that there _is belief,_ the commonplace -Christian is a miserable figure, a man that really cannot add two and -two together, and who, moreover, just because of his mental incapacity -for responsibility, did not deserve to be so severely punished as -Christianity has decreed. - - -117. - -OF THE WISDOM OF CHRISTIANITY.--It is a clever stroke on the part -of Christianity to teach the utter unworthiness, sinfulness, and -despicableness of mankind so loudly that the disdain of their -fellow-men is no longer possible. "He may sin as much as he likes, he -is not essentially different from me,--it is I who am unworthy and -despicable in every way," says the Christian to himself. But even -this feeling has lost its sharpest sting, because the Christian no -longer believes in his individual despicableness; he is bad as men are -generally, and comforts himself a little with the axiom, "We are all of -one kind." - - -118. - -CHANGE OF FRONT.--As soon as a religion triumphs it has for its enemies -all those who would have been its first disciples. - - -119. - -THE FATE OF CHRISTIANITY.--Christianity arose for the purpose of -lightening the heart; but now it must first make the heart heavy in -order afterwards to lighten it. Consequently it will perish. - - -120. - -THE PROOF OF PLEASURE.--The agreeable opinion is accepted as -true,--this is the proof of the pleasure (or, as the Church says, the -proof of the strength), of which all religions are so proud when they -ought to be ashamed of it. If Faith did not make blessed it would not -be believed in; of how little value must it be, then! - - -121. - -A DANGEROUS GAME.--Whoever now allows scope to his religious feelings -must also let them increase, he cannot do otherwise. His nature then -gradually changes; it favours whatever is connected with and near to -the religious element, the whole extent of judgment and feeling becomes -clouded, overcast with religious shadows. Sensation cannot stand still; -one must therefore take care. - - -122. - -THE BLIND DISCIPLES.--So long as one knows well the strength and -weakness of one's doctrine, one's art, one's religion, its power -is still small. The disciple and apostle who has no eyes for the -weaknesses of the doctrine, the religion, and so forth, dazzled by the -aspect of the master and by his reverence for him, has on that account -usually more power than the master himself. Without blind disciples the -influence of a man and his work has never yet become great. To help a -doctrine to victory often means only so to mix it with stupidity that -the weight of the latter carries off also the victory for the former. - - -123. - -CHURCH DISESTABLISHMENT.--There is not enough religion in the world -even to destroy religions. - - -124. - -THE SINLESSNESS OF MAN.--If it is understood how "sin came into the -world," namely through errors of reason by which men held each other, -even the single individual held himself, to be much blacker and much -worse than was actually the case, the whole sensation will be much -lightened, and man and the world will appear in a blaze of innocence -which it will do one good to contemplate. In the midst of nature man -is always the child _per se._ This child sometimes has a heavy and -terrifying dream, but when it opens its eyes it always finds itself -back again in Paradise. - - -125. - -THE IRRELIGIOUSNESS OF ARTISTS.--Homer is so much at home amongst -his gods, and is so familiar with them as a poet, that he must have -been deeply irreligious; that which the popular faith gave him--a -meagre, rude, partly terrible superstition--he treated as freely as -the sculptor does his clay, with the same unconcern, therefore, which -Æschylus and Aristophanes possessed, and by which in later times the -great artists of the Renaissance distinguished themselves, as also did -Shakespeare and Goethe. - - -126. - -THE ART AND POWER OF FALSE INTERPRETATIONS.--All the visions, terrors, -torpors, and ecstasies of saints are well-known forms of disease, -which are only, by reason of deep-rooted religious and psychological -errors, differently _explained_ by him, namely not as diseases. Thus, -perhaps, the _Daimonion_ of Socrates was only an affection of the -ear, which he, in accordance with his ruling moral mode of thought, -_expounded_ differently from what would be the case now. It is the same -thing with the madness and ravings of the prophets and soothsayers; it -is always the degree of knowledge, fantasy, effort, morality in the -head and heart of the _interpreters_ which has _made_ so much of it. -For the greatest achievements of the people who are called geniuses and -saints it is necessary that they should secure interpreters by force, -who _misunderstand_ them for the good of mankind. - - -127. - -THE VENERATION OF INSANITY.--Because it was remarked that excitement -frequently made the mind clearer and produced happy inspirations it was -believed that the happiest inspirations and suggestions were called -forth by the greatest excitement; and so the insane were revered as -wise and oracular. This is based on a false conclusion. - - -128. - -THE PROMISES OF SCIENCE.--The aim of modern science is: as little -pain as possible, as long a life as possible,--a kind of eternal -blessedness, therefore; but certainly a very modest one as compared -with the promises of religions. - - -129. - -FORBIDDEN GENEROSITY.--There is not sufficient love and goodness in the -world to permit us to give some of it away to imaginary beings. - - -130. - -THE CONTINUANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS CULT IN THE FEELINGS.--The Roman -Catholic Church, and before that all antique cults, dominated the -entire range of means by which man was put into unaccustomed moods -and rendered incapable of the cold calculation of judgment or the -clear thinking of reason. A church quivering with deep tones; the -dull, regular, arresting appeals of a priestly throng, unconsciously -communicates its tension to the congregation and makes it listen almost -fearfully, as if a miracle were in preparation; the influence of the -architecture, which, as the dwelling of a Godhead, extends into the -uncertain and makes its apparition to be feared in all its sombre -spaces,--who would wish to bring such things back to mankind if the -necessary suppositions are no longer believed? But the _results_ of all -this are not lost, nevertheless; the inner world of noble, emotional, -deeply contrite dispositions, full of presentiments, blessed with hope, -is inborn in mankind mainly through this cult; what exists of it now in -the soul was then cultivated on a large scale as it germinated, grew -up and blossomed. - - -131. - -THE PAINFUL CONSEQUENCES OF RELIGION.--However much we may think we -have weaned ourselves from religion, it has nevertheless not been done -so thoroughly as to deprive us of pleasure in encountering religious -sensations and moods in music, for instance; and if a philosophy shows -us the justification of metaphysical hopes and the deep peace of -soul to be thence acquired, and speaks, for instance, of the "whole, -certain gospel in the gaze of Raphael's Madonnas," we receive such -statements and expositions particularly warmly; here the philosopher -finds it easier to prove; that which he desires to give corresponds -to a heart that desires to receive. Hence it may be observed how the -less thoughtful free spirits really only take offence at the dogmas, -but are well acquainted with the charm of religious sensations; they -are sorry to lose hold of the latter for the sake of the former. -Scientific philosophy must be very careful not to smuggle in errors on -the ground of that need,--a need which has grown up and is consequently -temporary,--even logicians speak of "presentiments" of truth in -ethics and in art (for instance, of the suspicion that "the nature -of things is one"), which should be forbidden to them Between the -carefully established truths and such "presaged" things there remains -the unbridgable chasm that those are due to intellect and these to -requirement Hunger does not prove that food _exists_ to satisfy it, but -that it desires food. To "presage" does not mean the acknowledgment of -the existence of a thing in any one degree, but its possibility, in so -far as it is desired or feared; "presage" does not advance one step -into the land of certainty. We believe involuntarily that the portions -of a philosophy which are tinged with religion are better proved than -others; but actually it is the contrary, but we have the inward desire -that it _may_ be so, that that which makes blessed, therefore, may be -also the true. This desire misleads us to accept bad reasons for good -ones. - - -132. - -OF THE CHRISTIAN NEED OF REDEMPTION.--With careful reflection it -must be possible to obtain an explanation free from mythology of -that process in the soul of a Christian which is called the need of -redemption, consequently a purely psychological explanation. Up to the -present, the psychological explanations of religious conditions and -processes have certainly been held in some disrepute, inasmuch as a -theology which called itself free carried on its unprofitable practice -in this domain; for here from the beginning (as the mind of its -founder, Schleiermacher, gives us reason to suppose) the preservation -of the Christian religion and the continuance of Christian theology -was kept in view; a theology which was to find a new anchorage in -the psychological analyses of religious "facts," and above all a new -occupation. Unconcerned about such predecessors we hazard the following -interpretation of the phenomenon in question. Man is conscious of -certain actions which stand far down in the customary rank of actions; -he even discovers in himself a tendency towards similar actions, a -tendency which appears to him almost as unchangeable as his whole -nature. How willingly would he try himself in that other species of -actions which in the general valuation are recognised as the loftiest -and highest, how gladly would he feel himself to be full of the good -consciousness which should follow an unselfish mode of thought! But -unfortunately he stops short at this wish, and the discontent at not -being able to satisfy it is added to all the other discontents which -his lot in life or the consequences of those above-mentioned evil -actions have aroused in him; so that a deep ill-humour is the result, -with the search for a physician who could remove this and all its -causes. This condition would not be felt so bitterly if man would only -compare himself frankly with other men,--then he would have no reason -for being dissatisfied with himself to a particular extent, he would -only bear his share of the common burden of human dissatisfaction and -imperfection. But he compares himself with a being who is said to be -capable only of those actions which are called un-egoistic, and to -live in the perpetual consciousness of an unselfish mode of thought, -_i.e._ with God; it is because he gazes into this clear mirror that his -image appears to him so dark, so unusually warped. Then he is alarmed -by the thought of that same creature, in so far as it floats before his -imagination as a retributive justice; in all possible small and great -events he thinks he recognises its anger and menaces, that he even -feels its scourge-strokes as judge and executioner. Who will help him -in this danger, which, by the prospect of an immeasurable duration of -punishment, exceeds in horror all the other terrors of the idea? - - -133. - -Before we examine the further consequences of this mental state, let -us acknowledge that it is not through his "guilt" and "sin" that man -has got into this condition, but through a series of errors of reason; -that it was the fault of the mirror if his image appeared so dark and -hateful to him, and that that mirror was _his_ work, the very imperfect -work of human imagination and power of judgment. In the first place, -a nature that is only capable of purely un-egoistic actions is more -fabulous than the phœnix; it cannot even be clearly imagined, just -because, when closely examined, the whole idea "un-egoistic action" -vanishes into air. No man _ever_ did a thing which was done only -for others and without any personal motive; how should he be _able_ -to do anything which had no relation to himself, and therefore -without inward obligation (which must always have its foundation in -a personal need)? How could the _ego_ act without _ego_ A God who, -on the contrary, is _all_ love, as such a one is often represented, -would not be capable of a single un-egoistic action, whereby one is -reminded of a saying of Lichtenberg's which is certainly taken from -a lower sphere: "We cannot possibly _feel_ for others, as the saying -is; we feel only for ourselves. This sounds hard, but it is not so -really if it be rightly understood. We do not love father or mother -or wife or child, but the pleasant sensations they cause us;" or, as -Rochefoucauld says: "_Si on croit aimer sa maîtresse pour l'amour -d'elle, on est bien trompé._" To know the reason why actions of love -are valued more than others, not on account of their nature, namely, -but of their _usefulness,_ we should compare the examinations already -mentioned, _On the Origin of Moral Sentiments._ But should a man desire -to be entirely like that God of Love, to do and wish everything for -others and nothing for himself, the latter is impossible for the reason -that he must do _very much_ for himself to be able to do something -for the love of others. Then it is taken for granted that the other -is sufficiently egoistic to accept that sacrifice again and again, -that living for him,--so that the people of love and sacrifice have an -interest in the continuance of those who are loveless and incapable -of sacrifice, and, in order to exist, the highest morality would be -obliged positively to _compel_ the existence of un-morality (whereby -it would certainly annihilate itself). Further: the conception of a -God disturbs and humbles so long as it is believed in; but as to how -it arose there can no longer be any doubt in the present state of the -science of comparative ethnology; and with a comprehension of this -origin all belief falls to the ground. The Christian who compares his -nature with God's is like Don Quixote, who under-valued his own bravery -because his head was full of the marvellous deeds of the heroes of -the chivalric; romances,--the standard of measurement in both cases -belongs to the domain of fable. But if the idea of God is removed, so -is also the feeling of "sin" as a trespass against divine laws, as a -stain in a creature vowed to God. Then, perhaps, there still remains -that dejection which is intergrown and connected with the fear of the -punishment of worldly justice or of the scorn of men; the dejection of -the pricks of conscience, the sharpest thorn in the consciousness of -sin, is always removed if we recognise that though by our own deed we -have sinned against human descent, human laws and ordinances, still -that we have not imperilled the "eternal salvation of the Soul" and its -relation to the Godhead. And if man succeeds in gaining philosophic -conviction of the absolute necessity of all actions and their entire -irresponsibility, and absorbing this into his flesh and blood, even -those remains of the pricks of conscience vanish. - - -134. - -Now if the Christian, as we have said, has fallen into the way of -self-contempt in consequence of certain errors through a false, -unscientific interpretation of his actions and sensations, he must -notice with great surprise how that state of contempt, the pricks of -conscience and displeasure generally, does not endure, how sometimes -there come hours when all this is wafted away from his soul and he -feels himself once more free and courageous. In truth, the pleasure in -himself, the comfort of his own strength, together with the necessary -weakening through time of every deep emotion, has usually been -victorious; man loves himself once again, he feels it,--but precisely -this new love, this self-esteem, seems to him incredible, he can only -see in it the wholly undeserved descent of a stream of mercy from on -high. If he formerly believed that in every event he could recognise -warnings, menaces, punishments, and every kind of manifestation of -divine anger, he now finds divine goodness in all his experiences, ---this event appears to him to be full of love, that one a helpful -hint, a third, and, indeed, his whole happy mood, a proof that God is -merciful. As formerly, in his state of pain, he interpreted his actions -falsely, so now he misinterprets his experiences; his mood of comfort -he believes to be the working of a power operating outside of himself, -the love with which he really loves himself seems to him to be divine -love; that which he calls mercy, and the prologue to redemption, is -actually self-forgiveness, self-redemption. - - -135. - -Therefore: A certain false psychology, a certain kind of imaginative -interpretation of motives and experiences, is the necessary preliminary -for one to become a Christian and to feel the need of redemption. When -this error of reason and imagination is recognised, one ceases to be a -Christian. - - -136. - -OF CHRISTIAN ASCETICISM AND HOLINESS.--As greatly as isolated thinkers -have endeavoured to depict as a miracle the rare manifestations of -morality, which are generally called asceticism and holiness, miracles -which it would be almost an outrage and sacrilege to explain by the -light of common sense, as strong also is the inclination towards -this outrage. A mighty impulse of nature has at all times led to a -protest against those manifestations; science, in so far as it is -an imitation of nature, at least allows itself to rise against the -supposed inexplicableness and unapproachableness of these objections. -So far it has certainly not succeeded: those appearances are still -unexplained, to the great joy of the above-mentioned worshippers of the -morally marvellous. For, speaking generally, the unexplained _must_ -be absolutely inexplicable, the inexplicable absolutely unnatural, -supernatural, wonderful,--thus runs the demand in the souls of all -religious and metaphysical people (also of artists, if they should -happen to be thinkers at the same time); whilst the scientist sees -in this demand the "evil principle" in itself. The general, first -probability upon which one lights in the contemplation of holiness -and asceticism is this, that their nature is a _complicated_ one, -for almost everywhere, within the physical world as well as in the -moral, the apparently marvellous has been successfully traced back to -the complicated, the many-conditioned. Let us venture, therefore, to -isolate separate impulses from the soul of saints and ascetics, and -finally to imagine them as intergrown. - - -137. - -There is a _defiance of self,_ to the sublimest manifestation of which -belong many forms of asceticism. Certain individuals have such great -need of exercising their power and love of ruling that, in default of -other objects, or because they have never succeeded otherwise, they -finally ex-cogitate the idea of tyrannising over certain parts of their -own nature, portions or degrees of themselves. Thus many a thinker -confesses to views which evidently do not serve either to increase -or improve his reputation; many a one deliberately calls down the -scorn of others when by keeping silence he could easily have remained -respected; others contradict former opinions and do not hesitate to -be called inconsistent--on the contrary, they strive after this, and -behave like reckless riders who like a horse best when it has grown -wild, unmanageable, and covered with sweat. Thus man climbs dangerous -paths up the highest mountains in order that he may laugh to scorn his -own fear and his trembling knees; thus the philosopher owns to views -on asceticism, humility, holiness, in the brightness of which his own -picture shows to the worst possible disadvantage. This crushing of -one's self, this scorn of one's own nature, this _spernere se sperm,_ -of which religion has made so much, is really a very high degree of -vanity. The whole moral of the Sermon on the Mount belongs here; -man takes a genuine delight in doing violence to himself by these -exaggerated claims, and afterwards idolising these tyrannical demands -of his soul. In every ascetic morality man worships one part of himself -as a God, and is obliged, therefore, to diabolise the other parts. - - -138. - -Man is not equally moral at all hours, this is well known. If his -morality is judged to be the capability for great self-sacrificing -resolutions and self-denial (which, when continuous and grown habitual, -are called holiness), he is most moral in the _passions;_ the higher -emotion provides him with entirely new motives, of which he, sober -and cold as usual, perhaps does not even believe himself capable. How -does this happen? Probably because of the proximity of everything -great and highly exciting; if man is once wrought up to a state of -extraordinary suspense, he is as capable of carrying out a terrible -revenge as of a terrible crushing of his need for revenge. Under the -influence of powerful emotion, he desires in any case the great, the -powerful, the immense; and if he happens to notice that the sacrifice -of himself satisfies him as well as, or better than, the sacrifice -of others, he chooses that. Actually, therefore, he only cares about -discharging his emotion; in order to ease his tension he seizes the -enemy's spears and buries them in his breast. That there was something -great in self-denial and not in revenge had to be taught to mankind by -long habit; a Godhead that sacrificed itself was the strongest, most -effective symbol of this kind of greatness. As the conquest of the most -difficult enemy, the sudden mastering of an affection--thus this denial -_appears_; and so far it passes for the summit of morality. In reality -it is a question of the confusion of one idea with another, while the -temperament maintains an equal height, an equal level. Temperate men -who are resting from their passions no longer understand the morality -of those moments; but the general admiration of those who had the same -experiences upholds them; pride is their consolation when affection -and the understanding of their deed vanish. Therefore, at bottom even -those actions of self-denial are not moral, inasmuch as they are not -done strictly with regard to others; rather the other only provides -the highly-strung temperament with an opportunity of relieving itself -through that denial. - - -139. - -In many respects the ascetic seeks to make life easy for himself, -usually by complete subordination to a strange will or a comprehensive -law and ritual; something like the way a Brahmin leaves nothing -whatever to his own decision but refers every moment to holy precepts. -This submission is a powerful means of attaining self-mastery: man -is occupied and is therefore not bored, and yet has no incitement to -self-will or passion; after a completed deed there is no feeling of -responsibility and with it no tortures of remorse. We have renounced -our own will once and for ever, and this is easier than only renouncing -it occasionally; as it is also easier to give up a desire entirely than -to keep it within bounds. When we remember the present relation of -man to the State, we find that, even here, unconditional obedience is -more convenient than conditional. The saint, therefore, makes his life -easier by absolute renunciation of his personality, and we are mistaken -if in that phenomenon we admire the loftiest heroism of morality. -In any case it is more difficult to carry one's personality through -without vacillation and unclearness than to liberate one's self from it -in the above-mentioned manner; moreover, it requires far more spirit -and consideration. - - -140. - -After having found in many of the less easily explicable actions -manifestations of that pleasure in _emotion per se,_ I should like -to recognise also in self-contempt, which is one of the signs of -holiness, and likewise in the deeds of self-torture (through hunger and -scourging, mutilation of limbs, feigning of madness) a means by which -those natures fight against the general weariness of their life-will -(their nerves); they employ the most painful irritants and cruelties -in order to emerge for a time, at all events, from that dulness and -boredom into which they so frequently sink through their great mental -indolence and that submission to a strange will already described. - - -141. - -The commonest means which the ascetic and saint employs to render -life still endurable and amusing consists in occasional warfare with -alternate victory and defeat. For this he requires an opponent, and -finds it in the so-called "inward enemy." He principally makes use -of his inclination to vanity, love of honour and rule, and of his -sensual desires, that he may be permitted to regard his life as a -perpetual battle and himself as a battlefield upon which good and evil -spirits strive with alternating success. It is well known that sensual -imagination is moderated, indeed almost dispelled, by regular sexual -intercourse, whereas, on the contrary, it is rendered unfettered and -wild by abstinence or irregularity. The imagination of many Christian -saints was filthy to an extraordinary degree; by virtue of those -theories that these desires were actual demons raging within them -they did not feel themselves to be too responsible; to this feeling -we owe the very instructive frankness of their self-confessions. It -was to their interest that this strife should always be maintained in -one degree or another, because, as we have already said, their empty -life was thereby entertained. But in order that the strife might -seem sufficiently important and arouse the enduring sympathy and -admiration of non-saints, it was necessary that sensuality should be -ever more reviled and branded, the danger of eternal damnation was so -tightly bound up with these things that it is highly probable that for -whole centuries Christians generated children with a bad conscience, -wherewith humanity has certainly suffered a great injury. And yet here -truth is all topsy-turvy, which is particularly unsuitable for truth. -Certainly Christianity had said that every man is conceived and born -in sin, and in the insupportable superlative-Christianity of Calderon -this thought again appears, tied up and twisted, as the most distorted -paradox there is, in the well-known lines-- - - "The greatest sin of man - Is that he was ever born." - -In all pessimistic religions the act of generation was looked upon as -evil in itself. This is by no means the verdict of all mankind, not -even of all pessimists. For instance, Empedocles saw in all erotic -things nothing shameful, diabolical, or, sinful; but rather, in the -great plain of disaster he saw only one hopeful and redeeming figure, -that of Aphrodite; she appeared to him as a guarantee that the strife -should not endure eternally, but that the sceptre should one day be -given over to a gentler _dæmon._ The actual Christian pessimists had, -as has been said, an interest in the dominance of a diverse opinion; -for the solitude and spiritual wilderness of their lives they required -an ever living enemy, and a generally recognised enemy, through whose -fighting and overcoming they could constantly represent themselves to -the non-saints as incomprehensible, half--supernatural beings. But when -at last this enemy took to flight for ever in consequence of their -mode of life and their impaired health, they immediately understood -how to populate their interior with new dæmons. The rising and falling -of the scales of pride and humility sustained their brooding minds as -well as the alternations of desire and peace of soul. At that time -psychology served not only to cast suspicion upon everything human, but -to oppress, to scourge, to crucify; people _wished_ to find themselves -as bad and wicked as possible, they _sought_ anxiety for the salvation -of their souls, despair of their own strength. Everything natural with -which man has connected the idea of evil and sin (as, for instance, -he is still accustomed to do with regard to the erotic) troubles and -clouds the imagination, causes a frightened glance, makes man quarrel -with himself and uncertain and distrustful of himself. Even his dreams -have the flavour of a restless conscience. And yet in the reality -of things this suffering from what is natural is entirely without -foundation, it is only the consequence of opinions _about_ things. It -is easily seen how men grow worse by considering the inevitably-natural -as bad, and afterwards always feeling themselves made thus. It is the -trump-card of religion and metaphysics, which wish to have man evil and -sinful by nature, to cast suspicion on nature and thus really to _make_ -him bad, for he learns to feel himself evil since he cannot divest -himself of the clothing of nature. After living for long a natural -life, he gradually comes to feel himself weighed down by such a burden -of sin that supernatural powers are necessary to lift this burden, and -therewith arises the so-called need of redemption, which corresponds to -no real but only to an imaginary sinfulness. If we survey the separate -moral demands of the earliest times of Christianity it will everywhere -be found that requirements are exaggerated in order that man _cannot_ -satisfy them; the intention is not that he should become more moral, -but that he should feel himself as _sinful as possible._ If man had not -found this feeling _agreeable_--why would he have thought out such an -idea and stuck to it so long? As in the antique world an immeasurable -power of intellect and inventiveness was expended in multiplying the -pleasure of life by festive cults, so also in the age of Christianity -an immeasurable amount of intellect has been sacrificed to another -endeavour,--man must by all means be made to feel himself sinful and -thereby be excited, _enlivened, en-souled._ To excite, enliven, en-soul -at all costs--is not that the watchword of a relaxed, over-ripe, -over-cultured age? The range of all natural sensations had been gone -over a hundred times, the soul had grown weary, whereupon the saint -and the ascetic invented a new species of stimulants for life. They -presented themselves before the public eye, not exactly as an example -for the many, but as a terrible and yet ravishing spectacle, which took -place on that border-land between world and over-world, wherein at that -time all people believed they saw now rays of heavenly light and now -unholy tongues of flame glowing in the depths. The saint's eye, fixed -upon the terrible meaning of this short earthly life, upon the nearness -of the last decision concerning endless new spans of existence, this -burning eye in a half-wasted body made men of the old world tremble to -their very depths; to gaze, to turn shudderingly away, to feel anew the -attraction of the spectacle and to give way to it, to drink deep of it -till the soul quivered with fire and ague,--that was the last _pleasure -that antiquity invented_ after it had grown blunted even at the sight -of beast-baitings and human combats. - - -142. - -Now to sum up. That condition of soul in which the saint or embryo -saint rejoiced, was composed of elements which we all know well, -only that under the influence of other than religious conceptions -they exhibit themselves in other colours and are then accustomed to -encounter man's blame as fully as, with that decoration of religion -and the ultimate meaning of existence, they may reckon on receiving -admiration and even worship,--might reckon, at least, in former ages. -Sometimes the saint practises that defiance of himself which is a -near relative of domination at any cost and gives a feeling of power -even to the most lonely; sometimes his swollen sensibility leaps from -the desire to let his passions have full play into the desire to -overthrow them like wild horses under the mighty pressure of a proud -spirit; sometimes he desires a complete cessation of all disturbing, -tormenting, irritating sensations, a waking sleep, a lasting rest in -the lap of a dull, animal, and plant-like indolence; sometimes he seeks -strife and arouses it within himself, because boredom has shown him its -yawning countenance. He scourges his self-adoration with self-contempt -and cruelty, he rejoices in the wild tumult of his desires and the -sharp pain of sin, even in the idea of being lost; he understands how -to lay a trap for his emotions, for instance even for his keen love -of ruling, so that he sinks into the most utter abasement and his -tormented soul is thrown out of joint by this contrast; and finally, -if he longs for visions, conversations with the dead or with divine -beings, it is at bottom a rare kind of delight that he covets, perhaps -that delight in which all others are united. Novalis, an authority on -questions of holiness through experience and instinct, tells the whole -secret with naïve joy: "It is strange enough that the association of -lust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago draw men's attention to -their close relationship and common tendency." - - -143. - -That which gives the saint his historical value is not the thing he -_is,_ but the thing he _represents_ in the eyes of the unsaintly. It -was through the fact that errors were made about him, that the state -of his soul was _falsely interpreted,_ that men separated themselves -from him as much as possible, as from something incomparable and -strangely superhuman, that he acquired the extraordinary power which -he exercised over the imagination of whole nations and whole ages. He -did not know himself; he himself interpreted the writing of his moods, -inclinations, and actions according to an art of interpretation which -was as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual interpretation -of the Bible. The distorted and diseased in his nature, with its -combination of intellectual poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and -over-excited nerves, remained hidden from his own sight as well as from -that of his spectators. He was not a particularly good man, and still -less was he a particularly wise one; but he _represented_ something -that exceeded the human standard in goodness and wisdom. The belief in -him supported the belief in the divine and miraculous, in a religious -meaning of all existence, in an impending day of judgment. In the -evening glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over the Christian -nations, the shadowy form of the saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew -to such a height that even in our own age, which no longer believes in -God, there are still thinkers who believe in the saint. - - -144. - -It need not be said that to this description of the saint which has -been made from an average of the whole species, there may be opposed -many a description which could give a more agreeable impression. -Certain exceptions stand out from among this species, it may be through -great mildness and philanthropy, it may be through the magic of unusual -energy; others are attractive in the highest degree, because certain -wild ravings have poured streams of light on their whole being, as is -the case, for instance, with the famous founder of Christianity, who -thought he was the Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless--so -that through this idea--which we must not judge too hardly because the -whole antique world swarms with sons of God--he reached that same goal, -that feeling of complete sinlessness, complete irresponsibility, which -every one can now acquire by means of science. Neither have I mentioned -the Indian saints, who stand midway between the Christian saint and the -Greek philosopher, and in so far represent no pure type. Knowledge, -science--such as existed then--the uplifting above other men through -logical discipline and training of thought, were as much fostered by -the Buddhists as distinguishing signs of holiness as the same qualities -in the Christian world are repressed and branded as signs of unholiness. - - -[Footnote 1: Why harass with eternal designs a mind too weak to compass -them? Why do we not, as we lie beneath a lofty plane-tree or this pine -[drink while we may]? HOR., _Odes_ III. ii. 11-14.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: - - "All greatest sages of all latest ages - Will chuckle and slily agree, - 'Tis folly to wait till a fool's empty pate - Has learnt to be knowing and free: - So children of wisdom, make use of the fools - And use them whenever you can as your tools."--J.M.K. -] - -[Footnote 3: It may be remembered that the cross was the gallows of the -ancient world.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 4: This may give us one of the reasons for the religiosity -still happily prevailing in England and the United States.--J.M.K.] - - - - -FOURTH DIVISION. - - -CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. - - - -145. - -THE PERFECT SHOULD NOT HAVE GROWN.--With regard to everything that is -perfect we are accustomed to omit the question as to how perfection has -been acquired, and we only rejoice in the present as if it had sprung -out of the ground by magic. Probably with regard to this matter we are -still under the effects of an ancient mythological feeling. It still -_almost_ seems to us (in such a Greek temple, for instance, as that of -Pæstum) as if one morning a god in sport had built his dwelling of such -enormous masses, at other times it seems as if his spirit had suddenly -entered into a stone and now desired to speak through it. The artist -knows that his work is only fully effective if it arouses the belief -in an improvisation, in a marvellous instantaneousness of origin; and -thus he assists this illusion and introduces into art those elements -of inspired unrest, of blindly groping disorder, of listening dreaming -at the beginning of creation, as a means of deception, in order so to -influence the soul of the spectator or hearer that it may believe in -the sudden appearance of the perfect. It is the business of the science -of art to contradict this illusion most decidedly, and to show up the -mistakes and pampering of the intellect, by means of which it falls -into the artist's trap. - - -146. - -THE ARTIST'S SENSE OF TRUTH.--With regard to recognition of truths, the -artist has a weaker morality than the thinker; he will on no account -let himself be deprived of brilliant and profound interpretations -of life, and defends himself against temperate and simple methods -and results. He is apparently fighting for the higher worthiness -and meaning of mankind; in reality he will not renounce the _most -effective_ suppositions for his art, the fantastical, mythical, -uncertain, extreme, the sense of the symbolical, the over-valuation -of personality, the belief that genius is something miraculous,--he -considers, therefore, the continuance of his art of creation as more -important than the scientific devotion to truth in every shape, however -simple this may appear. - - -147. - -ART AS RAISER OF THE DEAD.--Art also fulfils the task of preservation -and even of brightening up extinguished and faded memories; when it -accomplishes this task it weaves a rope round the ages and causes -their spirits to return. It is, certainly, only a phantom-life that -results therefrom, as out of graves, or like the return in dreams of -our beloved dead, but for some moments, at least, the old sensation -lives again and the heart beats to an almost forgotten time. Hence, -for the sake of the general usefulness of art, the artist himself must -be excused if he does not stand in the front rank of the enlightenment -and progressive civilisation of humanity; all his life long he has -remained a child or a youth, and has stood still at the point where he -was overcome by his artistic impulse; the feelings of the first years -of life, however, are acknowledged to be nearer to those of earlier -times than to those of the present century. Unconsciously it becomes -his mission to make mankind more childlike; this is his glory and his -limitation. - - -148. - -POETS AS THE LIGHTENERS OF LIFE.--Poets, inasmuch as they desire to -lighten the life of man, either divert his gaze from the wearisome -present, or assist the present to acquire new colours by means of a -life which they cause to shine out of the past. To be able to do this, -they must in many respects themselves be beings who are turned towards -the past, so that they can be used as bridges to far distant times -and ideas, to dying or dead religions and cultures. Actually they -are always and of necessity _epigoni._ There are, however, certain -drawbacks to their means of lightening life,--they appease and heal -only temporarily, only for the moment; they even prevent men from -labouring towards a genuine improvement in their conditions, inasmuch -as they remove and apply palliatives to precisely that passion of -discontent that induces to action. - - -149. - -THE SLOW ARROW OF BEAUTY.--The noblest kind of beauty is that which -does not transport us suddenly, which does not make stormy and -intoxicating impressions (such a kind easily arouses disgust), but -that which slowly filter into our minds, which we take away with us -almost unnoticed, and which we encounter again in our dreams; but -which, however, after having long lain modestly on our hearts, takes -entire possession of us, fills our eyes with tears and our hearts with -longing. What is it that we long for at the sight of beauty? We long to -be beautiful, we fancy it must bring much happiness with it. But that -is a mistake. - - -150. - -THE ANIMATION OF ART.--Art raises its head where creeds relax. It takes -over many feelings and moods engendered by religion, lays them to its -heart, and itself becomes deeper, more full of soul, so that it is -capable of transmitting exultation and enthusiasm, which it previously -was not able to do. The abundance of religious feelings which have -grown into a stream are always breaking forth again and desire to -conquer new kingdoms, but the growing enlightenment has shaken the -dogmas of religion and inspired a deep mistrust,--thus the feeling, -thrust by enlightenment out of the religious sphere, throws itself upon -art, in a few cases into political life, even straight into science. -Everywhere where human endeavour wears a loftier, gloomier aspect, it -may be assumed that the fear of spirits, incense, and church-shadows -have remained attached to it. - - -151. - -HOW RHYTHM BEAUTIFIES.--Rhythm casts a veil over reality; it causes -various artificialities of speech and obscurities of thought; by the -shadow it throws upon thought it sometimes conceals it, and sometimes -brings it into prominence. As shadow is necessary to beauty, so the -"dull" is necessary to lucidity. Art makes the aspect of life endurable -by throwing lover it the veil of obscure thought. - - -152. - -THE ART OF THE UGLY SOUL.--Art is confined within too narrow limits if -it be required that only the orderly, respectable, well-behaved soul -should be allowed to express itself therein. As in the plastic arts, so -also in music and poetry: there is an art of the ugly soul side by side -with the art of the beautiful soul; and the mightiest effects of art, -the crushing of souls, moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have -perhaps been best achieved precisely by that art. - - -153. - -ART MAKES HEAVY THE HEART OF THE THINKER.--How strong metaphysical -need is and how difficult nature renders our departure from it may be -seen from the fact that even in the free spirit, when he has cast off -everything metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily produce -a resounding of the long silent, even broken, metaphysical string,--it -may be, for instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony -he feels himself floating above the earth in a starry dome with the -dream of _immortality_ in his heart; all the stars seem to shine round -him, and the earth to sink farther and farther away.--If he becomes -conscious of this state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs -for the man who will lead back to him his lost darling, be it called -religion or metaphysics. In such moments his intellectual character is -put to the test. - - -154. - -PLAYING WITH LIFE.--The lightness and frivolity of the Homeric -imagination was necessary to calm and occasionally to raise the -immoderately passionate temperament and acute intellect of the Greeks. -If their intellect speaks, how harsh and cruel does life then appear! -They do not deceive themselves, but they intentionally weave lies -round life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look upon life as -a game; earnestness was too well-known to them as pain (the gods so -gladly hear the misery of mankind made the theme of song), and they -knew that through art alone misery might be turned into pleasure. As -a punishment for this insight, however, they were so plagued with the -love of romancing that it was difficult for them in everyday life to -keep themselves free from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations -have such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent withal. Probably -this occasionally drove the neighbouring nations to desperation. - - -155. - -THE BELIEF IN INSPIRATION.--It is to the interest of the artist that -there should be a belief in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations; -as if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the fundamental thought of -a philosophy shone down from heaven like a ray of grace. In reality -the imagination of the good artist or thinker constantly produces -good, mediocre, and bad, but his _judgment,_ most clear and practised, -rejects and chooses and joins together, just as we now learn from -Beethoven's notebooks that he gradually composed the most beautiful -melodies, and in a manner selected them, from many different attempts. -He who makes less severe distinctions, and willingly abandons himself -to imitative memories, may under certain circumstances become a great -improvisatore; but artistic improvisation ranks low in comparison with -serious and laboriously chosen artistic thoughts. All great men were -great workers, unwearied not only in invention but also in rejection, -reviewing, transforming, and arranging. - - -156. - -INSPIRATION AGAIN.--If the productive power has been suspended for a -length of time, and has been hindered in its outflow by some obstacle, -there comes at last such a sudden out-pouring, as if an immediate -inspiration were taking place without previous inward working, -consequently a miracle. This constitutes the familiar deception, in -the continuance of which, as we have said, the interest of all artists -is rather too much concerned. The capital has only _accumulated,_ it -has not suddenly fallen down from heaven. Moreover, such apparent -inspirations are seen elsewhere, for instance in the realm of goodness, -of virtue and of vice. - - -157. - -THE SUFFERING OF GENIUS AND ITS VALUE.--The artistic genius desires -to give pleasure, but if his mind is on a very high plane he does not -easily find any one to share his pleasure; he offers entertainment -but nobody accepts it. This gives him, in certain circumstances, a -comically touching pathos; for he has really no right to force pleasure -on men. He pipes, but none will dance: can that be tragic? Perhaps.--As -compensation for this deprivation, however, he finds more pleasure in -creating than the rest of mankind experiences in all other species -of activity. His sufferings are considered as exaggerated, because -the sound of his complaints is louder and his tongue more eloquent; -and yet _sometimes_ his sufferings are really very great; but only -because his ambition and his envy are so great. The learned genius, -like Kepler and Spinoza, is usually not so covetous and does not make -such an exhibition of his really greater sufferings and deprivations. -He can reckon with greater certainty on future fame and can afford to -do without the present, whilst an artist who does this always plays a -desperate game that makes his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in -one and the same individual are combined the genius of power and of -knowledge and the moral genius, there is added to the above-mentioned -pains that species of pain which must be regarded as the most -curious exception in the world; those extra- and super-personal -sensations which are experienced on behalf of a nation, of humanity, -of all civilisation, all suffering existence, which acquire their -value through the connection with particularly difficult and remote -perceptions (pity in itself is worth but little). But what standard, -what proof is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost imperative to -be mistrustful of all who _talk_ of feeling sensations of this kind? - - -158. - -THE DESTINY OF GREATNESS.--Every great phenomenon is followed by -degeneration, especially in the world of art. The example of the great -tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or exaggeration; all -great gifts have the fatality of crushing many weaker forces and germs, -and of laying waste all nature around them. The happiest arrangement in -the development of an art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one -another within bounds; in this strife it generally happens that light -and air are also granted to the weaker and more delicate natures. - - -159. - -ART DANGEROUS FOR THE ARTIST.--When art takes strong hold of an -individual it draws him back to the contemplation of those times when -art flourished best, and it has then a retrograde effect. The artist -grows more and more to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes -in gods and dæmons, he spiritualises all nature, hates science, is -changeable in his moods like the ancients, and longs for an overthrow -of all existing conditions which are not favourable to art, and does -this with the impetuosity and unreasonableness of a child. Now, in -himself, the artist is already a backward nature, because he halts at a -game that belongs properly to youth and childhood; to this is added the -fact that he is educated back into former times. Thus there gradually -arises a fierce antagonism between him and his contemporaries, and -a sad ending; according to the accounts of the ancients, Homer and -Æschylus spent their last years, and died, in melancholy. - - -160. - -CREATED INDIVIDUALS.--When it is said that the dramatist (and the -artist above all) _creates_ real characters, it is a fine deception and -exaggeration, in the existence and propagation of which art celebrates -one of its unconscious but at the same time abundant triumphs. As a -matter of fact, we do not understand much about a real, living man, -and we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to him this and -that character; this _very imperfect_ attitude of ours towards man -is represented by the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in this -sense "creates") outlines as _superficial_ as our knowledge of man is -superficial. There is a great deal of delusion about these created -characters of artists; they are by no means living productions of -nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too thin, they will not -bear a close inspection. And when it is said that the character of -the ordinary living being contradicts itself frequently, and that -the one created by the dramatist is the original model conceived by -nature, this is quite wrong. A genuine man is something absolutely -_necessary_ (even in those so-called contradictions), but we do not -always recognise this necessity. The imaginary man, the phantasm, -signifies something necessary, but only to those who understand a -real man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so that a few -strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great deal of light and shade -and half-light about them, amply satisfy their notions. They are, -therefore, ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary man, -because with real men they are accustomed to regard a phantasm, an -outline, an intentional abbreviation as the whole. That the painter -and the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain imagination and -delusion; whoever says this is in subjection to the eye, for this only -sees the' surface, the epidermis of the human body,--the inward body, -however, is equally a part of the idea. Plastic art wishes to make -character visible on the surface; histrionic art employs speech for -the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds. Art starts from the -natural _ignorance_ of man about his interior condition (in body and -character); it is not meant for philosophers or natural scientists. - - -161. - -THE OVER-VALUATION OF SELF IN THE BELIEF IN ARTISTS AND -PHILOSOPHERS.--We are all prone to think that the excellence of a -work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves and touches us. -But there _our own excellence_ in judgment and sensibility must have -been proved first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who -had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini, who made a greater -effect than the orator that appeared after Demosthenes introduced the -Asiatic style and gave it a predominance which lasted throughout two -centuries? This predominance during whole centuries is not a proof of -the excellence and enduring validity of a style; therefore we must -not be too certain in our good opinion of any artist,--this is not -only belief in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in the -infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment or sensation, or even -both, may be too coarse or too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are -the blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a religion proofs -of its truth; just as little as the happiness which an insane person -derives from his fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this -idea. - - -162. - -THE CULT OF GENIUS FOR THE SAKE OF VANITY.--Because we think well of -ourselves, but nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable of the -conception of one of Raphael's pictures or of a scene such as those of -one of Shakespeare's dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty for -doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a very rare case, or, -if we are religiously inclined, a grace from above. Thus the cult of -genius fosters our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we think -of it as very far removed from us, as a _miraculum,_ that it does not -wound us (even Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare a -star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are reminded of the line "die -Sterne, die begehrt man nicht".[1]) But, apart from those suggestions -of our vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so radically -different from the activity of a mechanical inventor, of an astronomer -or historian or strategist. All these forms of activity are explicable -if we realise men whose minds are active in one special direction, who -make use of everything as material, who always eagerly study their -own inward life and that of others, who find types and incitements -everywhere, who never weary in the employment of their means. Genius -does nothing but learn how to lay stones, then to build, always to -seek for material and always to work upon it. Every human activity is -marvellously complicated, and not only that of genius, but it is no -"miracle." Now whence comes the belief that genius is found only in -artists, orators, and philosophers, that they alone have "intuition" -(by which we credit them with a kind of magic glass by means of which -they see straight into one's "being")? It is clear that men only speak -of genius where the workings of a great intellect are most agreeable -to them and they have no desire to feel envious. To call any one -"divine" is as much as saying "here we have no occasion for rivalry." -Thus it is that everything completed and perfect is stared at, and -everything incomplete is undervalued. Now nobody can see how the work -of an artist has _developed_; that is its advantage, for everything of -which the development is seen is looked on coldly The perfected art of -representation precludes all thought of its development, it tyrannises -as present perfection. For this reason artists of representation are -especially held to be possess of genius, but not scientific men. In -reality, however, the former valuation and the latter under-valuation -are only puerilities of reason. - - -163. - -THE EARNESTNESS OF HANDICRAFT.--Do not talk of gifts, of inborn -talents! We could mention great men of all kinds who were but little -gifted. But they _obtained_ greatness, became "geniuses" (as they are -called), through qualities of the lack of which nobody who is conscious -of them likes to speak. They all had that thorough earnestness for work -which learns first how to form the different parts perfectly before it -ventures to make a great whole; they gave themselves time for this, -because they took more pleasure in doing small, accessory things well -than in the effect of a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for -becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the carrying out of the -recipe presupposes qualities which we are in the habit of overlooking -when we say, "I have not sufficient talent." Make a hundred or more -sketches of novel-plots, none more than two pages long, but of such -clearness that every word in them is necessary; write down anecdotes -every day until you learn to find the most pregnant, most effective -form; never weary of collecting and delineating human types and -characters; above all, narrate things as often as possible and listen -to narrations with a sharp eye and ear for the effect upon other people -present; travel like a landscape painter and a designer of costumes; -take from different sciences everything that is artistically effective, -if it be well represented; finally, meditate on the motives for human -actions, scorn not even the smallest point of instruction on this -subject, and collect similar matters by day and night. Spend some ten -years in these various exercises: then the creations of your study may -be allowed to see the light of day. But what do most people do, on the -contrary? They do not begin with the part, but with the whole. Perhaps -they make one good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards their -work grows worse and worse, for good, natural reasons. But sometimes, -when intellect and character are lacking for the formation of such an -artistic career, fate and necessity take the place of these qualities -and lead the future master step by step through all the phases of his -craft. - - -164. - -THE DANGER AND THE GAIN IN THE CULT OF GENIUS.--The belief in great, -superior, fertile minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently, -connected with that wholly or partly religious superstition that -those spirits are of superhuman origin and possess certain marvellous -faculties, by means of which they obtained their knowledge in ways -quite different from the rest of mankind. They are credited with -having an immediate insight into the nature of the world, through -a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as it were, and it is -believed that, without the trouble and severity of science, by virtue -of this marvellous prophetic sight, they could impart something final -and decisive about mankind and the world. So long as there are still -believers in miracles in the world of knowledge it may perhaps be -admitted that the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom, -inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great minds they obtain the -best discipline and schooling for their own minds during the period of -development. On the other hand, it may at least be questioned whether -the superstition of genius, of its privileges and special faculties, -is useful for a genius himself when it implants itself in him. In any -case it is a dangerous sign when man shudders at his own self, be it -that famous Cæsarian shudder or the shudder of genius which applies to -this case, when the incense of sacrifice, which by rights is offered -to a God alone, penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that he -begins to waver and to look upon himself as something superhuman. The -slow consequences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the exceptional -rights, the belief that mere intercourse with him confers a favour, -and frantic rage at any attempt to compare him with others or even -to place him below them and to bring into prominence whatever is -unsuccessful in his work. Through the fact that he ceases to criticise -himself one pinion after another falls out of his plumage,--that -superstition undermines the foundation of his strength and even makes -him a hypocrite after his power has failed him. For great minds it -is, therefore, perhaps better when they come to an understanding about -their strength and its source, when they comprehend what purely human -qualities are mingled in them, what a combination they are of fortunate -conditions: thus once it was continual energy, a decided application -to individual aims, great personal courage, and then the good fortune -of an education, which at an early period provided the best teachers, -examples, and methods. Assuredly, if its aim is to make the greatest -possible _effect,_ abstruseness has always done much for itself and -that gift of partial insanity; for at all times that power has been -admired and envied by means of which men were deprived of will and -imbued with the fancy that they were preceded by supernatural leaders. -Truly, men are exalted and inspired by the belief that some one among -them is endowed with supernatural powers, and in this respect insanity, -as Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings to mankind. In a -few rare cases this form of insanity may also have been the means -by which an all-round exuberant nature was kept within bounds; in -individual life the imaginings of frenzy frequently exert the virtue of -remedies which are poisons in themselves; but in every "genius" that -believes in his own divinity the poison shows itself at last in the -same proportion as the "genius" grows old; we need but recollect the -example of Napoleon, for it was most assuredly through his faith in -himself and his star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he grew -to that mighty unity which distinguished him from all modern men, until -at last, however, this faith developed into an almost insane fatalism, -robbed him of his quickness of comprehension and penetration, and was -the cause of his downfall. - - -165. - -GENIUS AND NULLITY.--It is precisely the _original_ artists, those who -create out of their own heads, who in certain circumstances can bring -forth complete _emptiness_ and husk, whilst the more dependent natures, -the so-called talented ones, are full of memories of all manner of -goodness, and even in a state of weakness produce something tolerable. -But if the original ones are abandoned by themselves, memory renders -them no assistance; they become empty. - - -166. - -THE PUBLIC.--The people really demands nothing more from tragedy than -to be deeply affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally; the -artist, on the contrary, who sees the new tragedy, takes pleasure in -the clever technical inventions and tricks, in the management and -distribution of the material, in the novel arrangement of old motives -and old ideas. His attitude is the æsthetic attitude towards a work of -art, that of the creator; the one first described, with regard solely -to the material, is that of he people. Of the individual who stands -between the two nothing need be said: he is neither "people" nor -artist, and does not know what he wants--therefore his pleasure is also -clouded and insignificant. - - -167. - -THE ARTISTIC EDUCATION OF THE PUBLIC.--If the same _motif_ is not -employed in a hundred ways by different masters, the public never -learns to get beyond their interest in the subject; but at last, when -it is well acquainted with the _motif_ through countless different -treatments, and no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or -excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy the various shades -and delicate new inventions in its treatment. - - -168. - -THE ARTIST AND HIS FOLLOWERS MUST KEEP IN STEP.--The progress from one -grade of style to another must be so slow that not only the artists but -also the auditors and spectators can follow it and know exactly what is -going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear that great chasm between -the artist, who creates his work upon a height apart, and the public, -who cannot rise up to that height and finally sinks discontentedly -deeper. For when the artist no longer raises his public it rapidly -sinks downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more dangerous in -proportion to the height to which genius has carried it, like the -eagle, out of whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up into the -clouds falls to its destruction. - - -169. - -THE SOURCE OF THE COMIC ELEMENT.--If we consider that for many -thousands of years man was an animal that was susceptible in the -highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden and unexpected had -to find him ready for battle, perhaps even ready for death; that even -later, in social relations, all security was based on the expected, -on custom in thought and action, we need not be surprised that at -everything sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if it occurs without -danger or injury, man becomes exuberant and passes over into the very -opposite of fear--the terrified, trembling, crouching being shoots -upward, stretches itself: man laughs. This transition from momentary -fear into short-lived exhilaration is called the _Comic._ On the other -hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes quickly from great enduring -exuberance into great fear; but as amongst mortals great and lasting -exuberance is much rarer than the cause for fear, there is far more -comedy than tragedy in the world; we laugh much offener than we are -agitated. - - -170. - -THE ARTIST'S AMBITION.--The Greek artists, the tragedians for instance, -composed in order to conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined -without rivalry,--the good Hesiodian Eris, Ambition, gave wings to -their genius. This ambition further demanded that their work should -achieve the greatest excellence _in their own eyes,_ as they understood -excellence, _without any regard_ for the reigning taste and the -general opinion about excellence in a work of art; and thus it was -long before Æschylus and Euripides achieved any success, until at -last they _educated_ judges of art, who valued their work according -to the standards which they themselves appointed. Hence they strove -for victory over rivals according to their own valuation, they really -wished to _be_ more excellent; they demanded assent from without to -this self-valuation, the confirmation of this verdict. To achieve -honour means in this case "to make one's self superior to others, and -to desire that this should be recognised publicly." Should the former -condition be wanting, and the latter nevertheless desired, it is then -called _vanity._ Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then it -is named _pride_. - - -171. - -WHAT IS NEEDFUL TO A WORK OF ART.--Those who talk so much about the -needful factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are artists they -do so _in majorem artis gloriam,_ if they are laymen, from ignorance. -The form of a work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts and is, -therefore, their mode of talking, is always somewhat uncertain, like -all kinds of speech. The sculptor can add or omit many little traits, -as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in music, a performer or -conductor. These many little traits and finishing touches afford him -pleasure one day and none the next, they exist more for the sake of the -artist than the art; for he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats -and playthings to prevent him from becoming morose with the severity -and self-restraint which the representation of the dominant idea -demands from him. - - -172. - -TO CAUSE THE MASTER TO BE FORGOTTEN.--The pianoforte player who -executes the work of a master will have played best if he has made his -audience forget the master, and if it seemed as if he were relating -a story from his own life or just passing through some experience. -Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one will abhor the -garrulity with which he talks about his own life. Therefore he must -know how to influence his hearer's imagination favourably towards -himself. Hereby are explained all the weaknesses and follies of "the -virtuoso." - - -173. - -_CORRIGER LA FORTUNE._--There are unfortunate accidents in the lives -of great artists, which compel the painter, for instance, to sketch -out his most important picture only as a passing thought, or such as -obliged Beethoven to leave behind him only the insufficient pianoforte -score of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat). In these cases -the artist of a later day must endeavour to fill out the life of the -great man,--of all orchestral effects, would call into life that -symphony which has fallen into the piano-trance. - - -174. - -REDUCING.--Many things, events, or persons, cannot bear treatment on -a small scale. The Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-knack; -great size is necessary to it. But more seldom still does anything -that is naturally small bear enlargement; for which reason biographers -succeed far oftener in representing a great man as small than a small -one as great. - - -175. - -SENSUOUSNESS IN PRESENT-DAY ART.--Artists nowadays frequently -miscalculate when they count on the sensuous effect of their works, for -their spectators or hearers have no longer a fully sensuous nature, -and, quite contrary to the artist's intention, his work produces in -them a "holiness" of feeling which is closely related to boredom. Their -sensuousness begins, perhaps, just where that of the artist ceases; -they meet, therefore, only at one point at the most. - - -176. - -SHAKESPEARE AS A MORALIST.--Shakespeare meditated much on the passions, -and on account of his temperament had probably a close acquaintance -with many of them (dramatists are in general rather wicked men). He -could, however not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put his -observations thereon into the mouths of impassioned figures, which -is contrary to nature, certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in -thought that they cause all others to seem poor in comparison and -readily arouse a general aversion to them. Schiller's reflections -(which are almost always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are -just theatrical Reflections, and as such are very effective; whereas -Shakespeare's reflections do honour to his model, Montaigne, and -contain quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on that account -are too remote and refined for the eyes of the theatrical public, and -are consequently ineffective. - - -177. - -SECURING A GOOD HEARING.--It is not sufficient to know how to play -well; one must also know how to secure a good hearing. A violin in the -hand of the greatest master gives only a little squeak when the place -where it is heard is too large; the master may then be mistaken for any -bungler. - - -178. - -THE INCOMPLETE AS THE EFFECTIVE.--Just as figures in relief make such -a strong impression on the imagination because they seem in the act -of emerging from the wall and only stopped by some sudden hindrance; -so the relief-like, incomplete representation of a thought, or a -whole philosophy, is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive -amplification,--more is left for the investigation of the onlooker, he -is incited to the further study of that which stands out before him in -such strong light and shade; he is prompted to think out the subject, -and even to overcome the hindrance which hitherto prevented it from -emerging clearly. - - -179. - -AGAINST THE ECCENTRIC.--When art arrays itself in the most shabby -material it is most easily recognised as art. - - -180. - -COLLECTIVE INTELLECT.--A good author possesses not only his own -intellect, but also that of his friends. - - -181. - -DIFFERENT KINDS OF MISTAKES.--The misfortune of acute and clear authors -is that people consider them as shallow and therefore do not devote any -effort to them; and the good fortune of obscure writers is that the -reader makes an effort to understand them and places the delight in his -own zeal to their credit. - - -182. - -RELATION TO SCIENCE.--None of the people have any real interest in -a science, who only begin to be enthusiastic about it when they -themselves lave made discoveries in it. - - -183. - -THE KEY.--The single thought on which an eminent man sets a great -value, arousing the derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a -key to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is nothing _more_ than a -piece of old iron. - - -184. - -UNTRANSLATABLE.--It is neither the best nor the worst parts of a book -which are untranslatable. - - -185. - -AUTHORS' PARADOXES.--The so-called paradoxes of an author to which a -reader objects are often not in the author's book at all, but in the -reader's head. - - -186. - -WIT.--The wittiest authors produce a scarcely noticeable smile. - - -187. - -ANTITHESIS.--Antithesis is the narrow gate through which error is -fondest of sneaking to the truth. - - -188. - -THINKERS AS STYLISTS.--Most thinkers write badly, because they -communicate not only their thoughts, but also the thinking of them. - - -189. - -THOUGHTS IN POETRY.--The poet conveys his thoughts ceremoniously in the -vehicle of rhythm, usually because they are not able to go on foot. - - -190. - -THE SIN AGAINST THE READER'S INTELLECT.--When an author renounces his -talent in order merely to put himself on a level with the reader, he -commits the only deadly sin which the latter will never forgive, should -he notice anything of it. One may say everything that is bad about a -person, but in the manner _in which_ it is said one must know how to -revive his vanity anew. - - -191. - -THE LIMITS OF UPRIGHTNESS.--Even the most upright author lets fall a -word too much when he wishes to round off a period. - - -192. - -THE BEST AUTHOR,--The best author will be he who is ashamed to become -one. - - -193. - -DRACONIAN LAW AGAINST AUTHORS.--One should regard authors as criminals -who only obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,--that would be -a remedy for books becoming too rife. - - -194. - -THE FOOLS OF MODERN CULTURE.--The fools of mediæval courts correspond -to our _feuilleton_ writers; they are the same kind of men, -semi-rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes there only for -the purpose of lessening the pathos of the outlook with fancies and -chatter, and of drowning with their clamour the far too deep and solemn -chimes of great events; they were formerly in the service of princes -and nobles, now they are in the service of parties (since a large -portion of the old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people with -their prince still survives in party-feeling and party-discipline). -Modern literary men, however, are generally very similar to the -_feuilleton_ writers, they are the "fools of modern culture," whom -one judges more leniently when one does not regard them as fully -responsible beings. To look upon writing as a regular profession should -justly be regarded as a form of madness. - - -195. - -AFTER THE EXAMPLE OF THE GREEKS.--It is a great hindrance to knowledge -at present that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling, all -words have become vague and inflated. The higher stage of culture, -which is under the sway (though not under the tyranny) of knowledge, -requires great sobriety of feeling and thorough concentration of -words--on which points the Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an -example to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing mark of all modern -writings, and even when they are simply written the expressions therein -are still _felt_ as _too_ eccentric. Careful reflection, conciseness, -coldness, plainness, even carried intentionally to the farthest -limits,--in a word, suppression of feeling and taciturnity,--these -are the only remedies. For the rest, this cold manner of writing and -feeling is now very attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is -a new danger therein. For intense cold is as good a stimulus as a high -degree of warmth. - - -196. - -GOOD NARRATORS, BAD EXPLAINERS.--In good narrators there is often -found an admirable psychological sureness and logicalness, as far as -these qualities can be observed in the actions of their personages, -in positively ludicrous contrast to their inexperienced psychological -reasoning, so that their culture appears to be as extraordinarily high -one moment as it seems regrettably defective the next. It happens far -too frequently that they give an evidently false explanation of their -own heroes and their actions,--of this there is no doubt, however -improbable the thing may appear. It is quite likely that the greatest -pianoforte player has thought but little about the technical conditions -and the special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tractability of -each finger (dactylic ethics), and makes big mistakes whenever he -speaks of such things. - - -197. - -THE WRITINGS OF ACQUAINTANCES AND THEIR READERS.--We read the writings -of our acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double sense, inasmuch -as our perception constantly whispers, "That is something of himself, -a remembrance of his inward being, his experiences, his talents," and -at the same time another kind of perception endeavours to estimate the -profit of the work in itself, what valuation it merits apart from its -author, how far it will enrich knowledge. These two manners of reading -and estimating interfere with each other, as may naturally be supposed. -And a conversation with a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge -when both think only of the matter under consideration and forget that -they are friends. - - -198. - -RHYTHMICAL SACRIFICE.--Good writers alter the rhythm of many a period -merely because they do not credit the general reader with the ability -to comprehend the measure followed by the period in its first version; -thus they make it easier for the reader, by giving the preference to -the better known rhythms.. This regard for the rhythmical incapacity -of the modern reader has already called forth many a sigh, for much -has been sacrificed to it. Does not the same thing happen to good -musicians? - - -199. - -THE INCOMPLETE AS AN ARTISTIC STIMULUS.--The incomplete is often -more effective than perfection, and this is the case with eulogies. -To effect their purpose a stimulating incompleteness is necessary, -as an irrational element, which calls up a sea before the hearer's -imagination, and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, _i.e._ the -limits of the object of praise. If the well-known merits of a person -are referred to and described at length and in detail, it always gives -rise to the suspicion that these are his only merits. The perfect -eulogist takes his stand above the person praised, he appears to -_overlook_ him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening effect. - - -200. - -PRECAUTIONS IN WRITING AND TEACHING.--Whoever has once written and has -been seized with the passion for writing learns from almost all that he -does and experiences that which is literally communicable. He thinks -no longer of himself, but of the author and his public; he desires -insight into things; but not for his own use. He who teaches is mostly -incapable of doing anything for his own good: he is always thinking of -the good of his scholars, and all knowledge delights him only in so -far as he is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard himself as a -medium of knowledge, and above all as a means thereto, so that he has -lost all serious consideration for himself. - - -201. - -THE NECESSITY FOR BAD AUTHORS.--There will always be a need of bad -authors; for they meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped, immature -age--these have their requirements as well as mature readers. If human -life were of greater length, the number of mature individuals would be -greater than that of the immature, or at least equally great; but, as -it is, by far the greater number die too young: _i.e._ there are always -many more undeveloped intellects with bad taste. These demand, with the -greater impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their needs, and they -_insist_ on having bad authors. - - -202. - -Too NEAR AND TOO FAR.--The reader and the author very often do not -understand each other, because the author knows his theme too well and -finds it almost slow, so that he omits the examples, of which he knows -hundreds; the reader, however, is interested in the subject, and is -liable to consider it as badly proved if examples are lacking. - - -203. - -A VANISHED PREPARATION FOR ART.--Of everything that was practised in -public schools, the thing of greatest value was the exercise in Latin -style,--this was an exercise in art, whilst all other occupations -aimed only at the acquirement of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put -German composition before it, for there is no typical German style -developed by public oratory; but if there is a desire to advance -practice in thought by means of German composition, then it is -certainly better for the time being to pay no attention to style, to -separate the practice in thought, therefore, from the practice in -reproduction. The latter should confine itself to the various modes -of presenting a given subject, and should not concern itself with the -independent finding of a subject. The mere presentment of given subject -was the task of the Latin style, for which the old teachers possessed a -long vanished delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to write well -in a modern language had to thank this practice for the acquirement -(now we are obliged to go to school to the older French writers). But -yet more: he obtained an idea of the loftiness and difficulty of form, -and was prepared for art in the only right way: by practice. - - -204. - -DARKNESS AND OVER-BRIGHTNESS SIDE BY SIDE.--Authors who, in general, -do not understand how to express their thoughts clearly are fond of -choosing, in detail, the strongest, most exaggerated distinctions and -superlatives,--thereby is produced an effect of light, which is like -torchlight in intricate forest paths. - - -205. - -LITERARY PAINTING.--An important object will be best described if the -colours for the painting are taken out of the object itself, as a -chemist does, and then employed like an artist, so that the drawing -develops from the outlines and transitions of the colours. Thus the -painting acquires something of the entrancing natural element which -gives such importance to the object itself. - - -206. - -BOOKS WHICH TEACH HOW TO DANCE.--There are authors who, by representing -the impossible as possible, and by talking of morality and cleverness -as if both were merely moods and humours assumed at will, produce -a feeling of exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and were -compelled to dance from sheer, inward delight. - - -207. - -UNFINISHED THOUGHTS.--Just as not only manhood, but also youth and -childhood have a value _per se,_ and are not to be looked upon merely -as passages and bridges, so also unfinished thoughts have their value. -For this reason we must not torment a poet with subtle explanations, -but must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his horizon, as if the way -to further thoughts were still open. We stand on the threshold; we wait -as for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well of profundity -were about to be discovered. The poet anticipates something of the -thinker's pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, an makes us -covetous, so that we give chase to it; but it flutters past our head -and exhibits the loveliest butterfly-wings,--and yet it escapes us. - - -208. - -THE BOOK GROWN ALMOST INTO A HUMAN BEING.--Every author is surprised -anew at the way in which his book, as soon as he has sent it out, -continues to live a life of its own; it seems to him as if one part -of an insect had been cut off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he -forgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above the view expressed -therein, perhaps even he understands it no longer, and has lost that -impulse upon which he soared at the time he conceived the book; -meanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames life, pleases, horrifies, -inspires new works, becomes the soul of designs and actions,--in -short, it lives like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and yet -is no human being. The happiest fate is that of the author who, as an -old man, is able to say that all there was in him of life-inspiring, -strengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and feelings still -lives on in his writings, and that he himself now only represents the -gray ashes, whilst the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And -if we consider that every human action, not only a book, is in some -way or other the cause of other actions, decisions, and thoughts; that -everything that happens is inseparably connected with everything -that is going to happen, we recognise the real _immortality,_ that of -movement,--that which has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in -the general union of all existence, like an insect within a piece of -amber. - - -209. - -JOY IN OLD AGE.--The thinker, as likewise the artist, who has put his -best self into his works, feels an almost malicious joy when he sees -how mind and body are being slowly damaged and destroyed by time, as if -from a dark corner he were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing -all the time that it was empty and his treasures in safety. - - -210. - -QUIET FRUITFULNESS.--The born aristocrats of the mind are not in too -much of a hurry; their creations appear and fall from the tree on some -quiet autumn evening, without being rashly desired, instigated, or -pushed aside by new matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar, -and betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a man _is_ something, it -is not really necessary for him to do anything--and yet he does a great -deal. There is a human species higher even than wie "productive" man. - - -211. - -ACHILLES AND HOMER.--It is always like the case of Achilles and -Homer,--the one _has_ the experiences and sensations, the other -_describes_ them. A genuine author only puts into words the feelings -and adventures of others, he is an artist, and divines much from the -little he has experienced. Artists are by no means creatures of great -passion; but they frequently _represent_ themselves as such with the -unconscious feeling that their depicted passion will be better believed -in if their own life gives credence to their experience in these -affairs. They need only let themselves go, not control themselves, and -give free play to their anger and their desires, and every one will -immediately cry out, "How passionate he is!" But the deeply stirring -passion that consumes and often destroys the individual is another -matter: those who have really experienced it do not describe it in -dramas, harmonies or romances. Artists are frequently _unbridled_ -individuals, in so far as they are not artists, but that is a different -thing. - - -212. - -OLD DOUBTS ABOUT THE EFFECT OF ART.--Should pity and fear really be -unburdened through tragedy, as Aristotle would have it, so that the -hearers return home colder and quieter? Should ghost-stories really -make us less fearful and superstitious? In the case of certain physical -processes, in the satisfaction of love, for instance, it is true -that with the fulfilment of a need there follows an alleviation and -temporary decrease in the impulse. But fear and pity are not in this -sense the needs of particular organs which require to be relieved. -And in time every instinct is even _strengthened_ by practice in -its satisfaction, in spite of that periodical mitigation. It might -be possible that in each single case pity and fear would be soothed -and relieved by tragedy; nevertheless, they might, on the whole, be -increased by tragic influences, and Plato would be right in saying that -tragedy makes us altogether more timid and susceptible. The tragic poet -himself would then of necessity acquire a gloomy and fearful view of -the world, and a yielding, irritable, tearful soul; it would also agree -with Plato's view if the tragic poets, and likewise the entire part of -the community that derived particular pleasure from them, degenerated -into ever greater licentiousness and intemperance. But what right, -indeed, has our age to give an answer to that great question of Plato's -as to the moral influence of art? If we even had art,--where have we an -influence, _any kind_ of an art-influence? - - -213. - -PLEASURE IN NONSENSE.--How can we take pleasure in nonsense? But -wherever there is laughter in the world this is the case: it may even -be said that almost everywhere where there is happiness, there is -found pleasure in nonsense. The transformation of experience into its -opposite, of the suitable into the unsuitable, the obligatory into the -optional (but in such a manner that this process produces no injury -and is only imagined in jest), is a pleasure; for it temporarily -liberates us from the yoke of the obligatory, suitable and experienced, -in which we usually find our pitiless masters; we play and laugh when -the expected (which generally causes fear and expectancy) happens -without bringing any injury. It is the pleasure felt by slaves in the -Saturnalian feasts. - - -214. - -THE ENNOBLING OF REALITY.--Through the fact that in the aphrodisiac -impulse men discerned a godhead and with adoring gratitude felt it -working within themselves, this emotion has in the course of time -become imbued with higher conceptions, and has thereby been materially -ennobled. Thus certain nations, by virtue of this art of idealisation, -have created great aids to culture out of diseases,--the Greeks, -for instance, who in earlier centuries suffered from great nervous -epidemics (like epilepsy and St. Vitus' Dance), and developed out of -them the splendid type of the Bacchante. The Greeks, however, enjoyed -an astonishingly high degree of health--their secret was, to revere -even disease as a god, if it only possessed _power_. - - -215. - -Music.--Music by and for itself is not so portentous for our inward -nature, so deeply moving, that it ought to be looked upon as the -_direct_ language of the feelings; but its ancient union with poetry -has infused so much symbolism into rhythmical movement, into loudness -and softness of tone, that we now _imagine_ it speaks directly _to_ and -comes _from_ the inward nature. Dramatic music is only possible when -the art of harmony has acquired an immense range of symbolical means, -through song, opera, and a hundred attempts at description by sound. -"Absolute music" is either form _per se,_ in 'the rude condition of -music, when playing in time and with various degrees of strength gives -pleasure, or the symbolism of form which speaks to the understanding -even without poetry, after the two arts were joined finally together -after long development and the musical form had been woven about with -threads of meaning and feeling. People who are backward in musical -development can appreciate a piece of harmony merely as execution, -whilst those who are advanced will comprehend it symbolically. No music -is deep and full of meaning in itself, it does not speak of "will," of -the "thing-in-itself"; that could be imagined by the intellect only in -an age which had conquered for musical symbolism the entire range of -inner life. It was the intellect itself that first _gave_ this meaning -to sound, just as it also gave meaning to the relation between lines -and masses in architecture, but which in itself is quite foreign to -mechanical laws. - - -216. - -GESTURE AND SPEECH.--Older than speech is the imitation of gestures, -which is carried on unconsciously and which, in the general repression -of the language of gesture and trained control of the muscles, is -still so great that we cannot look at a face moved by emotion without -feeling an agitation of our own face (it may be remarked that feigned -yawning excites real yawning in any one who sees it). The imitated -gesture leads the one who imitates back to the sensation it expressed -in the face or body of the one imitated. Thus men learned to understand -one another, thus the child still learns to understand the mother. -Generally speaking, painful sensations may also have been expressed -by gestures, and the pain which caused them (for instance, tearing -the hair, beating the breast, forcible distortion and straining of -the muscles of the face). On the other hand, gestures of joy were -themselves joyful and lent themselves easily to the communication of -the understanding; (laughter, as the expression of the feeling when -being tickled, serves also for the expression of other pleasurable -sensations). As soon as men understood each other by gestures, -there could be established a _symbolism_ of gestures; I mean, an -understanding could be arrived at respecting the language of accents, -so that first _accent_ and gesture (to which it was symbolically added) -were produced, and later on the accent alone. In former times there -happened very frequently that which now happens in the development of -music, especially of dramatic music,--while music, without explanatory -dance and pantomime (language of gesture), is at first only empty -sound, but by long familiarity with that combination of music and -movement the ear becomes schooled into instant interpretation of the -figures of sound, and finally attains a height of quick understanding, -where it has no longer any need of visible movement and _understands_ -the sound-poet without it. It is then called absolute music, that -is music in which, without further help, everything is symbolically -understood. - - -217. - -THE SPIRITUALISING OF HIGHER ART.--By virtue of extraordinary -intellectual exercise through the art-development of the new music, our -ears have been growing more intellectual. For this reason we can now -endure a much greater volume of sound, much more "noise," because we -are far better practised in listening for the _sense_ in it than were -our ancestors. As a matter of fact, all our senses have been somewhat -blunted, because they immediately look for the sense; that is, they -ask what "it means" and not what "it is,"--such a blunting betrays -itself, for instance, in the absolute dominion of the temperature of -sounds; for ears which still make the finer distinctions, between -_eis_ and _des,_ for instance, are now amongst the exceptions. In -this respect our ear has grown coarser. And then the ugly side of the -world, the one originally hostile to the senses, has been conquered -for music; its power has been immensely widened, especially in the -expression of the noble, the terrible, and the mysterious: our music -now gives utterance to things which had formerly no tongue. In the -same way certain painters have rendered the eye more intellectual, and -have gone far beyond that which was formerly called pleasure in colour -and form. Here, too, that side of the world originally considered as -ugly has been conquered by the artistic intellect. What results from -all this? The more capable of thought that eye and ear become, the -more they approach the limit where they become senseless, the seat of -pleasure is moved into the brain, the organs of the senses themselves -become dulled and weak, the symbolical takes more and more the place -of the actual,--and thus we arrive at barbarism in this way as surely -as in any other. In the meantime we may say: the world is uglier than -ever, but it _represents_ a more beautiful world than has ever existed. -But the more the amber-scent of meaning is dispersed and evaporated, -the rarer become those who perceive it, and the remainder halt at -what is ugly and endeavour to enjoy it direct, an aim, however, which -they never succeed in attaining. Thus, in Germany there is a twofold -direction of musical development, here a throng of ten thousand with -ever higher, finer demands, ever listening more and more for the "it -means," and there the immense countless mass which yearly grows more -incapable of understanding what is important even in the form of -sensual ugliness, and which therefore turns ever more willingly to what -in music is ugly and foul in itself, that is, to the basely sensual. - - -218. - -A STONE IS MORE OF A STONE THAN FORMERLY.--As a general rule we no -longer understand architecture, at least by no means in the same way -as we understand music. We have outgrown the symbolism of lines and -figures, just as we are no longer accustomed to the sound-effects of -rhetoric, and have not absorbed this kind of mother's milk of culture -since our first moment of life. Everything in a Greek or Christian -building originally had a meaning, and referred to a higher order of -things; this feeling of inexhaustible meaning enveloped the edifice -like a mystic veil. Beauty was only a secondary consideration in -the system, without in any way materially injuring the fundamental -sentiment of the mysteriously-exalted, the divinely and magically -consecrated; at the most, beauty _tempered horror_--but this horror was -everywhere presupposed. What is the beauty of a building now? The same -thing as the beautiful face of a stupid woman, a kind of mask. - - -219. - -THE RELIGIOUS SOURCE OF THE NEWER MUSIC.--Soulful music arose out of -the Catholicism re-established after the Council of Trent, through -Palestrina, who endowed the newly-awakened, earnest, and deeply -moved spirit with sound; later on, in Bach, it appeared also in -Protestantism, as far as this had been deepened by the Pietists and -released from its originally dogmatic character. The supposition -and necessary preparation for both origins is the familiarity with -music, which existed during and before the Renaissance, namely that -learned occupation with music, which was really scientific pleasure -in the masterpieces of harmony and voice-training. On the other hand, -the opera must have preceded it, wherein the layman made his protest -against a music that had grown too learned and cold, and endeavoured -to re-endow Polyhymnia with a soul. Without the change to that deeply -religious sentiment, without the dying away of the inwardly moved -temperament, music would have remained learned or operatic; the -spirit of the counter-reformation is the spirit of modern music (for -that pietism in Bach's music is also a kind of counter-reformation). -So deeply are we indebted to the religious life. Music was the -counter-reformation in the field of art; to this belongs also the -later painting of the Caracci and Caravaggi, perhaps also the baroque -style, in _any_ case more than the architecture of the Renaissance -or of antiquity. And we might still ask: if our newer music could -move stones, would it build them up into antique architecture? I very -much doubt it. For that which predominates in this music, affections, -pleasure in exalted, highly-strained sentiments, the desire to be alive -at any cost, the quick change of feeling, the strong relief-effects of -light and shade, the combination of the ecstatic and the naïve,--all -this has already reigned in the plastic arts and created new laws -of style:--but it was neither in the time of antiquity nor of the -Renaissance. - - -220. - -THE BEYOND IN ART.--It is not without deep pain that we acknowledge -the fact that in their loftiest soarings, artists of all ages have -exalted and divinely transfigured precisely those ideas which we now -recognise as false; they are the glorifiers of humanity's religious -and philosophical errors, and they could not have been this without -belief in the absolute truth of these errors. But if the belief in such -truth diminishes at all, if the rainbow colours at the farthest ends of -human knowledge and imagination fade, then this kind of art can never -re-flourish, for, like the _Divina Commedia,_ Raphael's paintings, -Michelangelo's frescoes, and Gothic cathedrals, they indicate not only -a cosmic but also a metaphysical meaning in the work of art. Out of all -this will grow a touching legend that such an art and such an artistic -faith once existed. - - -221. - -REVOLUTION IN POETRY.--The strict limit which the French dramatists -marked out with regard to unity of action, time and place, construction -of style, verse and sentence, selection of words and ideas, was -a school as important as that of counterpoint and fugue in the -development of modern music or that of the Gorgianic figures in Greek -oratory. Such a restriction may appear absurd; nevertheless there is -no means of getting out of naturalism except by confining ourselves -at first to the strongest (perhaps most arbitrary) means. Thus we -gradually learn to walk gracefully on the narrow paths that bridge -giddy abysses, and acquire great suppleness of movement as a result, -as the history of music proves to our living eyes. Here we see how, -step by step, the fetters get looser, until at last they may appear to -be altogether thrown off; this _appearance_ is the highest achievement -of a necessary development in art. In the art of modern poetry there -existed no such fortunate, gradual emerging from self-imposed fetters. -Lessing held up to scorn in Germany the French form, the only modern -form of art, and pointed to Shakespeare; and thus the steadiness of -that unfettering was lost and a spring was made into naturalism--that -is, back into the beginnings of art. From this Goethe endeavoured to -save himself, by always trying to limit himself anew in different ways; -but even the most gifted only succeeds by continuously experimenting, -if the thread of development has once been broken. It is to the -unconsciously revered, if also repudiated, model of French tragedy -that Schiller owes his comparative sureness of form, and he remained -fairly independent of Lessing (whose dramatic attempts he is well -known to have rejected). But after Voltaire the French themselves -suddenly lacked the great talents which would have led the development -of tragedy out of constraint to that apparent freedom; later on -they followed the German example and made a spring into a sort of -Rousseau-like state of nature and experiments. It is only necessary -to read Voltaire's "Mahomet" from time to time in order to perceive -clearly what European culture has lost through that breaking down of -tradition. Once for all, Voltaire was the last of the great dramatists -who with Greek proportion controlled his manifold soul, equal even to -the greatest storms of tragedy,--he was able to do what no German -could, because the French nature is much nearer akin to the Greek than -is the German; he was also the last great writer who in the wielding -of prose possessed the Greek ear, Greek artistic conscientiousness, -and Greek simplicity and grace; he was, also, one of the last men able -to combine in himself the greatest freedom of mind and an absolutely -unrevolutionary way of thinking without being inconsistent and -cowardly. Since that time the modern spirit, with its restlessness and -its hatred of moderation and restrictions, has obtained the mastery on -all sides, let loose at first by the fever of revolution, and then once -more putting a bridle on itself when it became filled with fear and -horror at itself,--but it was the bridle of rigid logic, no longer that -of artistic moderation. It is true that through that unfettering for a -time we are able to enjoy the poetry of all nations, everything that -has sprung up in hidden places, original, wild, wonderfully beautiful -and gigantically irregular, from folk-songs up to the "great barbarian" -Shakespeare; we taste the joys of local colour and costume, hitherto -unknown to all artistic nations; we make liberal use of the "barbaric -advantages" of our time, which Goethe accentuated against Schiller in -order to place the formlessness of his _Faust_ in the most favourable -light. But for how much longer? The encroaching flood of poetry of all -styles and all nations _must_ gradually sweep away that magic garden -upon which a quiet and hidden growth would still have been possible; -all poets _must_ become experimenting imitators, daring copyists, -however great their primary strength may be. Eventually, the public, -which has lost the habit of seeing the actual artistic fact in the -_controlling_ of depicting power, in the organising mastery over all -art-means, _must_ come ever more and more to value power for power's -sake, colour for colour's sake, idea for idea's sake, inspiration for -inspiration's sake; accordingly it will not enjoy the elements and -conditions of the work of art, unless _isolated,_ and finally will -make the very natural demand that the artist _must_ deliver it to them -isolated. True, the "senseless" fetters of Franco-Greek art have been -thrown off, but unconsciously we have grown accustomed to consider all -fetters, all restrictions as senseless;--and so art moves towards its -liberation, but, in so doing, it touches--which is certainly highly -edifying--upon all the phases of its beginning, its childhood, its -incompleteness, its sometime boldness and excesses,--in perishing -it interprets its origin and growth. One of the great ones, whose -instinct may be relied on and whose theory lacked nothing but thirty -years _more_ of practice, Lord Byron, once said: that with regard to -poetry in general, the more he thought about it the more convinced -he was that one and all we are entirely on a wrong track, that we are -following an inwardly false revolutionary system, and that either our -own generation or the next will yet arrive at this same conviction. -It is the same Lord Byron who said that he "looked upon Shakespeare -as the very worst model, although the most extraordinary poet." And -does not Goethe's mature artistic insight in the second half of his -life say practically the same thing?--that insight by means of which -he made such a bound in advance of whole generations that, generally -speaking, it may be said that Goethe's influence has not yet begun, -that his time has still to come. Just because his nature held him fast -for a long time in the path of the poetical revolution, just because -he drank to the dregs of whatsoever new sources, views and expedients -had been indirectly discovered through that breaking down of tradition, -of all that had been unearthed from under the ruins of art, his later -transformation and conversion carries so much weight; it shows that -he felt the deepest longing to win back the traditions of art, and to -give in fancy the ancient perfection and completeness to the abandoned -ruins and colonnades of the temple, with the imagination of the eye at -least, should the strength of the arm be found too weak to build where -such tremendous powers were needed even to destroy. Thus he lived in -art as in the remembrance of the true art, his poetry had become an -aid to remembrance, to the understanding of old and long-departed ages -of art. With respect to the strength of the new age, his demands could -not be satisfied; but the pain this occasioned was amply balanced by -the joy that they have _been_ satisfied once, and that we ourselves can -still participate in this satisfaction. Not individuals, but more or -less ideal masks; no reality, but an allegorical generality; topical -characters, local colours toned down and rendered mythical almost to -the point of invisibility; contemporary feeling and the problems of -contemporary society reduced to the simplest forms, stripped of their -attractive, interesting pathological qualities, made _ineffective_ in -every other but the artistic sense; no new materials and characters, -but the old, long-accustomed ones in constant new animation and -transformation; that is art, as Goethe _understood_ it later, as the -Greeks and even the French _practised_ it. - - -222. - -WHAT REMAINS OF ART.--It is true that art has a much greater value in -the case of certain metaphysical hypotheses, for instance when the -belief obtains that the character is unchangeable and that the essence -of the world manifests itself continually in all character and action; -thus the artist's work becomes the symbol of the _eternally constant,_ -while according to our views the artist can only endow his picture with -temporary value, because man on the whole has developed and is mutable, -and even the individual man has nothing fixed and constant. The same -thing holds good with another metaphysical hypothesis: assuming that -our visible world were only a delusion, as metaphysicians declare, -then art would come very near to the real world, for there would then -be far too much similarity between the world of appearance and the -dream-world of the artist; and the remaining difference would place -the meaning of art higher even than the meaning of nature, because -art would represent the same forms, the types and models of nature. -But those suppositions are false; and what position does art retain -after this acknowledgment? Above all, for centuries it has taught us -to look upon life in every shape with interest and pleasure and to -carry our feelings so far that at last we exclaim, "Whatever it may -be, life is good." This teaching of art, to take pleasure in existence -and to regard human life as a piece of nature, without too vigorous -movement, as an object of regular development,--this teaching has grown -into us; it reappears as an all-powerful need of knowledge. We could -renounce art, but we should not therewith forfeit the ability it has -taught us,--just as we have given up religion, but not the exalting and -intensifying of temperament acquired through religion. As the plastic -arts and music are the standards of that wealth of feeling really -acquired and obtained through religion, so also, after a disappearance -of art, the intensity and multiplicity of the joys of life which it had -implanted in us would still demand satisfaction. The scientific man is -the further development of the artistic man. - - -223. - -THE AFTER-GLOW OF ART.--Just as in old age we remember our youth and -celebrate festivals of memory, so in a short time mankind will stand -towards art: its relation will be that of a _touching memory_ of the -joys of youth. Never, perhaps, in former ages was art dealt with so -seriously and thoughtfully as now when it appears to be surrounded -by the magic influence of death. We call to mind that Greek city in -southern Italy, which once a year still celebrates its Greek feasts, -amidst tears and mourning, that foreign barbarism triumphs ever more -and more over the customs its people brought with them into the land; -and never has Hellenism been so much appreciated, nowhere has this -golden nectar been drunk with so great delight, as amongst these fast -disappearing Hellenes. The artist will soon come to be regarded as a -splendid relic, and to him, as to a wonderful stranger on whose power -and beauty depended the happiness of former ages, there will be paid -such honour as is not often enjoyed by one of our race. The best in us -is perhaps inherited from the sentiments of former times, to which it -is hardly possible for us now to return by direct ways; the sun has -already disappeared, but the heavens of our life are still glowing and -illumined by it, although we can behold it no longer. - - -[Footnote 1: The allusion is to Goethe's lines: - - _Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,_ - _Man freut sich ihrer Pracht._ - - - We do not want the stars themselves, - Their brilliancy delights our hearts.--J.M.K. -] - - - - -FIFTH DIVISION. - - -THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. - - - -224. - -ENNOBLEMENT THROUGH DEGENERATION.--History teaches that a race of -people is best preserved where the greater number hold one common -spirit in consequence of the similarity of their accustomed and -indisputable principles: in consequence, therefore, of their common -faith. Thus strength is afforded by good and thorough customs, thus -is learnt the subjection of the individual, and strenuousness of -character becomes a birth gift and afterwards is fostered as a habit. -The danger to these communities founded on individuals of strong and -similar character is that gradually increasing stupidity through -transmission, which follows all stability like its shadow. It is on -the more unrestricted, more uncertain and morally weaker individuals -that depends the _intellectual progress_ of such communities, it is -they who attempt all that is new and manifold. Numbers of these perish -on account of their weakness, without having achieved any specially -visible effect; but generally, particularly when they have descendants, -they flare up and from time to time inflict a wound on the stable -element of the community. Precisely in this sore and weakened place the -community is _inoculated_ with something new; but its general strength -must be great enough to absorb and assimilate this new thing into its -blood. Deviating natures are of the utmost importance wherever there -is to be progress. Every wholesale progress must be preceded by a -partial weakening. The strongest natures _retain_ the type, the weaker -ones help it to _develop._ Something similar happens in the case of -individuals;'a deterioration, a mutilation, even a vice and, above all, -a physical or moral loss is seldom without its advantage. For instance, -a sickly man in the midst of a warlike and restless race will perhaps -have more chance of being alone and thereby growing quieter and wiser, -the one-eyed man will possess a stronger eye, the blind man will have a -deeper inward sight and will certainly have a keener sense of hearing. -In so far it appears to me that the famous Struggle for Existence is -not the only point of view from which an explanation can be given of -the progress or strengthening of an individual or a race. Rather must -two different things converge: firstly, the multiplying of stable -strength through mental binding in faith and common feeling; secondly, -the possibility of attaining to higher aims, through the fact that -there are deviating natures and, in consequence, partial weakening and -wounding of the stable strength; it is precisely the weaker nature, as -the more delicate and free, that makes all progress at all possible. -A people that is crumbling and weak in any one part, but as a whole -still strong and healthy, is able to absorb the infection of what is -new and incorporate it to its advantage. The task of education in a -single individual is this: to plant him so firmly and surely that, as -a whole, he can no longer be diverted from his path. Then, however, -the educator must wound him, or else make use of the wounds which fate -inflicts, and when pain and need have thus arisen, something new and -noble can be inoculated into the wounded places. With regard to the -State, Machiavelli says that, "the form of Government is of very small -importance, although halfeducated people think otherwise. The great aim -of State-craft should be duration, which out-weighs all else, inasmuch -as it is more valuable than liberty." It is only with securely founded -and guaranteed duration that continual development and ennobling -inoculation are at all possible. As a rule, however, authority, the -dangerous companion of all duration, will rise in opposition to this. - - -225. - -FREE-THINKER A RELATIVE TERM.--We call that man a free-thinker who -thinks otherwise than is expected of him in consideration of his -origin, surroundings, position, and office, or by reason of the -prevailing contemporary views. He is the exception, fettered minds are -the rule; these latter reproach him, saying that his free principles -either have their origin in a desire to be remarkable or else cause -free actions to inferred,--that is to say, actions which are not -compatible with fettered morality. Sometimes it is also said that -the cause of such and such free principles may be traced to mental -perversity and extravagance; but only malice speaks thus, nor does -it believe what it says, but wishes thereby to do an injury, for the -free-thinker; usually bears the proof of his greater goodness and -keenness of intellect written in his face so plainly that the fettered -spirits understand it well enough. But the two other derivations -of free-thought are honestly intended; as a matter of fact, many -free-thinkers are created in one or other of these ways. For this -reason, however, the tenets to which they attain in this manner might -be truer and more reliable than those of the fettered spirits. In the -knowledge of truth, what really matters is the _possession_ of it, -not the impulse under which it was sought, the way in which it was -found. If the free-thinkers are right then the fettered spirits are -wrong, and it is a matter of indifference whether the former have -reached truth through immorality or the latter hitherto retained hold -of untruths through morality. Moreover, it is not essential to the -free-thinker that he should hold more correct views, but that he should -have liberated himself from what was customary, be it successfully or -disastrously. As a rule, however, he will have truth, or at least the -spirit of truth-investigation, on his side; he demands reasons, the -others demand faith. - - -226. - -THE ORIGIN OF FAITH.--The fettered spirit does not take up his position -from conviction, but from habit; he is a Christian, for instance, not -because he had a comprehension of different creeds and could take -his choice; he is an Englishman, not because he decided for England, -but he found Christianity and England ready-made and accepted them -without any reason, just as one who is born in a wine-country becomes -a wine-drinker. Later on, perhaps, as he was a Christian and an -Englishman, he discovered a few reasons in favour of his habit; these -reasons may be upset, but he is not therefore upset in his whole -position. For instance, let a fettered spirit be obliged to bring -forward his reasons against bigamy and then it will be seen whether his -holy zeal in favour of monogamy is based upon reason or upon custom. -The adoption of guiding principles without reasons is called _faith._ - - -227. - -CONCLUSIONS DRAWN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES AND TRACED BACK TO REASON AND -UN-REASON.--All states and orders of society, professions, matrimony, -education, law: all these find strength and duration only in the faith -which the fettered spirits repose in them,--that is, in the absence of -reasons, or at least in the averting of inquiries as to reasons. The -restricted spirits do not willingly acknowledge this, and feel that -it is a _pudendum._ Christianity, however, which was very simple in -its intellectual ideas, remarked nothing of this _pudendum,_ required -faith and nothing but faith, and passionately repulsed the demand -for reasons; it pointed to the success of faith: "You will soon feel -the advantages of faith," it suggested, "and through faith shall ye -be saved." As an actual fact, the State pursues the same course, and -every father brings up his son in the same way: "Only believe this," -he says, "and you will soon feel the good it does." This implies, -however, that the truth of an opinion is proved by its personal -usefulness; the wholesomeness of a doctrine must be a guarantee for -its intellectual surety and solidity. It is exactly as if an accused -person in a court of law were to say, "My counsel speaks the whole -truth, for only see what is the result of his speech: I shall be -acquitted." Because the fettered spirits retain their principles on -account of their usefulness, they suppose that the free spirit also -seeks his own advantage in his views and only holds that to be true -which is profitable to him. But as he appears to find profitable just -the contrary of that which his compatriots or equals find profitable, -these latter assume that his principles are dangerous to them; they say -or feel, "He must not be right, for he is injurious to us." - - -228. - -THE STRONG, GOOD CHARACTER.--The restriction of views, which habit has -made instinct, leads to what is called strength of character. When -any one acts from few but always from the same motives, his actions -acquire great energy; if these actions accord with the principles of -the fettered spirits they are recognised, and they produce, moreover, -in those who perform them the sensation of a good conscience. Few -motives, energetic action, and a good conscience compose what is called -strength of character. The man of strong character lacks a knowledge -of the many possibilities and directions of action; his intellect is -fettered and restricted, because in a given case it shows him, perhaps, -only two possibilities; between these two he must now of necessity -choose, in accordance with his whole nature, and he does this easily -and quickly because he has not to choose between fifty possibilities. -The educating surroundings aim at fettering every individual, by always -placing before him the smallest number of possibilities. The individual -is always treated by his educators as if he were, indeed, something -new, but should become a _duplicate._ If he makes his first appearance -as something unknown, unprecedented, he must be turned into something -known and precedented. In a child, the familiar manifestation of -restriction is called a good character; in placing itself on the side -of the fettered spirits the child first discloses its awakening common -feeling; with this foundation of common sentiment, he will eventually -become useful to his State or rank. - - -229. - -THE STANDARDS AND VALUES OF THE FETTERED SPIRITS.--There are four -species of things concerning which the restricted spirits say they -are in the right. Firstly: all things that last are right; secondly: -all things that are not burdens to us are right; thirdly: all things -that are advantageous for us are right; fourthly: all things for which -we have made sacrifices are right. The last sentence, for instance, -explains why a war that was begun in opposition to popular feeling -is carried on with enthusiasm directly a sacrifice has been made for -it. The free spirits, who bring their case before the forum of the -fettered spirits, must prove that free spirits always existed, that -free-spiritism is therefore enduring, that it will not become a burden, -and, finally, that on the whole they are an advantage to the fettered -spirits. It is because they cannot convince the restricted spirits on -this last point that they profit nothing by having proved the first and -second propositions. - - -230. - -_ESPRIT FORT._--Compared with him who has tradition on his side and -requires no reasons for his actions, the free spirit is always weak, -especially in action; for he is acquainted with too many motives and -points of view, and has, therefore, an uncertain and unpractised hand. -What means exist of making him _strong in spite of this,_ so that he -will, at least, manage to survive, and will not perish ineffectually? -What is the source of the strong spirit (_esprit fort_)! This is -especially the question as to the production of genius. Whence comes -the energy, the unbending strength, the endurance with which the one, -in opposition to accepted ideas, endeavours to obtain an entirely -individual knowledge of the world? - - -231. - -THE RISE OF GENIUS.--The ingenuity with which a prisoner seeks the -means of freedom, the most cold-blooded and patient employment of every -smallest advantage, can teach us of what tools Nature sometimes makes -use in order to produce Genius,--a word which I beg will be understood -without any mythological and religious flavour; she, Nature, begins it -in a dungeon and excites to the utmost its desire to free itself. Or -to give another picture: some one who has completely _lost his way_ -in a wood, but who with unusual energy strives to reach the open in -one direction or another, will sometimes discover a new path which -nobody knew previously, thus arise geniuses, who are credited with -originality. It has already been said that mutilation, crippling, -or the loss of some important organ, is frequently the cause of the -unusual development of another organ, because this one has to fulfil -its own and also another function. This explains the source of many a -brilliant talent. These general remarks on the origin of genius may be -applied to the special case, the origin of the perfect free spirit. - - -232. - -CONJECTURE AS TO THE ORIGIN OF FREE-SPIRITISM.--Just as the glaciers -increase when in equatorial regions the sun shines upon the seas -with greater force than hitherto, so may a very strong and spreading -free-spiritism be a proof that somewhere or other the force of feeling -has grown extraordinarily. - - -233. - -THE VOICE OF HISTORY.--In general, history _appears_ to teach the -following about the production of genius: it ill-treats and torments -mankind--calls to the passions of envy, hatred, and rivalry--drives -them to desperation, people against people, throughout whole centuries! -Then, perhaps, like a stray spark from the terrible energy thereby -aroused, there flames up suddenly the light of genius; the will, like -a horse maddened by the rider's spur, thereupon breaks out and leaps -over into another domain. He who could attain to a comprehension of the -production of genius, and desires to carry out practically the manner -in which Nature usually goes to work, would have to be just as evil and -regardless as Nature itself. But perhaps we have not heard rightly. - - -234. - -THE VALUE OF THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.--It is possible that the -production of genius is reserved to a limited period of mankind's -history. For we must not expect from the future everything that -very defined conditions were able to produce; for instance, not the -astounding effects of religious feeling. This has had its day, and -much that is very? good can never grow again, because it could grow -out of that alone. There will never again be a horizon of life and -culture that is bounded by religion. Perhaps even the type of the -saint is only possible with that certain narrowness of intellect, -which apparently has completely disappeared. And thus the greatest -height of intelligence has perhaps been reserved for a single age; -it appeared--and appears, for we are still in that age--when an -extraordinary, long-accumulated energy of will concentrates itself, -as an exceptional case, upon _intellectual_ aims. That height will no -longer exist when this wildness and energy cease to be cultivated. -Mankind probably approaches nearer to its actual aim in the middle of -its road, in the middle time of its existence than at the end. It may -be that powers with which, for instance, art is a condition, die out -altogether; the pleasure in lying, in the undefined, the symbolical, -in intoxication, in ecstasy might fall into disrepute. For certainly, -when life is ordered in the perfect State, the present will provide -no more motive for poetry, and it would only be those persons who had -remained behind who would ask for poetical unreality. These, then, -would assuredly look longingly backwards to the times of the imperfect -State, of half-barbaric society, to _our_ times. - - -235. - -GENIUS AND THE IDEAL STATE IN CONFLICT.--The Socialists demand a -comfortable life for the greatest possible number. If the lasting house -of this life of comfort, the perfect State, had really been attained, -then this life of comfort would have destroyed the ground out of which -grow the great intellect and the mighty individual generally, 11 mean -powerful energy. Were this State reached, mankind would have grown too -weary to be still capable of producing genius. Must we not hence wish -that life should retain its forcible character, and that wild forces -and energies should continue, to be called forth afresh? But warm and -sympathetic hearts desire precisely the _removal_ of that wild and -forcible character, and the warmest hearts we can imagine desire it -the most passionately of all, whilst all the time its passion derived -its fire, its warmth, its very existence precisely from that wild -and forcible character; the warmest heart, therefore, desires the -removal of its own foundation, the destruction of itself,--that is, -it desires something illogical, it is not intelligent. The highest -intelligence and the warmest heart cannot exist together in one -person, and the wise man who passes judgment upon life looks beyond -goodness and only regards it as something which is not without value -in the general summing-up of life. The wise man must _oppose_ those -digressive wishes of unintelligent goodness, because he has an interest -in the continuance of his type and in the eventual appearance of the -highest intellect; at least, he will not advance the founding of the -"perfect State," inasmuch as there is only room in it for wearied -individuals. Christ, on the contrary, he whom we may consider to have -had the warmest heart, advanced the process of making man stupid, -placed himself on the side of the intellectually poor, and retarded -the production of the greatest intellect, and this was consistent. -His opposite, the man of perfect wisdom,--this may be safely -prophesied--will just as necessarily hinder the production of a Christ. -The State is a wise arrangement for the protection of one individual -against another; if its ennobling is exaggerated the individual will at -last be weakened by it, even effaced, --thus the original purpose of -the State will be most completely frustrated. - - -236. - -THE ZONES OF CULTURE.--It may be figuratively said that the ages of -culture correspond to the zones of the various climates, only that they -lie one behind another and not beside each other like the geographical -zones. In comparison with the temperate zone of culture, which it -is our object to enter, the past, speaking generally, gives the -impression of a _tropical_ climate. Violent contrasts, sudden changes -between day and night, heat and colour-splendour, the reverence of -all that was sudden, mysterious, terrible, the rapidity with which -storms broke: everywhere that lavish abundance of the provisions of -nature; and opposed to this, in our culture, a clear but by no means -bright sky, pure but fairly unchanging air, sharpness, even cold at -times; thus the two zones are contrasts to each other. When we see -how in that former zone the most raging passions are suppressed and -broken down with mysterious force by metaphysical representations, -we feel as if wild tigers were being crushed before our very eyes in -the coils of mighty serpents; our mental climate lacks such episodes, -our imagination is temperate, even in dreams there does not happen -to us what former peoples saw waking. But should we not rejoice at -this change, even granted that artists are essentially spoiled by the -disappearance of the tropical culture and find us non-artists a little -too timid? In so far artists are certainly right to deny "progress," -for indeed it is doubtful whether the last three thousand years show an -advance in the arts. In the same way, a metaphysical philosopher like -Schopenhauer would have no cause to acknowledge progress with a regard -to metaphysical philosophy and religion if he glanced back over the -last four thousand years. For us, however, the _existence_ even of the -temperate zones of culture is progress. - - -237. - -RENAISSANCE AND REFORMATION.--The Italian Renaissance contained within -itself all the positive forces to which we owe modern culture. Such -were the liberation of thought, the disregard of authorities, the -triumph of education over the darkness of tradition, enthusiasm for -science and the scientific past of mankind, the unfettering of the -Individual, an ardour for truthfulness and a dislike of delusion -and mere effect (which ardour blazed forth in an entire company of -artistic characters, who with the greatest moral purity required from -themselves perfection in their works, and nothing but perfection); -yes, the Renaissance had positive forces, which have, _as yet,_ never -become so mighty again in our modern culture. It was the Golden Age -of the last thousand years, in spite of all its blemishes and vices. -On the other hand, the German Reformation stands out as an energetic -protest of antiquated spirits, who were by no means tired of mediæval -views of life, and who received the signs of its dissolution, the -extraordinary flatness and alienation of the religious life, with -deep dejection instead of with the rejoicing that would have been -seemly. With their northern strength and stiff-neckedness they threw -mankind back again, brought about the counter-reformation, that is, -a Catholic Christianity of self-defence, with all the violences of a -state of siege, and delayed for two or three centuries the complete -awakening and mastery of the sciences; just as they probably made for -ever impossible the complete inter-growth of the antique and the modern -spirit. The great task of the Renaissance could not be brought to a -termination, this was prevented by the protest of the contemporary -backward German spirit (which, for its salvation, had had sufficient -sense in the Middle Ages to cross the Alps again and again). It was -the chance of an extraordinary constellation of politics that Luther -was preserved, and that his protest; gained strength, for the Emperor -protected him in order to employ him as a weapon against the Pope, and -in the same way he was secretly favoured by the Pope in order to use -the Protestant princes as a counter-weight against the Emperor. Without -this curious counter-play of intentions, Luther would have been burnt -like Huss,--and the morning sun of enlightenment would probably have -risen somewhat earlier, and with a splendour more beauteous than we can -now imagine. - - -238. - -JUSTICE AGAINST THE BECOMING GOD.-- When the entire history of culture -unfolds itself to our gaze, as a confusion of evil and noble, of true -and false ideas, and we feel almost seasick at the sight of these -tumultuous waves, we then under stand what comfort resides in the -conception of a _becoming God._ This Deity is unveiled ever more and -more throughout the changes and fortunes of mankind; it is not all -blind mechanism, a senseless and aimless confusion of forces. The -deification of the process of being is a metaphysical outlook, seen as -from a lighthouse overlooking the sea of history, in which a far-too -historical generation of scholars found their comfort. This must not -arouse anger, however erroneous the view may be. Only those who, like -Schopenhauer, deny development also feel none of the misery of this -historical wave, and therefore, because they know nothing of that -becoming God and the need of His supposition, they should in justice -withhold their scorn. - - -239. - -THE FRUITS ACCORDING TO THEIR SEASONS.--Every better future that -is desired for mankind is necessarily in many respects also a worse -future, for it is foolishness to suppose that a new, higher grade of -humanity will combine in itself all the good points of former grades, -and must produce, for instance, the highest form of art. Rather has -every season its own advantages and charms, which exclude those of -the other seasons. That which has grown out of religion and in its -neighbourhood cannot grow again if this has been destroyed; at the -most, straggling and belated off-shoots may lead to deception on that -point, like the occasional outbreaks of remembrance of the old art, a -condition that probably betrays the feeling of loss and deprivation, -but which is no proof of the power from which a new art might be born. - - -240. - -THE INCREASING SEVERITY OF THE WORLD.--The higher culture an -individual attains, the less field there is left for mockery and scorn. -Voltaire thanked Heaven from his heart for the invention of marriage -and the Church, by which it had so well provided for our cheer. But he -and his time, and before him the sixteenth century, had exhausted their -ridicule on this theme; everything that is now made fun of on this -theme is out of date, and above all too cheap to tempt a purchaser. -Causes are now inquired after; ours is an age of seriousness. Who -cares now to discern, laughingly, the difference between reality and -pretentious sham, between that which man _is_ and that which he wishes -to represent; the feeling of this contrast has quite a different effect -if we seek reasons. The more thoroughly any one understands life, -the less he will mock, though finally, perhaps, he will mock at the -"thoroughness of his understanding." - - -241. - -THE GENIUS OF CULTURE.--If any one wished to imagine a genius of -culture, what would it be like? It handles as its tools falsehood, -force, and thoughtless selfishness so surely that I could only be -called an evil, demoniacal being but its aims, which are occasionally -transparent, are great and good. It is a centaur, half-beast, half-man, -and, in addition, has angel's wings upon its head. - - -242. - -THE MIRACLE-EDUCATION.--Interest in Education will acquire great -strength only from the moment when belief in a God and His care is -renounced, just as the art of healing you only flourish when the -belief in miracle-cures ceased. So far, however, there is universal -belief in the miracle-education; out of the greatest disorder and -confusion of aims and unfavourableness of conditions, the most -fertile and mighty men have been seen to grow; could this happen -naturally? Soon these cases will be more closely looked into, more -carefully examined; but miracles will never be discovered. In similar -circumstances countless persons perish constantly; the few saved have, -therefore, usually grown stronger, because they endured these bad -conditions by virtue of an inexhaustible inborn strength, and this -strength they had also exercised and increased by fighting against -these circumstances; thus the miracle is explained. An education that -no longer believes in miracles must pay attention to three things: -first, how much energy is inherited? secondly, by what means can -new energy be aroused? thirdly, how can the individual be adapted -to so many and manifold claims of culture without being disquieted -and destroying his personality,--in short, how can the individual be -initiated into the counterpoint of private and public culture, how can -he lead the melody and at the same time Accompany it? - - -243. - -THE FUTURE OF THE PHYSICIAN.--There is now no profession which would -admit of such an enhancement as that of the physician; that is, after -the spiritual physicians the so-called pastors, are no longer allowed -to practise their conjuring tricks to public applause, and a cultured -person gets out of their way. The highest mental development of a -physician has not yet been reached, even if he understands the best -and newest methods, is practised in them, and knows how to draw those -rapid conclusions from effects to causes for which the diagnostics are -celebrated; besides this, he must possess a gift of eloquence that -adapts itself to every individual and draws his heart out of his body; -a manliness, the sight of which alone drives away all despondency (the -canker of all sick people), the tact and suppleness of a diplomatist -in negotiations between such as have need of joy for their recovery -and such as, for reasons of health, must (and can) give joy; the -acuteness of a detective and an attorney to divine the secrets of -a soul without betraying them,--in short, a good physician now has -need of all the artifices and artistic privileges of every other -professional class. Thus equipped, he is then ready to be a benefactor -to the whole of society, by increasing good works, mental joys and -fertility, by preventing evil thoughts, projects and villainies (the -evil source of which is so often the belly), by the restoration of a -mental and physical aristocracy (as a maker and hinderer of marriages), -by judiciously checking all so-called soul-torments and pricks of -conscience. Thus from a "medicine man" he becomes a saviour, and -yet need work no miracle, neither is he obliged to let himself be -crucified. - - -244. - -IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF INSANITY.--The sum of sensations, knowledge -and experiences, the whole burden of culture, therefore, has become -so great that an overstraining of nerves and powers of thought is a -common danger, indeed the cultivated classes of European countries -are throughout neurotic, and almost every one of their great families -is on the verge of insanity in one of their branches. True, health -is now sought in every possible way; but in the main a diminution of -that tension of feeling, of that oppressive burden of culture, is -needful, which, even though it might be bought at a heavy sacrifice, -would at least give us room for the great hope of a _new Renaissance._ -To Christianity, to the philosophers, poets, and musicians we owe an -abundance of deeply emotional sensations; in order that these may not -get beyond our control we must invoke the spirit of science, which -on the whole makes us somewhat colder and more sceptical, and in -particular cools the faith in final and absolute truths; it is chiefly -through Christianity that it has grown so wild. - - -245. - -THE BELL-FOUNDING OF CULTURE.--Culture has been made like a bell, -within a covering of coarser, commoner material, falsehood, violence, -the boundless extension of every individual "I," of every separate -people--this was the covering. Is it time to take it off? Has the -liquid set, have the good and useful impulses, the habits of the nobler -nature become so certain and so general that they no longer require to -lean on metaphysics and the errors of religion, no longer have need of -hardnesses and violence as powerful bonds between man and man, people -and people? No sign from any God can any longer help us to answer this -question; our own insight must decide. The earthly rule of man must be -taken in hand by man himself, his "omniscience" must watch over the -further fate of culture with a sharp eye. - - -246. - -THE CYCLOPES OF CULTURE.--Whoever has seen those furrowed basins which -once contained glaciers, will hardly deem it possible that a time -will come when the same spot will be a valley of woods and meadows -and streams. It is the same in the history of mankind; the wildest -forces break the way, destructively at first, but their activity was -nevertheless necessary in order that later on a milder civilisation -might build up its house These terrible energies--that which is called -Evil--are the cyclopic architects and road-makers of humanity. - - -247. - -THE CIRCULATION OF HUMANITY.--It is possible that all humanity is only -a phase of development of a certain species of animal of limited -duration. Man may have grown out of the ape and will return to the -ape again,[1] without anybody taking an interest in the ending of -this curious comedy. Just as with the decline of Roman civilisation -and its most important cause, the spread of Christianity, there was a -general uglification of man within the Roman Empire, so, through the -eventual decline of general culture, there might result a far greater -uglification and finally an animalising of man till he reached the ape. -But just because we are able to face this prospect, we shall perhaps be -able to avert such an end. - - -248. - -THE CONSOLING SPEECH OF A DESPERATE ADVANCE.--Our age gives the -impression of an intermediate condition; the old ways of regarding the -world, the old cultures still partially exist, the new are not yet -sure and customary and hence are without decision and consistency. It -appears as if everything would become chaotic, as if the old were being -lost, the new worthless and ever becoming weaker. But this is what the -soldier feels who is learning to march; for a time he is more uncertain -and awkward, because his muscles are moved sometimes according to the -old system and sometimes according to the new, and neither gains a' -decisive victory. We waver, but it is necessary not to lose courage -and give up what we have newly gained. Moreover, we _cannot_ go back -to the old, we _have_ burnt our boats; there remains nothing but to -be brave whatever happen.--_March ahead,_ only get forward! Perhaps -our behaviour looks like _progress_; but if not, then the words -of Frederick the Great may also be applied to us, and indeed as a -consolation: "_Ah, mon cher Sulzer, vous ne connaissez pas assez cette -race maudite, à laquelle nous appartenons._" - - -249. - -SUFFERING FROM PAST CULTURE.--Whoever has solved the problem of culture -suffers from a feeling similar to that of one who has inherited -unjustly-gotten riches, or of a prince who reigns thanks to the -violence of his ancestors. He thinks of their origin with grief and is -often ashamed, often irritable. The whole sum of strength, joy, vigour, -which he devotes to his possessions, is often balanced by a deep -weariness, he cannot forget their origin. He looks despondingly at the -future; he knows well that his successors will suffer from the past as -he does. - - -250. - -MANNERS.--Good manners disappear in proportion as the influence of -a Court and an exclusive aristocracy lessens; this decrease can be -plainly observed from decade to decade by those who have an eye -for public behaviour, which grows visibly more vulgar. No one any -longer knows how to court and flatter intelligently; hence arises the -ludicrous fact that in cases where we _must_ render actual homage -(to a great statesman or artist, for instance), the words of deepest -feeling, of simple, peasant-like honesty, have to be borrowed, owing to -the embarrassment resulting from the lack of grace and wit. Thus the -public ceremonious meeting of men appears ever more clumsy, but more -full of feeling and honesty without really being so. But must there -always be a decline in manners? It appears to me, rather, that manners -take a deep curve and that we are approaching their lowest point. When -society has become sure of its intentions and principles, so that they -have a moulding effect (the manners we have learnt from former moulding -conditions are now inherited and always more weakly learnt), there will -then be company manners, gestures and social expressions, which must -appear as necessary and simply natural because they are intentions -and principles. The better division of time and work, the gymnastic -exercise transformed into the accompaniment of all beautiful leisure, -increased and severer meditation, which brings wisdom and suppleness -even to the body, will bring all this in its train. Here, indeed, we -might think with a smile of our scholars, and consider whether, as a -matter of fact, they who wish to be regarded as the forerunners of that -new culture are distinguished by their better manners? This is hardly -the case; although their spirit may be willing enough their flesh is -weak. The past of culture is still too powerful in their muscles, they -still stand in a fettered position, and are half worldly priests and -half dependent educators of the upper classes, and besides this they -have been rendered crippled and lifeless by the pedantry of science and -by antiquated, spiritless methods. In any case, therefore, they are -physically, and often three-fourths mentally, still the courtiers of an -old, even antiquated culture, and as such are themselves antiquated; -the new spirit that occasionally inhabits these old dwellings often -serves only to make them more uncertain and frightened. In them there -dwell the ghosts of the past as well as the ghosts of the future; -what wonder if they do not wear the best expression or show the most -pleasing behaviour? - - -251. - -THE FUTURE OF SCIENCE.--To him who works and seeks in her, Science -gives much pleasure,--to him who _learns_ her facts, very little. But -as all important truths of science must gradually become commonplace -and everyday matters, even this small amount of pleasure ceases, just -as we have long ceased to take pleasure in learning the admirable -multiplication table. Now if Science goes on giving less pleasure in -herself, and always takes more pleasure in throwing suspicion on the -consolations of metaphysics, religion and art, that greatest of all -sources of pleasure, to which mankind owes almost its whole humanity, -becomes impoverished. Therefore a higher culture must give man a -double brain, two brain-chambers, so to speak, one to feel science -and the other to feel non-science, which can lie side by side, without -confusion, divisible, exclusive; this is a necessity of health. In one -part lies the source of strength, in the other lies the regulator; -it must be heated with illusions, onesidednesses, passions; and the -malicious and dangerous consequences of over-heating must be averted -by the help of conscious Science. If this necessity of the higher -culture is not satisfied, the further course of human development can -almost certainly be foretold: the interest in what is true ceases as it -guarantees less pleasure; illusion, error, and imagination reconquer -step by step the ancient territory, because they are united to -pleasure; the ruin of science: the relapse into barbarism is the next -result; mankind must begin to weave its web afresh after having, like -Penelope, destroyed it during the night. But who will assure us that it -will always find the necessary strength for this? - - -252. - -THE PLEASURE IN DISCERNMENT.--Why is discernment, that essence of the -searcher and the philosopher, connected with pleasure? Firstly, and -above all, because thereby we become conscious of our strength, for -the same reason that gymnastic exercises, even without spectators, are -enjoyable. Secondly, because in the course of knowledge we surpass -older ideas and their representatives, and become, or believe ourselves -to be, conquerors. Thirdly, because even a very little new knowledge -exalts us above _every one,_ and makes us feel we are the only ones -who know the subject aright. These are the three most important -reasons of the pleasure, but there are many others, according to the -nature of the discerner. A not inconsiderable index of such is given, -where no one would look for it, in a passage of my parenetic work -on Schopenhauer,[2] with the arrangement of which every experienced -servant of knowledge may be satisfied, even though he might wish to -dispense with the ironical touch that seems to pervade those pages. -For if it be true that for the making of a scholar "a number of very -human impulses and desires must be thrown together," that the scholar -is indeed a very noble but not a pure metal, and "consists of a -confused blending of very different impulses and attractions," the -same thing may be said equally of the making and nature of the artist, -the philosopher and the moral genius--and whatever glorified great -names there may be in that list. _Everything_ human deserves ironical -consideration with respect to its _origin,_--therefore irony is so -_superfluous_ in the world. - - -253. - -FIDELITY AS A PROOF OF VALIDITY.--It is a perfect sign of a sound -theory if during _forty years_ its originator does not mistrust it; but -I maintain that there has never yet been a philosopher who has not -eventually deprecated the philosophy of his youth. Perhaps, however, -he has not spoken publicly of this change of opinion, for reasons of -ambition, or, what is more probable in noble natures, out of delicate -consideration for his adherents. - - -254. - -THE INCREASE OF WHAT IS INTERESTING.--In the course of higher education -everything becomes interesting to man, he knows how to find the -instructive side of a thing quickly and to put his finger on the place -where it can fill up a gap in his ideas, or where it may verify a -thought. Through this boredom disappears more and more, and so does -excessive excitability of temperament. Finally he moves among men like -a botanist among plants, and looks upon himself as a phenomenon, which -only greatly excites his discerning instinct. - - -255. - -THE SUPERSTITION OF THE SIMULTANEOUS.--Simultaneous things hold -together, it is said. A relative dies far away, and at the same time -we dream about him,--Consequently! But countless relatives die and we -do not dream about them. It is like shipwrecked people who make vows; -afterwards, in the temples, we do not see the votive tablets of those -who perished. A man dies, an owl hoots, a clock stops, all at one hour -of the night,--must there not be some connection? Such an intimacy -with nature as this supposition implies is flattering to mankind. This -species of superstition is found again in a refined form in historians -and delineators of culture, who usually have a kind of hydrophobic -horror of all that senseless mixture, in which individual and national -life is so rich. - - -256. - -ACTION AND NOT KNOWLEDGE EXERCISED BY SCIENCE.--The value of strictly -pursuing science for a time does not lie precisely in its results, -for these, in proportion to the ocean of what is worth knowing, are -but an infinitesimally small drop. But it gives an additional energy, -decisiveness, and toughness of endurance; it teaches how to attain an -_aim suitably._ In so far it is very valuable, with a view to all that -is done later on, to have once been a scientific man. - - -257. - -THE YOUTHFUL CHARM OF SCIENCE.--The search for truth still retains -the charm of being in strong contrast to gray and now tiresome error; -but this charm is gradually disappearing. It is true we still live in -the youthful age of science and are accustomed to follow truth as a -lovely girl; but how will it be when one day she becomes an elderly, -ill-tempered looking woman? In almost all sciences the fundamental -knowledge is either found in earliest times or is still being sought; -what a different attraction this exerts compared to that time when -everything essential has been found and there only remains for the -seeker a scanty gleaning (which sensation may be learnt in several -historical disciplines). - - -258. - -THE STATUE OF HUMANITY.--The genius of culture fares as did Cellini -when his statue of Perseus was being cast; the molten mass threatened -to run short, but it _had_ to suffice, so he flung in his plates and -dishes, and whatever else his hands fell upon. In the same way genius -flings in errors, vices, hopes, ravings, and other things of baser as -well as of nobler metal, for the statue of humanity must emerge and be -finished; what does it matter if commoner material is used here and -there? - - -259. - -A MALE CULTURE.--The Greek culture of the classic age is a male -culture. As far as women are concerned, Pericles expresses everything -in the funeral speech: "They are best when they are as little spoken -of as possible amongst men." The erotic relation of men to youths -was the necessary and sole preparation, to a degree unattainable to -our comprehension, of all manly education (pretty much as for a long -time all higher education of women was only attainable through love -and marriage). All idealism of the strength of the Greek nature threw -itself into that relation, and it is probable that never since have -young men been treated so attentively, so lovingly, so entirely with -a view to their welfare (_virtus_) as in the fifth and sixth centuries -B.C.--according to the beautiful saying of Hölderlin: "_denn liebend -giebt der Sterbliche vom Besten."_[3] The higher the light in which -this relation was regarded, the lower sank intercourse with woman; -nothing else was taken into consideration than the production of -children and lust; there was no intellectual intercourse, not even real -love-making. If it be further remembered that women were even excluded -from contests and spectacles of every description, there only remain -the religious cults as their sole higher occupation. For although in -the tragedies Electra and Antigone were represented, this was only -_tolerated_ in art, but not liked in real life,--just as now we cannot -endure anything pathetic in _life_ but like it in art. The women had no -other mission than to produce beautiful, strong bodies, in which the -father's character lived on as unbrokenly as possible, and therewith -to counteract the increasing nerve-tension of such a highly developed -culture. This kept the Greek culture young for a relatively long time; -for in the Greek mothers the Greek genius always returned to nature. - - -260. - -THE PREJUDICE IN FAVOUR OF GREATNESS.--It is clear that men overvalue -everything great and prominent. This arises from the conscious or -unconscious idea that they deem it very useful when one person throws -all his strength into one thing and makes himself into a monstrous -organ. Assuredly, an _equal_ development of all his powers is more -useful and happier for man; for every talent is a vampire which sucks -blood and strength from other powers, and an exaggerated production can -drive the most gifted almost to madness. Within the circle of the arts, -too, extreme natures excite far too much attention; but a much lower -culture is necessary to be captivated by them. Men submit from habit to -everything that seeks power. - - -261. - -THE TYRANTS OF THE MIND.--It is only where the ray of myth falls that -the life of the Greeks shines; otherwise it is gloomy. The Greek -philosophers are now robbing themselves of this myth; is it not as if -they wished to quit the sunshine for shadow and gloom? Yet no plant -avoids the light; and, as a matter of fact, those philosophers were -only seeking a _brighter_ sun; the myth--was not pure enough, not -shining enough for them. They found this light in their knowledge, -in that which each of them called his "truth." But in those times -knowledge shone with a greater glory; it was still young and knew but -little of all the difficulties and dangers of its path; it could still -hope to reach in one single bound the central point of all being, -and from thence to solve the riddle of the world. These philosophers -had a firm belief in themselves and their "truth," and with it they -overthrew all their neighbours and predecessors; each one was a -warlike, violent _tyrant._ The happiness in believing themselves the -possessors of truth was perhaps never greater in the world, but neither -were the hardness, the arrogance, and the tyranny and evil of such a -belief. They were tyrants, they were that, therefore, which every Greek -wanted to be, and which every one was if he _was able._ Perhaps Solon -alone is an exception; he tells in his poems how he disdained personal -tyranny. But he did it for love of his works, of his law-giving; -and to be a law-giver is a sublimated form of tyranny. Parmenides -also made laws. Pythagoras and Empedocles probably did the same; -Anaximander founded a city. Plato was the incarnate wish to become -the greatest philosophic law-giver and founder of States; he appears -to have suffered terribly over the non-fulfilment of his nature, and -towards his end his soul was filled with the bitterest gall. The more -the Greek philosophers lost in power the more they suffered inwardly -from this bitterness and malice; when the various sects fought for -their truths in the street, then first were the souls of these wooers -of truth completely clogged through envy and spleen; the tyrannical -element then raged like poison within their bodies. These many petty -tyrants would have liked to devour each other; there survived not a -single spark of love and very little joy in their own knowledge. The -saying that tyrants are generally murdered and that their descendants -are short-lived, is true also of the tyrants of the mind. Their history -is short and violent, and their after-effects break off suddenly. It -may be said of almost all great Hellenes that they appear to have come -too late: it was thus with Æschylus, with Pindar, with Demosthenes, -with Thucydides: one generation--and then it is passed for ever. That -is the stormy and dismal element in Greek history. We now, it is true, -admire the gospel of the tortoises. To think historically is almost the -same thing now as if in all ages history had been made according to the -theory "The smallest possible amount in the longest possible time!" Oh! -how quickly Greek history runs on! Since then life has never been so -extravagant--so unbounded. I cannot persuade myself that the history of -the Greeks followed that natural course for which it is so celebrated. -They were much too variously gifted to be _gradual_ the orderly manner -of the tortoise when running a race with Achilles, and that is called -natural development. The Geeks went rapidly forward, but equally -rapidly downwards; the movement of the whole machine is so intensified -that a single stone thrown amid its wheels was sufficient to break it. -Such a stone, for instance, was Socrates; the hitherto so wonderfully -regular, although certainly too rapid, development of the philosophical -science was destroyed in one night. It is no idle question whether -Plato, had he remained free from the Socratic charm, would not have -discovered a still higher type of the philosophic man, which type -is for ever lost to us. We look into the ages before him as into a -sculptor's workshop of such types. The fifth and sixth centuries B.C. -seemed to promise something more and higher even than they produced; -they stopped short at promising and announcing. And yet there is hardly -a greater loss than the loss of a type, of a new, hitherto undiscovered -highest _possibility of the philosophic life:_--Even of the older -type the greater number are badly transmitted; it seems to me that -all philosophers, from Thales to Democritus, are remarkably difficult -to recognise, but whoever succeeds in imitating these figures walks -amongst specimens of the mightiest and purest type. This ability is -certainly rare, it was even absent in those later Greeks, who occupied -themselves with the knowledge of the older philosophy; Aristotle, -especially, hardly seems to have had eyes in his head when he stands -before these great ones. And thus it appears as if these splendid -philosophers had lived in vain, or as if they had only been intended -to prepare the quarrelsome and talkative followers of the Socratic -schools. As I have said, here is a gap, a break in development; some -great misfortune must have happened, and the only statue which might -have revealed the meaning and purpose of that great artistic training -was either broken or unsuccessful; what actually happened has remained -for ever a secret of the workshop. - -That which happened amongst the Greeks--namely, that every great -thinker who believed himself to be in possession of the absolute truth -became a tyrant, so that even the mental history of the Greeks acquired -that violent, hasty and dangerous character shown by their political -history,--this type of event was not therewith exhausted, much that is -similar has happened even in more modern times, although gradually -becoming rarer and now but seldom showing the pure, naïve conscience -of the Greek philosophers. For on the whole, opposition doctrines and -scepticism now speak too powerfully, too loudly. The period of mental -tyranny is past. It is true that in the spheres of higher culture there -must always be a supremacy, but henceforth this supremacy lies in the -hands of the _oligarchs of the mind._ In spite of local and political -separation they form a cohesive society, whose members _recognise and -acknowledge_ each other, whatever public opinion and the verdicts of -review and newspaper writers who influence the masses may circulate in -favour of or against them. Mental superiority, which formerly divided -and embittered, nowadays generally _unites;_ how could the separate -individuals assert themselves and swim through life on their own -course, against all currents, if they did not see others like them -living here and there under similar conditions, and grasped their hands -in the struggle as much against the ochlocratic character of the half -mind and half culture as against the occasional attempts to establish -a tyranny with the help of the masses? Oligarchs are necessary to each -other, they are each other's best joy, they understand their signs, but -each is nevertheless free, he fights and conquers in _his_ place and -perishes rather than submit. - - -262. - -HOMER.--The greatest fact in Greek culture remains this, that Homer -became so early Pan-Hellenic. All mental and human freedom to which -the Greeks attained is traceable to this fact. At the same time -it has actually been fatal to Greek culture, for Homer levelled, -inasmuch as he centralised, and dissolved the more serious instincts -of independence. From time to time there arose from the depths of -Hellenism an opposition to Homer: but he always remained victorious. -All great mental powers have an oppressing effect as well as a -liberating one; but it certainly makes a difference whether it is Homer -or the Bible or Science that tyrannises over mankind. - - -263. - -TALENTS.--In such a highly developed humanity as the present, each -individual naturally has access to many talents. Each has an _inborn -talent,_ but only in a few is that degree of toughness, endurance, and -energy born and trained that he really becomes a talent, _becomes_ what -he _is,_ that is, that he discharges it in works and actions. - - -264. - -THE WITTY PERSON EITHER OVERVALUED OR UNDERVALUED.--Unscientific but -talented people value every mark of intelligence, whether it be on -a true or a false track; above all, they want the person with whom -they have intercourse to entertain them with his wit, to spur them -on, to inflame them, to carry them away in seriousness and play, and -in any case to be a powerful amulet to protect them against boredom. -Scientific natures, on the other hand, know that the gift of possessing -all manner of notions should be strictly controlled by the scientific -spirit: it is not that which shines, deludes and excites, but the often -insignificant truth that is the fruit which he knows how to shake down -from the tree of knowledge. Like Aristotle, he is not permitted to make -any distinction between the "bores" and the "wits," his _dæmon_ leads -him through the desert as well as through tropical vegetation, in order -that he may only take pleasure in the really actual, tangible, true. In -insignificant scholars this produces a general disdain and suspicion of -cleverness, and, on the other hand, clever people frequently have an -aversion to science, as have, for instance, almost all artists. - - -265. - -SENSE IN SCHOOL.--School has no task more important than to teach -strict thought, cautious judgment, and logical conclusions, hence -it must pay no attention to what hinders these operations, such as -religion, for instance. It can count on the fact that human vagueness, -custom, and need will later on unstring the bow of all-too-severe -thought. But so long as its influence lasts it should enforce that -which is the essential and distinguishing point in man: "Sense and -Science, the _very highest_ power of man"--as Goethe judges. The great -natural philosopher, Von Baer, thinks that the superiority of all -Europeans, when compared to Asiatics, lies in the trained capability -of giving reasons for that which they believe, of which the latter are -utterly incapable. Europe went to the school of logical and critical -thought, Asia still fails to know how to distinguish between truth -and fiction, and is not Conscious whether its convictions spring from -individual observation and systematic thought or from imagination. -Sense in the school has made Europe what it is; in the Middle Ages -it was on the road to become once more a part and dependent of -Asia,--forfeiting, therefore, the scientific mind which it owed to the -Greeks. - - -266. - -THE UNDERVALUED EFFECT OF PUBLIC SCHOOL TEACHING.--The value of a -public school is seldom sought in those things which are really learnt -there and are carried away never to be lost, but in those things which -are learnt and which the pupil only acquires against his will, in order -to get rid of them again as soon as possible. Every educated person -acknowledges that the reading of the classics, as now practised, is -monstrous proceeding carried on before you people are ripe enough for -it by teachers who with every word, often by their appearance alone, -throw a mildew on a good author. But therein lies the value, generally -unrecognised, of these teachers who speak _the abstract language of the -higher culture,_ which, though dry and difficult to understand, is yet -a sort of higher gymnastics of the brain; and there is value in the -constant recurrence in their language of ideas, artistic expressions, -methods and allusions which the young people hardly ever hear in the -conversations of their relatives and in the street. Even if the pupils -only _hear,_ their intellect is involuntarily trained to a scientific -mode of regarding things. It is not possible to emerge from this -discipline entirely untouched by its abstract character, and to remain -a simple child of nature. - - -267. - -LEARNING MANY LANGUAGES.--The learning of many languages fills the -memory with words instead of with facts and thoughts, and this is a -vessel which, with every person, can only contain a certain limited -amount of contents. Therefore the learning of many languages is -injurious, inasmuch as it arouses a belief in possessing dexterity and, -as a matter of fact, it lends a kind of delusive importance to social -intercourse. It is also indirectly injurious in that it opposes the -acquirement of solid knowledge and the intention to win the respect of -men in an honest way. Finally, it is the axe which is laid to the root -of a delicate sense of language in our mother-tongue, which thereby -is incurably injured and destroyed. The two nations which produced -the greatest stylists, the Greeks and the French, learned no foreign -languages. But as human intercourse must always grow more cosmopolitan, -and as, for instance, a good merchant in London must now be able to -read and write eight languages, the learning of many tongues has -certainly become a necessary evil; but which, when finally carried to -an extreme, will compel mankind to find a remedy, and in some far-off -future there will be a new language, used at first as a language of -commerce, then as a language of intellectual intercourse generally, -then for all, as surely as some time or other there will be aviation. -Why else should philology have studied the laws of languages for a -whole century, and have estimated the necessary, the valuable, and the -successful portion of each separate language? - - -268. - -THE WAR HISTORY OF THE INDIVIDUAL.--In a single human life that -passes through many styles of culture we find that struggle condense -which would otherwise have been played out between two generations, -between father and son; the closeness of the relationship _sharpens_ -this struggle, because each party ruthlessly drags in the familiar -inward nature of the other party; and thus this struggle in the single -individual becomes most _embittered \_ here every new phase disregards -the earlier ones with cruel injustice and misunderstanding of their -means and aims. - - -269. - -A QUARTER OF AN HOUR EARLIER.--A mark is found occasionally whose views -are beyond his time, but only to such an extent that he anticipates the -common views of the next decade. He possesses public opinion before it -is public; that is, he has fallen into the arms of a view that deserves -to be trivial a quarter of an hour sooner than other people. But his -fame is usually far noisier than the fame of those who are really great -and prominent. - - -270. - -THE ART OF READING.--Every strong tendency is one-sided; it approaches -the aim of the straight line and, like this, is exclusive, that is, -it does not touch many other aims, as do weak parties and natures -in their wave-like rolling to-and-fro; it must also be forgiven to -philologists that they are one-sided. The restoration and keeping pure -of texts, besides their explanation, carried on in common for hundreds -of years, has finally enabled the right methods to be found; the whole -of the Middle Ages was absolutely incapable of a strictly philological -explanation, that is, of the simple desire to comprehend what an -author says--it _was_ an achievement, finding these methods, let it -not be undervalued! Through this all science first acquired continuity -and steadiness, so that the art of reading rightly, which is called -philology, attained its summit. - - -271. - -THE ART OF REASONING.--The greatest advance that men have made lies -in their acquisition of the art to _reason rightly._ It is not so -very natural, as Schopenhauer supposes when he says, "All are capable -of reasoning but few of judging," it is learnt late and has not yet -attained supremacy. False conclusion are the rule in older ages; and -the mythologies of all peoples, their magic and their superstition, -their religious cult and their law are the inexhaustible sources of -proof of this theory. - - -272. - -PHASES OF INDIVIDUAL CULTURE.--Th strength and weakness of mental -productiveness depend far less on inherited talents than on the -accompanying amount of _elasticity._ Most educated young people of -thirty turn round at this solstice of their lives and are afterwards -disinclined for new mental turnings. Therefore, for the salvation -of a constantly increasing culture, a new generation is immediately -necessary, which will not do very much either, for in order to come up -with the father's culture the son must exhaust almost all the inherited -energy which the father himself possessed at that stage of life when -his son was born; with the little addition he gets further on (for as -here the road is being traversed for the second time progress is--a -little quicker; in order to learn that which the father knew, the son -does not consume quite so much strength). Men of great elasticity, like -Goethe, for instance, get through almost more than four generations in -succession would be capable of; but then they advance too quickly, so -that the rest of mankind only comes up with them in the next century, -and even then perhaps not completely, because the exclusiveness of -culture and the consecutiveness of development have been weakened by -the frequent interruptions. Men catch up more quickly with the ordinary -phases of intellectual culture which has been acquired in the course -of history. Nowadays they begin to acquire culture as religiously -inclined children, and perhaps about their tenth year these sentiments -attain to their highest point, and are then changed into weakened forms -(pantheism), whilst they draw near to science; they entirely pass -by God, immortality, and such-like things, but are overcome by the -witchcraft of a metaphysical philosophy. Eventually they find even this -unworthy of belief; art, on the contrary, seems to vouchsafe more and -more, so that for a time metaphysics is metamorphosed and continues to -exist either as a transition to art or as an artistically transfiguring -temperament. But the scientific sense grows more imperious and conducts -man to natural sciences and history, and particularly to the severest -methods of knowledge, whilst art has always a milder and less exacting -meaning. All this usually happens within the first thirty years of a -man's life. It is the recapitulation of a _pensum,_ for which humanity -had laboured perhaps thirty thousand years. - - -273. - -RETROGRADED, NOT LEFT BEHIND.--Whoever, in the present day, still -derives his development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives -for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics and art, has -assuredly gone back a considerable distance and begins his race with -other modern men under unfavourable conditions; he apparently loses -time and space. But because he stays in those domains where ardour and -energy are liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic stream -out of an inexhaustible source, he goes forward all the more quickly as -soon as he has freed himself at the right moment from those dominators; -his feet are winged, his breast has learned quieter, longer, and more -enduring breathing. He has only retreated in order to have sufficient -room to leap; thus something terrible and threatening may lie in this -retrograde movement. - - -274. - -A PORTION OF OUR EGO AS AN ARTISTIC OBJECT.--It is a sign of -superior culture consciously to retain and present a true picture of -certain phases of development which commoner men live through almost -thoughtlessly and then efface from the tablets of their souls: this is -a higher species of the painter's art which only the few understand. -For this it is necessary to isolate those phases artificially. -Historical studies form the qualification for this painting, for they -constantly incite us in regard to a portion of history, a people, -or a human life, to imagine for ourselves a quite distinct horizon -of thoughts, a certain strength of feelings, the prominence of this -or the obscurity of that. Herein consists the historic sense, that -out of given instances we can quickly reconstruct such systems of -thoughts and feelings, just as we can mentally reconstruct a temple -out of a few pillars and remains of walls accidentally left standing. -The next result is that we understand our fellow-men as belonging to -distinct systems and representatives of different cultures--that is, as -necessary, but as changeable; and, again, that we can separate portions -of our own development and put them down independently. - - -275. - -CYNICS AND EPICUREANS.--The cynic recognises the connection between -the multiplied and stronger pains of the more highly cultivated man -and the abundance of requirements; he comprehends, therefore, that -the multitude of opinions about what is beautiful, suitable, seemly -and pleasing, must also produce very rich sources of enjoyment, but -also of displeasure. In accordance with this view he educates himself -backwards, by giving up many of these opinions and withdrawing from -certain demands of culture; he thereby gains a feeling of freedom -and strength; and gradually, when habit has made his manner of life -endurable, his sensations of displeasure are, as a matter of fact, -rarer and weaker than those of cultivated people, and approach those of -the domestic animal; moreover, he experiences everything with the charm -of contrast, and--he can also scold to his heart's content; so that -thereby he again rises high above the sensation-range of the animal. -The Epicurean has the same point of view as the cynic; there is usually -only a difference of temperament between them. Then the Epicurean makes -use of his higher culture to render himself independent of prevailing -opinions, he raises himself above them, whilst the cynic only remains -negative. He walks, as it were, in wind-protected, well-sheltered, -half-dark paths, whilst over him, in the wind, the tops of the trees -rustle and show him how violently agitated is the world out there. The -cynic, on the contrary, goes, as it were, naked into the rushing of the -wind and hardens himself to the point of insensibility. - - -276. - -MICROCOSM AND MACROCOSM OF CULTURE.--The best discoveries about -culture man makes within himself when he finds two heterogeneous powers -ruling therein. Supposing some one were living as much in love for -the plastic arts or for music as he was carried away by the spirit of -science, and that he were to regard it as impossible for him to end -this contradiction by the destruction of one and complete liberation of -the other power, there would therefore remain nothing for him to do -but to erect around himself such a large edifice of culture that those -two powers might both dwell within it, although at different ends, -whilst between them there dwelt reconciling, intermediary powers, with -predominant strength to quell, in case of need, the rising conflict. -But such an edifice of culture in the single individual will bear a -great resemblance to the culture of entire periods, and will afford -consecutive analogical teaching concerning it. For wherever the great -architecture of culture manifested itself it was its mission to compel -opposing powers to agree, by means of an overwhelming accumulation of -other less unbearable powers, without thereby oppressing and fettering -them. - - -277. - -HAPPINESS AND CULTURE.--We are moved at the sight of our childhood's -surroundings,--the arbour, the church with its graves, the pond and -the wood,--all this we see again with pain. We are seized with pity -for ourselves; for what have we not passed through since then! And -everything here is so silent, so eternal, only we are so changed, so -moved; we even find a few human beings, on whom Time has sharpened his -teeth no more than on an oak tree,--peasants, fishermen, woodmen--they -are unchanged. Emotion and self-pity at the sight of lower culture is -the sign of higher culture; from which the conclusion may be drawn that -happiness has certainly not been increased by it. Whoever wishes to -reap happiness and comfort in life should always avoid higher culture. - - -278. - -THE SIMILE OF THE DANCE.--It must now be regarded as a decisive sign of -great culture if some one possesses sufficient strength and flexibility -to be as pure and strict in discernment as, in other moments, to be -capable of giving poetry, religion, and metaphysics a hundred paces' -start and then feeling their force and beauty. Such a position amid -two such different demands is very difficult, for science urges the -absolute supremacy of its methods, and if this insistence is not -yielded to, there arises the other danger of a weak wavering between -different impulses. Meanwhile, to cast a glance, in simile at least, on -a solution of this difficulty, it may be remembered that _dancing_ is -not the same as a dull reeling to and fro between different impulses. -High culture will resemble a bold dance,--wherefore, as has been said, -there is need of much strength and suppleness. - - -279. - -OF THE RELIEVING OF LIFE.--A primary way of lightening life is the -idealisation of all its occurrences; and with the help of painting we -should make it quite clear to ourselves what idealising means. The -painter requires that the spectator should not observe too closely or -too sharply, he forces him back to a certain distance from whence -to make his observations; he is obliged to take for granted a fixed -distance of the spectator from the picture,--he must even suppose an -equally certain amount of sharpness of eye in his spectator; in such -things he must on no account waver. Every one, therefore, who desires -to idealise his life must not look at it too closely, and must always -keep his gaze at a certain distance. This was a trick that Goethe, for -instance, understood. - - -280. - -AGGRAVATION AS RELIEF, AND _VICE VERSA._--Much that makes life more -difficult in certain grades of mankind serves to lighten it in a -higher grade, because such people have become familiar with greater -aggravations of life. The contrary also happens; for instance, religion -has a double face, according to whether a man looks up to it to relieve -him of his burden and need, or looks down upon it as-upon fetters laid -on him to prevent him from soaring too high into the air. - - -281. - -THE HIGHER CULTURE IS NECESSARILY MISUNDERSTOOD.--He who has strung his -instrument with only two strings, like the scholars who, besides the -_instinct of knowledge_ possess only an acquired _religious_ instinct, -does not understand people who can play upon more strings. It lies -in the nature of the higher, _many-stringed_ culture that it should -always be falsely interpreted by the lower; an example of this is when -art appears as a disguised form of the religious. People who are only -religious understand even science as a searching after the religious -sentiment, just as deaf mutes do not know what music is, unless it be -visible movement. - - -282. - -LAMENTATION.--It is, perhaps, the advantages of our epoch that bring -with them a backward movement and an occasional undervaluing of the -_vita contemplativa._ But it must be acknowledged that our time is -poor in the matter of great moralists, that Pascal, Epictetus, Seneca, -and Plutarch are now but little read, that work and industry--formerly -in the following of the great goddess Health--sometimes appear to -rage like a disease. Because time to think and tranquillity in -thought are lacking, we no longer ponder over different views, but -content ourselves with hating them. With the enormous acceleration of -life, mind and eye grow accustomed to a partial and false sight and -judgment, and all people are like travellers whose only acquaintance -with countries and nations is derived from the railway. An independent -and cautious attitude of knowledge is looked upon almost as a kind of -madness; the free spirit is brought into disrepute, chiefly through -scholars, who miss their thoroughness and ant-like industry in his -art of regarding things and would gladly banish him into one single -corner of science, while it has the different and higher mission of -commanding the battalion rear-guard of scientific and learned men from -an isolated position, and showing them the ways and aims of culture. A -song of lamentation such as that which has just been sung will probably -have its own period, and will cease of its own accord on a forcible -return of the genius of meditation. - - -283. - -THE CHIEF DEFICIENCY OF ACTIVE PEOPLE.--Active people are usually -deficient in the higher activity, I mean individual activity. They are -active as officials, merchants, scholars, that is as a species, but not -as quite distinct separate and _single_ individuals; in this respect -they are idle. It is the misfortune of the active that their activity -is almost always a little senseless. For instance, we must not ask the -money-making banker the reason of his restless activity, it is foolish. -The active roll as the stone rolls, according to the stupidity of -mechanics. All mankind is divided, as it was at all times and is still, -into slaves and freemen; for whoever has not two-thirds of his day -for himself is a slave, be he otherwise whatever he likes, statesman, -merchant, official, or scholar. - - -284. - -IN FAVOUR OF THE IDLE.--As a sign that the value of a contemplative -life has decreased, scholars now vie with active people in a sort of -hurried enjoyment, so that they appear to value this mode of enjoying -more than that which really pertains to them, and which, as a matter -of fact, is a far greater enjoyment. Scholars are ashamed of _otium._ -But there is one noble thing about idleness and idlers. If idleness -is really the _beginning_ of all vice, it finds itself, therefore, at -least in near neighbourhood of all the virtues; the idle man is still -a better man than the active. You do not suppose that in speaking of -idleness and idlers I am alluding to you, you sluggards? - - -285. - -MODERN UNREST.--Modern restlessness increases towards the west, so -that Americans look upon the inhabitants of Europe as altogether -peace-loving and enjoying beings, whilst in reality they swarm about -like wasps and bees. This restlessness is so great that the higher -culture cannot mature its fruits, it is as if the seasons followed each -other too quickly. For lack of rest our civilisation is turning into -a new barbarism. At no period have the active, that is, the restless, -been of _more_ importance. One of the necessary corrections, therefore, -which must be undertaken in the character of humanity is to strengthen -the contemplative element on a large scale. But every individual who -is quiet and steady in heart and head already has the right to believe -that he possesses not only a good temperament, but also a generally -useful virtue, and even fulfils a higher mission by the preservation of -this virtue. - - -286. - -To WHAT EXTENT THE ACTIVE MAN IS LAZY.--I believe that every one must -have his own opinion about everything concerning which opinions are -possible, because he himself is a peculiar, unique thing, which assumes -towards all other things a new and never hitherto existing attitude. -But idleness, which lies at the bottom of the active man's soul, -prevents him from drawing water out of his own well. Freedom of opinion -is like health; both are individual, and no good general conception can -be set up of either of them. That which is necessary for the health of -one individual is the cause of disease in another, and many means and -ways to the freedom of the spirit are for more highly developed natures -the ways and means to confinement. - - -287. - -_CENSOR VITÆ_--Alternations of love and hatred for a long period -distinguish the inward condition of a man who desires to be free in his -judgment of life; he does not forget, and bears everything a grudge, -for good and evil. At last, when the whole tablet of his soul is -written full of experiences, he will not hate and despise existence, -neither will he love it, but will regard it sometimes with a joyful, -sometimes with a sorrowful eye, and, like nature, will be now in a -summer and now in an autumn mood. - - -288. - -THE SECONDARY RESULT.--Whoever earnestly desires to be free will -therewith and without any compulsion lose all inclination for faults -and vices; he will also be more rarely overcome by anger and vexation. -His will desires nothing more urgently than to discern, and the means -to do this,--that is, the permanent condition in which he is best able -to discern. - - -289. - -THE VALUE OF DISEASE.--The man who is bed-ridden often perceives that -he is usually ill of his position, business, or society, and through -them has lost all self-possession. He gains this piece of knowledge -from the idleness to which his illness condemns him. - - -290. - -SENSITIVENESS IN THE COUNTRY.--If there are no firm, quiet lines on -the horizon of his life, a species of mountain and forest line, man's -inmost will itself becomes restless, inattentive, and covetous, as is -the nature of a dweller in towns; he has no happiness and confers no -happiness. - - -291. - -PRUDENCE OF THE FREE SPIRITS.--Free-thinkers, those who live by -knowledge alone, will soon attain the supreme aim of their life and -their ultimate position towards society and State, and will gladly -content themselves, for instance, with a small post or an income that -is just sufficient to enable them to live; for they will arrange to -live in such a manner that a great change of outward prosperity, even -an overthrow of the political order, would not cause an overthrow -of their life. To all these things they devote as little energy as -possible in order that with their whole accumulated strength, and with -a long breath, they may dive into the element of knowledge. Thus they -can hope to dive deep and be able to see the bottom. Such a spirit -seizes only the point of an event, he does not care for things in the -whole breadth and prolixity of their folds, for he does not wish to -entangle himself in them. He, too, knows the weekdays of restraint, of -dependence and servitude. But from time to time there must dawn for -him a Sunday of liberty, otherwise he could not endure life. It is -probable that even his love for humanity will be prudent and somewhat -short-winded, for he desires to meddle with the world of inclinations -and of blindness only as far as is necessary for the purpose of -knowledge. He must trust that the genius of justice will say something -for its disciple and protege if accusing voices were to call him poor -in love. In his mode of life and thought there is a _refined heroism,_ -which scorns to offer itself to the great mob-reverence, as its -coarser brother does, and passes quietly through and out of the world. -Whatever labyrinths it traverses, beneath whatever rocks its stream has -occasionally worked its way--when it reaches the light it goes clearly, -easily, and almost noiselessly on its way, and lets the sunshine strike -down to its very bottom. - - -292. - -FORWARD.--And thus forward upon the path of wisdom, with a firm step -and good confidence! However you may be situated, serve yourself as a -source of experience! Throw off the displeasure at your nature, forgive -yourself your own individuality, for in any case you have in yourself -a ladder with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to knowledge. -The age into which with grief you feel yourself thrown thinks you happy -because of this good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall still -have experiences which men of later ages will perhaps be obliged to -forego. Do not despise the fact of having been religious; consider -fully how you have had a genuine access to art. Can you not, with the -help of these experiences, follow immense stretches of former humanity -with a clearer understanding? Is not that ground which sometimes -displeases you so greatly, that ground of clouded thought, precisely -the one upon which have grown many of the most glorious fruits of older -civilisations? You must have loved religion and art as you loved mother -and nurse,--otherwise you cannot be wise. But you must be able to see -beyond them, to outgrow them; if you, remain under their ban you do -not understand them. You must also be familiar with history and that -cautious play with the balances: "On the one hand--on the other hand." -Go back, treading in the footsteps made by mankind in its great and -painful journey through the desert of the past, and you will learn most -surely whither it is that all later humanity never can or may go again. -And inasmuch as you wish with all your strength to see in advance how -the knots of the future are tied, your own life acquires the value of -an instrument and means of knowledge. It is within your power to see -that all you have experienced, trials, errors, faults, deceptions, -passions, your love and your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim. -This aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-links yourself, -and from this necessity to draw a conclusion as to the necessity in -the progress of general culture. When your sight has become strong -enough to see to the bottom of the dark well of your nature and your -knowledge, it is possible that in its mirror you may also behold the -far-away visions of future civilisations. Do you think that such a life -with such an aim is too wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable? -Then you have still to learn that no honey is sweeter than that of -knowledge, and that the overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as -an udder from which you shall draw milk for your refreshment. And only -when old age approaches will you rightly perceive how you listened to -the voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole world through -pleasure; the same life which has its zenith in age has also its zenith -in wisdom, in that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyfulness; you -meet them both, old age and wisdom, upon one ridge of life,--it was -thus intended by Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger, that -the mists of death approach. Towards the light is your last movement; a -joyful cry of knowledge is your last sound. - - -[Footnote 1: This may remind one of Gobineau's more jocular saying: -"_Nous ne descendons pas du singe, mais nous y allons._"--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: This refers to his essay, "Schopenhauer as Educator," in -_Thoughts Out of Season,_ vol. ii. of the English edition.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 3: For it is when loving that mortal man gives of his -best.--J.M.K.] - - - - -SIXTH DIVISION. - - -MAN IN SOCIETY. - - - -293. - -WELL-MEANT DISSIMULATION.--In intercourse with men a well-meant -dissimulation is often necessary, as if we did not see through the -motives of their actions. - - -294. - -COPIES.--We not unfrequently meet with copies of prominent persons; and -as in the case of pictures, so also here, the copies please more than -the originals. - - -295. - -THE PUBLIC SPEAKER.--One may speak with the greatest appropriateness, -and yet so that everybody cries out to the contrary,--that is to say, -when one does not speak to everybody. - - -296. - -WANT OF CONFIDENCE.--Want of confidence among friends is a fault that -cannot be censured without becoming incurable. - - -297. - -THE ART OF GIVING.--To have to refuse a gift, merely because it has not -been offered in the right way, provokes animosity against the giver. - - -298. - -THE MOST DANGEROUS PARTISAN.--In every party there is one who, by his -far too dogmatic expression of the party-principles, excites defection -among the others. - - -299. - -ADVISERS OF THE SICK.--Whoever gives advice to a sick person acquires -a feeling of superiority over him, whether the advice be accepted or -rejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick persons hate advisers more -than their sickness. - - -300. - -DOUBLE NATURE OF EQUALITY.--The rage for equality may so manifest -itself that we seek either to draw all others down to ourselves (by -belittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or ourselves and all others -upwards (by recognition, assistance, and congratulation). - - -301. - -AGAINST EMBARRASSMENT.--The best way to relieve and calm very -embarrassed people is to give them decided praise. - - -302. - -PREFERENCE FOR CERTAIN VIRTUES.--We set no special value on the -possession of a virtue until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in -our adversary. - - -303. - -WHY WE CONTRADICT.--We often contradict an opinion when it is really -only the tone in which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us. - - -304. - -CONFIDENCE AND INTIMACY.--Whoever proposes to command the intimacy of -a person is usually uncertain of possessing his confidence. Whoever is -sure of a person's confidence attaches little value to intimacy with -him. - - -305. - -THE EQUILIBRIUM OF FRIENDSHIP.--The right equilibrium of friendship -in our relation to other men is sometimes restored when we put a few -grains of wrong on our own side of the scales. - - -306. - -THE MOST DANGEROUS PHYSICIANS.--The most dangerous physicians are those -who, like born actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect art -of imposture. - - -307. - -WHEN PARADOXES ARE PERMISSIBLE.--In order to interest clever persons in -a theory, it is sometimes only necessary to put it before them in the -form of a prodigious paradox. - - -308. - -HOW COURAGEOUS PEOPLE ARE WON OVER.--Courageous people are persuaded to -a course of action by representing it as more dangerous than it really -is. - - -309. - -COURTESIES.--We regard the courtesies show us by unpopular persons as -offences. - - -310. - -KEEPING PEOPLE WAITING.--A sure way of exasperating people and of -putting bad thoughts into their heads is to keep them waiting long. -That makes them immoral. - - -311. - -AGAINST THE CONFIDENTIAL.--Persons who give us their full confidence -think they hay thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake people -acquire no rights through gifts. - - -312. - -A MODE OF SETTLEMENT.--It often suffices to give a person whom we have -injured an opportunity to make a joke about us to give him personal -satisfaction, and even to make him favourably disposed to us. - - -313. - -THE VANITY OF THE TONGUE.--Whether man conceals his bad qualities -and vices, or frankly acknowledges them, his vanity in either case -seeks its advantage thereby,--only let it be observed how nicely he -distinguishes those from whom he conceals such qualities from those -with whom he is frank and honest. - - -314. - -CONSIDERATE.--To have no wish to offend or injure any one may as well -be the sign of a just as of a timid nature. - - -315. - -REQUISITE FOR DISPUTATION.--He who cannot put his thoughts on ice -should not enter into the heat of dispute. - - -316. - -INTERCOURSE AND PRETENSION.--We forget our pretensions when we are -always conscious of being amongst meritorious people; being alone -implants presumption in us. The young are pretentious, for they -associate with their equals, who are all ciphers but would fain have a -great significance. - - -317. - -MOTIVES OF AN ATTACK.--One does not attack a person merely to hurt -and conquer him, but perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own -strength. - - -318. - -FLATTERY.--Persons who try by means of flattery to put us off our -guard in intercourse with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like a -sleeping-draught, which, when it does not send the patient to sleep, -keeps him all the wider awake. - - -319. - -A GOOD LETTER-WRITER.--A person who does not write books, thinks much, -and lives in unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-writer. - - -320. - -THE UGLIEST OF ALL.--It may be doubted whether a person who has -travelled much has found anywhere in the world uglier places than those -to be met with in the human face. - - -321. - -THE SYMPATHETIC ONES.--Sympathetic natures, ever ready to help in -misfortune, are seldom those that participate in joy; in the happiness -of others they have nothing to occupy them, they are superfluous, they -do not feel themselves in possession of their superiority, and hence -readily show their displeasure. - - -322. - -THE RELATIVES OF A SUICIDE.--The relatives of a suicide take it in -ill part that he did not remain alive out of consideration for their -reputation. - - -323. - -INGRATITUDE FORESEEN.--He who makes a large gift gets no gratitude; for -the recipient is already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift. - - -324. - -IN DULL SOCIETY.--Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts -himself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show -one's wit. - - -325. - -THE PRESENCE OF WITNESSES.--We are doubly willing to jump into the -water after some one who has fallen in, if there are people present who -have not the courage to do so. - - -326. - -BEING SILENT.--For both parties in a controversy, the most disagreeable -way of retaliating is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor usually -regards the silence as a sign of contempt. - - -327. - -FRIENDS' SECRETS.--Few people will not expose the private affairs of -their friends when at a loss for a subject of conversation. - - -328. - -HUMANITY.--The humanity of intellectual celebrities consists in -courteously submitting to unfairness in intercourse with those who are -I not celebrated. - - -329. - -THE EMBARRASSED.--People who do not feel sure of themselves in society -seize every opportunity of publicly showing their superiority to close -friends, for instance by teasing them. - - -330. - -THANKS.--A refined nature is vexed by knowing that some one owes it -thanks, a coarse nature by knowing that it owes thanks to some one. - - -331. - -A SIGN OF ESTRANGEMENT.--The surest sign of the estrangement of the -opinions of two persons is when they both say something ironical to -each other and neither of them feels the irony. - - -332. - -PRESUMPTION IN CONNECTION WITH MERIT.--Presumption in connection with -merit offends us even more than presumption in persons devoid of merit, -for merit in itself offends us. - - -333. - -DANGER IN THE VOICE.--In conversation we are sometimes confused by the -tone of our own voice, and misled to make assertions that do not at all -correspond to our opinions. - - -334. - -IN CONVERSATION.--Whether in conversation with others we mostly agree -or mostly disagree with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in -both cases. - - -335. - -FEAR OF OUR NEIGHBOUR.--We are afraid of the animosity of our -neighbour, because we are apprehensive that he may thereby discover our -secrets. - - -336. - -DISTINGUISHING BY BLAMING.--Highly respected persons distribute even -their blame in such fashion that they try to distinguish us therewith. -It is intended to remind us of their serious interest in us. We -misunderstand them entirely when we take their blame literally and -protest against it; we thereby offend them and estrange ourselves from -them. - - -337. - -INDIGNATION AT THE GOODWILL OF OTHERS.--We are mistaken as to the -extent to which we think we are hated or feared; because,' though we -ourselves know very well the extent of our divergence from a person, -tendency, or party, those others know us only superficially, and can, -therefore, only hate us superficially. We often meet with goodwill -which is inexplicable to us; but when we comprehend it, it shocks us, -because it shows that we are not considered with sufficient Seriousness -or importance. - - -338. - -THWARTING VANITIES.--When two persons meet whose vanity is equally -great, they have afterwards a bad impression of each other because -each has been so occupied with the impression he wished to produce on -the other that the other has made no impression upon him; at last it -becomes clear to them both that their efforts have been in vain, and -each puts the blame on the other. - - -339. - -IMPROPER BEHAVIOUR AS A GOOD SIGN.--A superior mind takes pleasure in -the tactlessness, pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious -youths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses which have not yet -carried a rider, but, in a short time, will be so proud to carry one. - - -340. - -WHEN IT IS ADVISABLE TO SUFFER WRONG.--It is well to put up with -accusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the -accuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted -and perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person -may always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may -eventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most -intolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual -may also take place in whole classes of society. - - -341. - -Too LITTLE HONOURED.--Very conceited persons, who have received -less consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to -deceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle -psychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured. -Should they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn, -they give way to all the greater fury. - - -342. - -PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS RE--ECHOING IN SPEECH.--By the manner in which -people make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo -of the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything -else; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using -their arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords, -and with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women, -on the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat -at the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children. - - -343. - -THE NARRATOR.--He who gives an account of something readily betrays -whether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes -to excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will -exaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not -usually tell his story so well, because he does not think so much -about his subject as about himself. - - -344. - -THE RECITER.--He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his -own character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and -scenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while -in ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit -pathos or scurrility. - - -345. - -A COMEDY SCENE IN REAL LIFE.--Some one conceives an ingenious idea on -a theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should -hear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the -company at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously -pushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way, -finding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost -breathless--and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of -his mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion? - - -346. - -UNINTENTIONALLY DISCOURTEOUS.--When a person treats another with -unintentional discourtesy,--for instance, not greeting him because not -recognising him,--he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his -own sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced in -the other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is -pained by the thought of having injured him,--vanity, fear, or pity may -therefore be aroused; perhaps all three together. - - -347. - -A MASTERPIECE OF TREACHERY.--To express a tantalising distrust of a -fellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very -moment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece -of wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels -him for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real -traitor has thus acquired a free hand. - - -348. - -To INJURE AND TO BE INJURED.--It is far pleasanter to injure -and afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant -forgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and -afterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he -does not wish to be considered inhuman, _must_ forgive; his enjoyment -of the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this -constraint. - - -349. - -IN A DISPUTE.--When we contradict another's opinion and at the same -time develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion -usually disturbs the natural attitude of our own which appears more -intentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated. - - -350. - -AN ARTIFICE.--He who wants to get another to do something difficult -must on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth -his plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye -betrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off -quickly, and allow him no time to put in a word. - - -351. - -PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE AFTER SOCIAL GATHERINGS.--Why does our conscience -prick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated -serious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not -spoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken, -because, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,--in short, -because we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it. - - -352. - -WE ARE MISJUDGED.--He who always listens to hear how he is judged is -always vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us -("who know us best"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour -in a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us -rightly? The judgments of the indifferent wound us deeply, because -they sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some -one hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know -ourselves, how great is then our vexation! - - -353. - -THE TYRANNY OF THE PORTRAIT.--Artists and statesmen, who out of -particular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an -event, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should -afterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway -that a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in -their representation of him. - - -354. - -RELATIVES AS THE BEST FRIENDS.--The Greeks, who knew so well what a -friend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely -philosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly -(and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised -as worthy of solution,--these same Greeks have designated _relatives_ -by an expression which is the superlative of the word "friend." This is -inexplicable to me. - - -355. - -MISUNDERSTOOD HONESTY.--When any one quotes himself in conversation -("I then said," "I am accustomed to say"), it gives the impression of -presumption; whereas it often proceeds from quite an opposite source; -or at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the -present moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment. - - -356. - -THE PARASITE.--It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a -person prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually -with a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be -obliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than -in men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons). - - -357. - -ON THE ALTAR OF RECONCILIATION.--There are circumstances under which -one can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming -hostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he -gladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a -reconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was -formerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any -price. - - -358. - -PRESUMPTION IN DEMANDING PITY.--There are people who, when they have -been in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall -all be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied -because they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human -presumption extend. - - -359. - -BAIT.--"Every man has his price"--that is not true. But perhaps -every one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will -snap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only -necessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble, -charitable, and self-denying--and to what cause could this glamour not -be given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of _their_ soul; others have -different ones. - - -360. - -THE ATTITUDE IN PRAISING.--When good friends praise a gifted person he -often appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill, -but in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved -towards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun -or shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it -would grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person. - - -361. - -THE EXPERIENCE OF SOCRATES.--If one has become a master in one thing, -one has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most -other things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already -experienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association -with masters disagreeable. - - -362. - -A MEANS OF DEFENCE.--In warring against stupidity, the most just and -gentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking -the proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for -a stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said, -their character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of -protection than they injure their opponents by it. - - -363. - -CURIOSITY.--If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for -the good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the -unfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps -there is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal -love. - - -364. - -DISAPPOINTMENT IN SOCIETY.--One man wishes to be interesting for -his opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his -acquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness--and they all meet -with disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks -himself the only play that is to be taken into account. - - -365. - -THE DUEL.--It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour -that if a man has such susceptible feelings that he does not care to -live when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a -right to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With -regard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be -remonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its -greatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness -ever existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood -stand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular -duel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would -be in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious -in their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible. - - -366. - -NOBLENESS AND GRATITUDE.--A noble soul will be pleased to owe -gratitude, and will not anxiously avoid opportunities of coming under -obligation; it will also be moderate afterwards in the expression of -its gratitude: baser souls, on the other hand, are unwilling to be -under any obligation, or are afterwards immoderate in their expressions -of thanks and altogether too devoted. The latter is, moreover, also the -case with persons of mean origin or depressed circumstances; to show -_them_ a favour seems to them a miracle of grace. - - -367. - -OCCASIONS OF ELOQUENCE.--In order to talk well one man needs a person -who is decidedly and avowedly his superior to talk to, while another -can only find absolute freedom of speech and happy turns of eloquence -before one who is his inferior. In both cases the cause is the same; -each of them talks well only when he talks _sans gêne_--the one because -in the presence of something higher he does not feel the impulse of -rivalry and competition, the other because he also lacks the same -impulse in the presence of something lower. Now there is quite another -type of men, who talk well only when debating, with the intention of -conquering. Which of the two types is the more aspiring: the one that -talks well from excited ambition, or the one that talks badly or not at -all from precisely the same motive? - - -368. - -THE TALENT FOR FRIENDSHIP.--Two types are distinguished amongst -people who have a special faculty for friendship. The one is ever -on the ascent, and for every phase of his development he finds a -friend exactly suited to him. The series of friends which he thus -acquires is seldom a consistent one, and is sometimes at variance -and in contradiction, entirely in accordance with the fact that the -later phases of his development neutralise or prejudice the earlier -phases. Such a man may jestingly be called a _ladder._ The other type -is represented by him who exercises an attractive influence on very -different characters and endowments, so that he wins a whole circle of -friends; these, however, are thereby brought voluntarily into friendly -relations with one another in spite of all differences. Such a man -may be called a _circle,_ for this homogeneousness of such different -temperaments and natures must somehow be typified in him. Furthermore, -the faculty for having good friends is greater in many people than the -faculty for being a good friend. - - -369. - -TACTICS IN CONVERSATION.--After a conversation with a person one is -best pleased with him I when one has had an opportunity of exhibiting -one's intelligence and amiability in all its glory. Shrewd people who -wish to impress a person favourably make use of this circumstance, -they provide him with the best opportunities for making a good I -joke, and so on in conversation. An amusing conversation might be -imagined between two very shrewd persons, each wishing to impress the -other favourably, and therefore each throwing to the other the finest -chances in conversation, which neither of them accepted, so that the -conversation on the whole might turn out spiritless and unattractive -because each assigned to the other the opportunity of being witty and -charming. - - -370. - -DISCHARGE OF INDIGNATION.--The man who meets with a failure -attributes this failure rather to the ill-will of another than to -fate. His irritated feelings are alleviated by thinking that a person -and not a thing is the cause of his failure; for he can revenge himself -on persons, but is obliged to swallow down the injuries of fate. -Therefore when anything has miscarried with a prince, those about him -are accustomed to point out some individual as the ostensible cause, -who is sacrificed in the interests of all the courtiers; for otherwise -the prince's indignation would vent itself on them all, as he can take -no revenge on the Goddess of Destiny herself. - - -371. - -ASSUMING THE COLOURS OF THE ENVIRONMENT.--Why are likes and dislikes -so contagious that we can hardly live near a very sensitive person -without being filled, like a hogshead, with his _fors_ and _againsts_? -In the first place, complete forbearance of judgment is very difficult, -and sometimes absolutely intolerable to our vanity; it has the same -appearance as poverty of thought and sentiment, or as timidity and -unmanliness; and so we are, at least, driven on to take a side, perhaps -contrary to our environment, if this attitude gives greater pleasure -to our pride. As a rule, however,--and this is the second point,--we -are not conscious of the transition from indifference to liking or -disliking, but we gradually accustom ourselves to the sentiments of -our environment, and because sympathetic agreement and acquiescence -are so agreeable, we soon wear all the signs and party-colours of our -surroundings. - - -372. - -IRONY.--Irony is only permissible as a pedagogic expedient, on the part -of a teacher when dealing with his pupils; its purpose is to humble -and to shame, but in the wholesome way that causes good resolutions -to spring up and teaches people to show honour and gratitude, as they -would to a doctor, to him who has so treated them. The ironical man -pretends to be ignorant, and does it so well that the pupils conversing -with him are deceived, and in their firm belief in their own superior -knowledge they grow bold and expose all their weak points; they lose -their cautiousness and reveal themselves as they are,--until all of -a sudden the light which they have held up to the teacher's face -casts its rays back very humiliatingly upon themselves. Where such a -relation, as that between teacher and pupil, does not exist, irony is a -rudeness and a vulgar conceit. All ironical writers count on the silly -species of human beings, who like to feel Ithemselves superior to all -others in common with the author himself, whom they look upon as the -?mouthpiece of their arrogance. Moreover, the habit of irony, like that -of sarcasm, spoils the character; lit gradually fosters the quality of -a malicious superiority; one finally grows like a snappy dog, that has -learnt to laugh as well as to bite. - - -373. - -ARROGANCE.--There is nothing one should so guard against as the growth -of the weed called arrogance, which spoils all one's good harvest; -for there is arrogance in cordiality, in showing honour, in kindly -familiarity, in caressing, in friendly counsel, in acknowledgment of -faults, in sympathy for others,--and all these fine things arouse -aversion when the weed in question grows up among them. The arrogant -man--that is to say, he who desires to appear more than he is _or -passes for_--always miscalculates. It is true that he obtains a -momentary success, inasmuch as those with whom he is' arrogant -generally give him the amount of honour that he demands, owing to fear -or for the sake of convenience; but they take a bad revenge for it, -inasmuch as they subtract from the value which they hitherto attached -to him just as much as he demands above that amount. There is nothing -for which men ask to be paid dearer than for humiliation. The arrogant -man can make his really great merit so suspicious and small in the eyes -of others that they tread on it with dusty feet. If at all, we should -only allow ourselves a _proud_ manner where we are quite sure of not -being misunderstood and considered as arrogant; as, for instance, with -friends and wives. For in social intercourse there is no greater folly -than to acquire a reputation for arrogance; it is still worse than not -having learnt to deceive politely. - - -374. - -_TÊTE-À-TÊTE_--Private conversation is the perfect conversation, -because everything the one' person says receives its particular -colouring, its tone, and its accompanying gestures _out of strict -consideration for the other person_ engaged in the conversation, it -therefore corresponds to what takes place in intercourse by letter, -viz., that one and the same person exhibits ten kinds of psychical -expression, according as he writes now to this individual and now to -that one. In duologue there is only a single refraction of thought; -the person conversed with produces it, as the mirror in whom we want -to behold our thoughts anew in their finest form. But how is it when -there are two or three, or even more persons conversing with one? -Conversation then necessarily loses something of its individualising -subtlety, different considerations thwart and neutralise each other; -the style which pleases one does not suit the taste of another. In -intercourse with several individuals a person is therefore to withdraw -within himself and represent facts as they are; but he has also to -remove from the subjects the pulsating ether of humanity which makes -conversation one of the pleasantest things in the world. Listen only -to the tone in which those who mingle with whole groups of men are in -the habit of speaking; it is as if the fundamental base of all speech -were, "It is _myself_; I say this, so make what you will of it!" That -is the reason why clever ladies usually leave a singular, painful, and -forbidding impression on those who have met them in society; it is -the talking to many people, before many people, that robs them of all -intellectual amiability and shows only their conscious dependence on -themselves, their tactics, and their intention of gaining a public -victory in full light; whilst in a private conversation the same ladies -become womanly again, and recover their intellectual grace and charm. - - -375. - -POSTHUMOUS FAME.--There is sense in hoping for recognition in a distant -future only when we take it for granted that mankind will remain -essentially unchanged, and that whatever is great is not for one age -only but will be looked upon as great for all time. But this is an -error. In all their sentiments and judgments concerning what is good -and beautiful mankind have greatly changed; it is mere fantasy to -imagine one's self to be a mile ahead, and that the whole of mankind is -coming _our_ way. Besides, a scholar who is misjudged may at present -reckon with certainty that his discovery will be made by others, and -that, at best, it will be allowed to him later on by some historian -that he also already knew this or that but was not in a position to -secure the recognition of his knowledge. Not to be recognised, is -always interpreted by posterity as lack of power. In short, one should -not so readily speak in favour of haughty solitude. There are, however, -exceptional cases; but it is chiefly our faults, weakness, and follies -that hinder the recognition of our great qualities. - - -376. - -OF FRIENDS.--Just consider with thyself how different are the feelings, -how divided are the opinions of even the nearest acquaintances; how -even the same opinions in thy friend's mind have quite a different -aspect and strength from what they have in thine own; and how manifold -are the occasions which arise for misunderstanding and hostile -severance. After all this thou wilt say to thyself, "How insecure -is the ground upon which all our alliances and friendships rest, -how liable to cold downpours and bad weather, how lonely is every -creature!" When a person recognises this fact, and, in addition, that -all opinions and the nature and strength of them in his fellow-men -are just as necessary and irresponsible as their actions; when his -eye learns to see this internal necessity of opinions, owing to the -indissoluble interweaving of character, occupation, talent, and -environment,--he will perhaps get rid of the bitterness and sharpness -of the feeling with which the sage exclaimed, "Friends, there are no -friends!" Much rather will he make the confession to himself:--Yes, -there are friends, but they were drawn towards thee by error and -deception concerning thy character; and they must have learnt to be -silent in order to remain thy friends; for such human relationships -almost always rest on the fact that some few things are never said, -are never, indeed, alluded to; but if these pebbles are set rolling -friendship follows afterwards and is broken. Are there any who would -not be mortally injured if they were to learn what their most intimate -friends really knew about them? By getting a knowledge of ourselves, -and by looking upon our nature as a changing sphere of opinions and -moods, and thereby learning to despise ourselves a little, we recover -once more our equilibrium with the rest of mankind. It is true that -we have good reason to despise each of our acquaintances, even the -greatest of them; but just as good reason to turn this feeling against -ourselves. And so we will bear with each other, since we bear with -ourselves; and perhaps there will come to each a happier hour, when he -will exclaim: - - "Friends, there are really no friends!" thus cried - th' expiring old sophist; - "Foes, there is really no foe!"--thus shout I, - the incarnate fool. - - - - -SEVENTH DIVISION. - - -WIFE AND CHILD. - - - -377. - -THE PERFECT WOMAN.--The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than -the perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of -animals furnishes grounds in support of this theory. - - -378. - -FRIENDSHIP AND MARRIAGE.--The best friend will probably get the best -wife, because a good marriage is based on talent for friendship. - - -379. - -THE SURVIVAL OF THE PARENTS.--The undissolved dissonances in the -relation of the character and sentiments of the parents survive in the -nature of the child and make up the history of its inner sufferings. - - -380. - -INHERITED FROM THE MOTHER.--Every one bears within him an image of -woman, inherited from his mother: it determines his attitude towards -women as a whole, whether to honour, despise, or remain generally -indifferent to them. - - -381. - -CORRECTING NATURE.--Whoever has not got a good father should procure -one. - - -382. - -FATHERS AND SONS.--Fathers have much to do to make amends for having -sons. - - -383. - -THE ERROR OF GENTLEWOMEN.--Gentle-women think that a thing does not -really exist when it is not possible to talk of it in society. - - -384. - -A MALE DISEASE.--The surest remedy for the male disease of -self-contempt is to be loved by a sensible woman. - - -385. - -A SPECIES OF JEALOUSY.--Mothers are readily jealous of the friends -of sons who are particularly successful. As a rule a mother loves -_herself_ in her son more than the son. - - -386. - -RATIONAL IRRATIONALITY.--In the maturity of life and intelligence the -feeling comes over a man that his father did wrong in begetting him. - - -387. - -MATERNAL EXCELLENCE.--Some mothers need happy and honoured children, -some need unhappy ones,--otherwise they cannot exhibit their maternal -excellence. - - -388. - -DIFFERENT SIGHS.--Some husbands have sighed over the elopement of their -wives, the greater number, however, have sighed because nobody would -elope with theirs. - - -389. - -LOVE MATCHES.--Marriages which are contracted for love (so-called -love-matches) have error for their father and need (necessity) for -their mother. - - -390. - -WOMEN'S FRIENDSHIPS.--Women can enter into friendship with a man -perfectly well; but in order to maintain it the aid of a little -physical antipathy is perhaps required. - - -391. - -ENNUI.--Many people, especially women, never feel ennui because they -have never learnt to work properly. - - -392. - -AN ELEMENT OF LOVE.--In all feminine love something of maternal love -also comes to light. - - -393. - -UNITY OF PLACE AND DRAMA.--If married couples did not live together, -happy marriages would be more frequent. - - -394. - -THE USUAL CONSEQUENCES OF MARRIAGE.--All intercourse which does not -elevate a person, debases him, and _vice versa;_ hence men usually -sink a little when they marry, while women are somewhat elevated. -Over-intellectual men require marriage in proportion as they are -opposed to it as to a repugnant medicine. - - -395. - -LEARNING TO COMMAND.--Children of unpretentious families must be taught -to command, just as much as other children must be taught to obey. - - -396. - -WANTING TO BE IN LOVE.--Betrothed couples who have been matched by -convenience often exert themselves _to fall in love,_ to avoid the -reproach of cold, calculating expediency. In the same manner those who -become converts to Christianity for their advantage exert themselves to -become genuinely pious; because the religious cast of countenance then -becomes easier to them. - - -397. - -No STANDING STILL IN LOVE.--A musician who _loves_ the slow _tempo_ -will play the same pieces ever more slowly. There is thus no standing -still in any love. - - -398. - -MODESTY.--Women's modesty usually increases with their beauty.[1] - - -399. - -MARRIAGE ON A GOOD BASIS.--A marriage in which each wishes to realise -an individual aim by means of the other will stand well; for instance, -when the woman wishes to become famous through the man and the man -beloved through the woman. - - -400. - -PROTEUS-NATURE.--Through love women actually become what they appear to -be in the imagination of their lovers. - - -401. - -To LOVE AND TO POSSESS.--As a rule women love a distinguished man to -the extent that they wish to possess him exclusively. They would gladly -keep him under lock and key, if their vanity did not forbid, but vanity -demands that he should also appear distinguished before others. - - -402. - -THE TEST OF A GOOD MARRIAGE.--The goodness of a marriage is proved by -the fact that it can stand an "exception." - - -403. - -BRINGING ANYONE ROUND TO ANYTHING.--One may make any person so weak and -weary by disquietude, anxiety, and excess of work or thought that he -no longer resists anything that appears complicated, but gives way to -it,--diplomatists and women know this. - - -404. - -PROPRIETY AND HONESTY.--Those girls who mean to trust exclusively to -their youthful charms for their provision in life, and whose cunning -is further prompted by worldly mothers, have just the same aims as -courtesans, only they are wiser and less honest. - - -405. - -MASKS.--There are women who, wherever one examines them, have no -inside, but are mere masks. A man is to be pitied who has connection -with such almost spectre-like and necessarily unsatisfactory creatures, -but it is precisely such women who know how to excite a man's desire -most strongly; he seeks for their soul, and seeks evermore. - - -406. - -MARRIAGE AS A LONG TALK.--In entering on a marriage one should ask -one's self the question, "Do you think you will pass your time well -with this woman till your old age?" All else in marriage is transitory; -talk, however, occupies most of the time of the association. - - -407. - -GIRLISH DREAMS.--Inexperienced girls flatter themselves with the notion -that it is in their power to make a man happy; later on they learn that -it is equivalent to underrating a man to suppose that he needs only a -girl to make him happy. Women's vanity requires a man to be something -more than merely a happy husband. - - -408. - -THE DYING-OUT OF FAUST AND MARGUERITE.--According to the very -intelligent remark of a scholar, the educated men of modern Germany -resemble somewhat a mixture of Mephistopheles and Wagner, but are not -at all like Faust, whom our grandfathers (in their youth at least) -felt agitating within them. To them, therefore,--to continue the -remark,--Marguerites are not suited, for two reasons. And because the -latter are no longer desired they seem to be dying out. - - -409. - -CLASSICAL EDUCATION FOR GIRLS.--For goodness' sake let us not give our -classical education to girls! An education which, out of ingenious, -inquisitive, ardent youths, so frequently makes--copies of their -teacher! - - -410. - -WITHOUT RIVALS.--Women readily perceive in a man whether his soul -has already been taken possession of; they wish to be loved without -rivals, and find fault with the objects of his ambition, his -political tasks, his sciences and arts, if he have a passion for such -things. Unless he be distinguished thereby,--then, in the case of a -love-relationship between them, women look at the same time for an -increase of _their own_ distinction; under such circumstances, they -favour the lover. - - -411. - -THE FEMININE INTELLECT.--The intellect of women manifests itself as -perfect mastery, presence of mind, and utilisation of all advantages. -They transmit it as a fundamental quality to their children, and the -father adds thereto the darker background of the will. His influence -determines as it were the rhythm and harmony with which the new life -is to be performed; but its melody is derived from the mother. For -those who know how to put a thing properly: women have intelligence, -men have character and passion. This does not contradict the fact -that men actually achieve so much more with their intelligence: they -have deeper and more powerful impulses; and it is these which carry -their understanding (in itself something passive) to such an extent. -Women are often silently surprised at the great respect men pay to -their character. When, therefore, in the choice of a partner men seek -specially for a being of deep and strong character, and women for a -being of intelligence, brilliancy, and presence of mind, it is plain -that at bottom men seek for the ideal man, and women for the ideal -woman,--consequently not for the complement but for the completion of -their own excellence. - - -412. - -HESIOD'S OPINION CONFIRMED.--It is a sign of women's wisdom that they -have almost always known how to get themselves supported, like drones -in a bee-hive. Let us just consider what this meant originally, and -why men do not depend upon women for their support. Of a truth it -is because masculine vanity and reverence are greater than feminine -wisdom; for women have known how to secure for themselves by their -subordination the greatest advantage, in fact, the upper hand. Even the -care of children may originally have been used by the wisdom of women -as an excuse for withdrawing themselves as much as possible from work. -And at present they still understand when they are really active (as -house-keepers, for instance) how to make a bewildering fuss about it, -so that the merit of their activity is usually ten times over-estimated -by men. - - -413. - -LOVERS AS SHORT-SIGHTED PEOPLE.--A pair of powerful spectacles has -sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love; and whoever has had -sufficient imagination to represent a face or form twenty years older, -has probably gone through life not much disturbed. - - -414. - -WOMEN IN HATRED.--In a state of hatred women are more dangerous -than men; for one thing, because they are hampered by no regard for -fairness when their hostile feelings have been aroused; but let their -hatred develop unchecked to its utmost consequences; then also, -because they are expert in finding sore spots (which every man and -every party possess), and pouncing upon them: for which purpose their -dagger-pointed intelligence is of good service (whilst men, hesitating -at the sight of wounds, are often generously and conciliatorily -inclined). - - -415. - -LOVE.--The love idolatry which women practise is fundamentally and -originally an intelligent device, inasmuch as they increase their -power by all the idealisings of love and exhibit themselves as so much -the more desirable in the eyes of men. But by being accustomed for -centuries to this exaggerated appreciation of love, it has come to pass -that they have been caught in their own net and have forgotten the -origin of the device. They themselves are now still more deceived than -the men, and on that account also suffer more from the disillusionment -which, almost necessarily, enters into the life of every woman--so far, -at any rate, as she has sufficient imagination and intelligence to be -able to be deceived and undeceived. - - -416. - -THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMEN.--Can women be at all just, when they are -so accustomed to love and to be immediately biased for or against? -For that reason they are also less interested in things and more in -individuals: but when they are interested in things they immediately -become their partisans, and thereby spoil their pure, innocent effect. -Thus there arises a danger, by no means small, in entrusting politics -and certain portions of science to them (history, for instance). For -what is rarer than a woman who really knows what science is? Indeed the -best of them cherish in their breasts a secret scorn for science, as if -they were somehow superior to it. Perhaps all this can be changed in -time; but meanwhile it is so. - - -417. - -THE INSPIRATION IN WOMEN'S JUDGMENTS.--The sudden decisions, for -or against, which women are in the habit of making, the flashing -illumination of personal relations caused by their spasmodic -inclinations and aversions,--in short, the proofs of feminine injustice -have been invested with a lustre by men who are in love, as if all -women had inspirations of wisdom, even without the Delphic cauldron and -the laurel wreaths; and their utterances are interpreted and duly set -forth as Sibylline oracles for long afterwards. When one considers, -however, that for every person and for every cause something can be -said in favour of it but equally also something against it, that -things are not only two-sided, but also three and four-sided, it is -almost difficult to be entirely at fault in such sudden decisions; -indeed, it might be said that the nature of things has been so arranged -that women should always carry their point.[2] - - -418. - -BEING LOVED.--As one of every two persons in love is usually the one -who loves, the other the one who is loved, the belief has arisen that -in every love-affair there is a constant amount of love; and that -the more of it the one person monopolises the less is left for the -other. Exceptionally it happens that the vanity of each of the parties -persuades him or her that it is _he_ or _she_ who must be loved; so -that both of them wish to be loved: from which cause many half funny, -half absurd scenes take place, especially in married life. - - -419. - -CONTRADICTIONS IN FEMININE MINDS.--Owing to the fact that women are -so much more personal than objective, there are tendencies included -in the range of their ideas which are logically in contradiction to -one another; they are accustomed in turn to become enthusiastically -fond just of the representatives of these tendencies and accept their -systems in the lump; but in such wise that a dead place originates -wherever a new personality afterwards gets the ascendancy. It may -happen that the whole philosophy in the mind of an old lady consists of -nothing but such dead places. - - -420. - -WHO SUFFERS THE MORE?--After a personal dissension and quarrel between -a woman and a man the latter party suffers chiefly from the idea of -having wounded the other, whilst the former suffers chiefly from the -idea of not having wounded the other sufficiently; so she subsequently -endeavours by tears, sobs, and discomposed mien, to make his heart -heavier. - - -421. - -AN OPPORTUNITY FOR FEMININE MAGNANIMITY.--If we could disregard the -claims of custom in our thinking we might consider whether nature and -reason do not suggest several marriages for men, one after another: -perhaps that, at the age of twenty-two, he should first marry an -older girl who is mentally and morally his superior, and can be his -leader through all the dangers of the twenties (ambition, hatred, -self-contempt, and passions of all kinds). This woman's affection -would subsequently change entirely into maternal love, and she would -not only submit to it but would encourage the man in the most salutary -manner, if in his thirties he contracted an alliance with quite a young -girl whose education he himself should take in hand. Marriage is a -necessary institution for the twenties; a useful, but not necessary, -institution for the thirties; for later life it is often harmful, and -promotes the mental deterioration of the man. - - -422. - -THE TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD.--Perhaps it not infrequently happens -that noble men with lofty aims have to fight their hardest battle -in childhood; by having perchance to carry out their principles in -opposition to a base-minded father addicted to feigning and falsehood, -or living, like Lord Byron, in constant warfare with a childish and -passionate mother. He who has had such an experience will never be able -to forget all his life who has been his greatest and most dangerous -enemy. - - -423. - -PARENTAL FOLLY.--The grossest mistakes in judging a man are made by -his parents,--this is a fact, but how is it to be explained? Have -the parents too much experience of the child and cannot any longer -arrange this experience into a unity? It has been noticed that it -is only in the earlier period of their sojourn in foreign countries -that travellers rightly grasp the general distinguishing features of -a people; the better they come to know it, they are the less able to -see what is typical and distinguishing in a people. As soon as they -grow short-sighted their eyes cease to be long-sighted. Do parents, -therefore, judge their children falsely because they have never stood -far enough away from them? The following is quite another explanation: -people are no longer accustomed to reflect on what is close at hand and -surrounds them, but just accept it. Perhaps the usual thoughtlessness -of parents is the reason why they judge so wrongly when once they are -compelled to judge their children. - - -424. - -THE FUTURE OF MARRIAGE.--The noble and liberal-minded women who take as -their mission the education and elevation of the female sex, should not -overlook one point of view: Marriage regarded in its highest aspect, -as, the spiritual friendship of two persons of opposite sexes, and -accordingly such as is hoped for in future, contracted for the purpose -of producing and educating a new generation,--such marriage, which -only makes use of the sensual, so to speak, as a rare and occasional -means to a higher purpose, will, it is to be feared, probably need a -natural auxiliary, namely, _concubinage._ For if, on the grounds of -his health, the wife is also to serve for the sole satisfaction of the -man's sexual needs, a wrong perspective, opposed to the aims indicated, -will have most influence in the choice of a wife. The aims referred to: -the production of descendants, will be accidental, and their successful -education highly improbable. A good wife, who has to be friend, helper, -child-bearer, mother, family-head and manager, and has even perhaps -to conduct her own business and affairs separately from those of the -husband, cannot at the same time be a concubine; it would, in general, -be asking too much of her. In the future, therefore, a state of things -might take place the opposite of what existed at Athens in the time -of Pericles; the men, whose wives were then little more to them than -concubines, turned besides to the Aspasias, because they longed for the -charms of a companionship gratifying both to head and heart, such as -the grace and intellectual suppleness of women could alone provide. All -human institutions, just like marriage, allow only a moderate amount of -practical idealising, failing which coarse remedies immediately become -necessary. - - -425. - -THE "STORM AND STRESS" PERIOD of WOMEN.--In the three or four civilised -countries of Europe, it is possible, by several centuries of education, -to make out of women anything we like,--even men, not in a sexual -sense, of course, but in every other. Under such influences they will -acquire all the masculine virtues and forces, at the same time, of -course, they must also have taken all the masculine weaknesses and -vices into the bargain: so much, as has been said, we can I command. -But how shall we endure the intermediate state thereby induced, which -may even last two or three centuries, during which feminine follies -and injustices, woman's original birthday endowment, will still -maintain the ascendancy over all that has been otherwise gained and -acquired? This will be the time when indignation will be the peculiar -masculine passion; indignation, because all arts and sciences have been -overflowed and choked by an unprecedented dilettanteism, philosophy -talked to death by brain-bewildering chatter, politics more fantastic -and partisan than ever, and society in complete disorganisation, -because the conservatrices of ancient customs have become ridiculous -to themselves, and have endeavoured in every way to place themselves -outside the pale of custom. If indeed women had their greatest power in -custom, where will they have to look in order to reacquire a similar -plenitude of power after having renounced custom? - - -426. - -FREE-SPIRIT AND MARRIAGE.--Will free-thinkers live with women? In -general, I think that, like the prophesying birds of old, like the -truth-thinkers and truth-speakers of the present, they must prefer _to -fly alone._ - - -427. - -THE HAPPINESS OF MARRIAGE.--Everything to which we are accustomed draws -an ever-tightening cobweb-net around us; and presently We notice that -the threads have become cords, and that we ourselves sit in the middle -like a spider that has here got itself caught and must feed on its own -blood. Hence the free spirit hates all rules and customs, all that is -permanent and definitive, hence he painfully tears asunder again and -again the net around him, though in consequence thereof he will suffer -from numerous wounds, slight and severe; for he must break off every -thread _from himself,_ from his body and soul. He must learn to love -where he has hitherto hated, and _vice versa._ Indeed, it must not be -a thing impossible for him to sow dragon's teeth in the same field in -which he formerly scattered the abundance of his bounty. From this it -can be inferred whether he is suited for the happiness of marriage. - - -428. - -TOO INTIMATE.--When we live on too intimate terms with a person it -is as if we were again and again handling a good engraving with our -fingers; the time comes when we have soiled and damaged paper in our -hands, and nothing more. A man's soul also gets worn out by constant -handling; at least, it eventually _appears_ so to us--never again do we -see its original design and beauty. We always lose through too familiar -association with women and friends; and sometimes we lose the pearl of -our life thereby. - - -429. - -THE GOLDEN CRADLE.--The free spirit will always feel relieved when he -has finally resolved to shake off the motherly care and guardianship -with which women surround him. What harm will a rough wind, from which -he has been so anxiously protected, do him? Of what consequence is a -genuine disadvantage, loss, misfortune, sickness, illness, fault, or -folly more or less in his life, compared with the bondage of the golden -cradle, the peacock's-feather fan, and the oppressive feeling that he -must, in addition, be grateful because he is waited on and spoiled like -a baby? Hence it is that the milk which is offered him by the motherly -disposition of the women about him can so readily turn into gall. - - -430. - -A VOLUNTARY VICTIM.--There is nothing by, which able women can -so alleviate the lives of their husbands, should these be great -and famous, as by becoming, so to speak, the receptacle for the -general disfavour and occasional ill-humour of the rest of mankind. -Contemporaries are usually accustomed to overlook many mistakes, -follies, and even flagrant injustices in their great men if only they -can find some one to maltreat and kill, as a proper victim for the -relief of their feelings. A wife not infrequently has the ambition to -present herself for this sacrifice, and then the husband may indeed -feel satisfied,--he being enough of an egoist to have such a voluntary -storm, rain, and lightning-conductor beside him. - - -431. - -AGREEABLE ADVERSARIES.--The natural inclination, of women towards -quiet, regular, happily tuned existences and intercourse, the oil-like -and calming effect of their influence upon the sea of life, operates -unconsciously against the heroic inner impulse of the free spirit. -Without knowing it, women act as if they were taking away the stones -from the path of the wandering mineralogist in order that he might not -strike his foot against them--when he has gone out for the very purpose -of striking against them. - - -432. - -THE DISCORD OF TWO CONCORDS.--Woman wants to serve, and finds her -happiness therein; the free spirit does not want to be served, and -therein finds his happiness. - - -433. - -XANTIPPE.--Socrates found a wife such as he required,--but he -would not have sought her had he known her sufficiently well; even -the heroism of his free spirit would not have gone so far. As a -matter of fact, Xantippe forced him more and more into his peculiar -profession, inasmuch as she made house and home doleful and dismal -to him; she taught him to live in the streets and wherever gossiping -and idling went on, and thereby made him the greatest Athenian -street-dialectician, who had, at last, to compare himself to a gad-fly -which a god had set on the neck of the beautiful horse Athens to -prevent it from resting. - - -434. - -BLIND TO THE FUTURE.--Just as mothers have senses and eye only for -those pains of their children that are evident to the senses and eye, -so the wives of men of high aspirations cannot accustom themselves to -see their husbands suffering, starving, or slighted,--although all this -is, perhaps, not only the proof that they have rightly chosen their -attitude in life, but even the guarantee that their great aims _must_ -be achieved some time. Women always intrigue privately against the -higher souls of their husbands; they want to cheat them out of their -future for the sake of a painless and comfortable present. - - -435. - -AUTHORITY AND FREEDOM.--However highly women may honour their husbands, -they honour still more the powers and ideas recognised by society; they -have been accustomed for millennia to go along with their hands folded -on their breasts, and their heads bent before everything dominant, -disapproving of all resistance to public authority. They therefore -unintentionally, and as if from instinct, hang themselves as a drag -on the wheels of free-spirited, independent endeavour, and in certain -circumstances make their husbands highly impatient, especially when the -latter persuade themselves that it is really love which prompts the -action of their wives. To disapprove of women's methods and generously -to honour the motives that prompt them--that is man's nature and often -enough his despair. - - -436. - -_CETERUM CENSEO._--It is laughable when a company of paupers decree the -abolition of the right of inheritance, and it is not less laughable -when childless persons labour for the practical law-giving of a -country: they have not enough ballast in their ship to sail safely -over the ocean of the future. But it seems equally senseless if a man -who has chosen for his mission the widest knowledge and estimation of -universal existence, burdens himself with personal considerations for a -family, with the support, protection, and care of wife and child, and -in front of his telescope hangs that gloomy veil through which hardly a -ray from the distant firmament can penetrate. Thus I, too, agree with -the opinion that in matters of the highest philosophy all married men -are to be suspected. - - -437. - -FINALLY.--There are many kinds of hemlock, and fate generally finds -an opportunity to put a cup of this poison to the lips of the free -spirit,--in order to "punish" him, as every one then says. What do the -women do about him then? They cry and lament, and perhaps disturb the -sunset-calm of the thinker, as they did in the prison at Athens. "Oh -Crito, bid some one take those women away!" said Socrates at last. - - -[Footnote 1: The opposite of this aphorism also holds good.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: It may be remarked that Nietzsche changed his view -on this subject later on, and ascribed more importance to woman's -intuition. Cf. also Disraeli's reference to the "High Priestesses of -predestination."--J.M.K.] - - - - -EIGHTH DIVISION. - - -A GLANCE AT THE STATE. - - - -438. - -ASKING TO BE HEARD.--The demagogic disposition and the intention of -working upon the masses is at present common to all political parties; -on this account they are all obliged to change their principles into -great _al fresco_ follies and thus make a show of them. In this matter -there is no further alteration to be made: indeed, it is superfluous -even to raise a finger against it; for here Voltaire's saying applies: -"_Quand la populace se mêle de raisonner, tout est perdu."_ Since this -has happened we have to accommodate ourselves to the new conditions, -as we have to accommodate ourselves when an earthquake has displaced -the old boundaries and the contour of the land and altered the value -of property. Moreover, when it is once for all a question in the -politics of all parties to make life endurable to the greatest possible -majority, this majority may always decide what they understand by an -endurable life; if they believe their intellect capable of finding the -right means to this end why should we doubt about it? They _want,_ -once for all, to be the architects of their own good or ill fortune; -and if their feeling of free choice and their pride in the five or -six ideas that their brain conceals and brings to light, really makes -life so agreeable to them that they gladly put up with the fatal -consequences of their narrow-mindedness, there is little to object to, -provided that their narrow-mindedness does not go so far as to demand -that _everything_ shall become politics in this sense, that _all_ shall -live and act according to this standard. For, in the first place, it -must be more than ever permissible for some people to keep aloof from -politics and to stand somewhat aside. To this they are also impelled -by the pleasure of free choice, and connected with this there may -even be some little pride in keeping silence when too many, and only -the many, are speaking. Then this small group must be excused if they -do not attach such great importance to the happiness of the majority -(nations or strata of population may be understood thereby), and are -occasionally guilty of an ironical grimace; for their seriousness lies -elsewhere, their conception of happiness is quite different, and their -aim cannot be encompassed by every clumsy hand that has just five -fingers. Finally, there comes from time to time--what is certainly -most difficult to concede to them, but must also be conceded--a moment -when they emerge from their silent solitariness and try once more the -strength of their lungs; they then call to each other like people lost -in a wood, to make themselves known and for mutual encouragement; -whereby, to be sure, much becomes audible that sounds evil to ears for -which it is not intended. Soon, however, silence again prevails in -the wood, such silence that the buzzing, humming, and fluttering of -the countless insects that live in, above, and beneath it, are again -plainly heard. - - -439. - -CULTURE AND CASTE.--A higher culture can only originate where there are -two distinct castes of society: that of the working class, and that of -the leisured class who are capable of true leisure; or, more strongly -expressed, the caste of compulsory labour and the caste of free labour. -The point of view of the division of happiness is not essential when -it is a question of the production of a higher culture; in any case, -however, the leisured caste is more susceptible to suffering and -suffer more, their pleasure in existence is less and their task is -greater. Now supposing there should be quite an interchange between the -two castes, so that on the one hand the duller and less intelligent -families and individuals are lowered from the higher caste into the -lower, and, on the other hand, the freer men of the lower caste obtain -access to the higher, a condition of things would be attained beyond -which one can only perceive the open sea of vague wishes. Thus speaks -to us the vanishing voice of the olden time; but where are there still -ears to hear it? - - -440. - -OF GOOD BLOOD.--That which men and women of good blood possess much -more than others, and which gives them an undoubted right to be -more highly appreciated, are two arts which are always increased by -inheritance: the art of being able to command, and the art of proud -obedience. Now wherever commanding is the business of the day (as in -the great world of commerce and industry), there results something -similar to these families of good blood, only the noble bearing in -obedience is lacking which is an inheritance from feudal conditions and -hardly grows any longer in the climate of our culture. - - -441. - -SUBORDINATION.--The subordination which is so highly valued in military -and official ranks will soon become as incredible to us as the secret -tactics of the Jesuits have already become; and when this subordination -is no longer possible a multitude of astonishing results will no longer -be attained, and the world will be all the poorer. It must disappear, -for its foundation is disappearing, the belief in unconditional -authority, in ultimate truth; even in military ranks physical -compulsion is not sufficient to produce it, but only the inherited -adoration of the princely as of something superhuman. In _freer_ -circumstances people subordinate themselves only on conditions, in -compliance with a mutual contract, consequently with all the provisos -of self-interest. - - -442. - -THE NATIONAL ARMY.--The greatest disadvantage of the national army, -now so much glorified, lies in the squandering of men of the highest -civilisation; it is only by the favourableness of all circumstances -that there are such men at all; how carefully and anxiously should we -deal with them, since long periods are required to create the chance -conditions for the production of such delicately organised brains! But -as the Greeks wallowed in the blood of Greeks, so do Europeans now in -the blood of Europeans: and indeed, taken relatively, it is mostly the -highly cultivated who are sacrificed, those who promise an abundant -and excellent posterity; for such stand in the front of the battle as -commanders, and also expose themselves to most danger, by reason of -their higher ambition. At present, when quite other and higher tasks -are assigned than _patria_ and _honor,_ the rough Roman patriotism is -either something dishonourable or a sign of being behind the times. - - -443. - -HOPE AS PRESUMPTION.--Our social order will slowly melt away, as all -former orders have done, as soon as the suns of new opinions have shone -upon mankind with a new glow. We can only _wish_ this melting away in -the hope thereof, and we are only reasonably entitled to hope when we -believe that we and our equals have more strength in heart and head -than the representatives of the existing state of things. As a rule, -therefore, this hope will be a presumption, an _over-estimation._ - - -444. - -WAR.--Against war it may be said that it makes the victor stupid and -the vanquished revengeful. In favour of war it may be said that it -barbarises in both its above-named results, and thereby makes more -natural; it is the sleep or the winter period of culture; man emerges -from it with greater strength for good and for evil. - - -445. - -IN THE PRINCE'S SERVICE.--To be able to act quite regardlessly it is -best for a statesman to carry out his work not for himself but for a -prince. The eye of the spectator is dazzled by the splendour of this -general disinterestedness, so that it does not see the malignancy and -severity which the work of a statesman brings with it.[1] - - -446. - -A QUESTION OF POWER, NOT OF RIGHT.--As regards Socialism, in the eyes -of those who always consider higher utility, if it is _really_ a -rising against their oppressors of those who for centuries have been -oppressed and downtrodden, there is no problem of _right_ involved -(notwithstanding the ridiculous, effeminate question," How far -_ought_ we to grant its demands?") but only a problem of _power_; -the same, therefore, as in the case of a natural force,--steam, for -instance,--which is either forced by man into his service, as a -machine-god, or which, in case of defects of the machine, that is to -say, defects of human calculation in its construction, destroys it and -man together. In order to solve this question of power we must know how -strong Socialism is, in what modification it may yet be employed as -a powerful lever in the present mechanism of political forces; under -certain circumstances we should do all we can to strengthen it. With -every great force--be it the most dangerous--men have to think how they -can make of it an instrument for their purposes. Socialism acquires a -_right_ only if war seems to have taken place between the two powers, -the representatives of the old and the new, when, however, a wise -calculation of the greatest possible preservation and advantageousness -to both sides gives rise to a desire for a treaty. Without treaty no -right. So far, however, there is neither war nor treaty on the ground -in question, therefore no rights, no "ought." - - -447. - -UTILISING THE MOST TRIVIAL DISHONESTY.--The power of the press consists -in the fact that every individual who ministers to it only feels -himself bound and constrained to a very small extent. He usually -expresses _his_ opinion, but sometimes also does _not_ express it -in order to serve his party or the politics of his country, or -even himself. Such little faults of dishonesty, or perhaps only of -a dishonest silence, are not hard to bear by the individual, but -the consequences are extraordinary, because these little faults are -committed by many at the same time. Each one says to himself: "For such -small concessions I live better and can make my income; by the want of -such little compliances I make myself impossible." Because it seems -almost morally indifferent to write a line more (perhaps even without -signature), or not to write it, a person who has money and influence -can make any opinion a public one. He who knows that most people are -weak in trifles, and wishes to attain his own ends thereby, is always -dangerous. - - -448. - -Too LOUD A TONE IN GRIEVANCES.--Through the fact that an account of a -bad state of things (for instance, the crimes of an administration, -bribery and arbitrary favour in political or learned bodies) is greatly -exaggerated, it fails in its effect on intelligent people, but has -all the greater effect on the unintelligent (who would have remained -indifferent to an accurate and moderate account). But as these latter -are considerably in the majority, and harbour in themselves stronger -will-power and more impatient desire for action, the exaggeration -becomes the cause of investigations, punishments, promises, and -reorganisations. In so far it is useful to exaggerate the accounts of -bad states of things. - - -449. - -THE APPARENT WEATHER--MAKERS OF POLITICS.--Just as people tacitly -assume that he who understands the weather, and foretells it about a -day in advance, makes the weather, so even the educated and learned, -with a display of superstitious faith, ascribe to great statesmen as -their most special work all the important changes and conjunctures that -have taken place during their administration, when it is only evident -that they knew something thereof a little earlier than other people and -made their calculations accordingly,--thus they are also looked upon as -weather-makers--and this belief is not the least important instrument -of their power. - - -450. - -NEW AND OLD CONCEPTIONS OF GOVERNMENT.--To draw such a distinction -between Government and people as if two separate spheres of power, -a stronger and higher, and a weaker and lower, negotiated and came -to terms with each other, is a remnant of transmitted political -sentiment, which still accurately represents the historic establishment -of the conditions of power in _most_ States. When Bismarck, for -instance, describes the constitutional system as a compromise between -Government and people, he speaks in accordance with a principle which -has its reason in history (from whence, to be sure, it also derives -its admixture of folly, without which nothing human can exist). On -the other hand, we must now learn--in accordance with a principle -which has originated only in the _brain_ and has still to _make_ -history--that Government is nothing but an organ of the people,--not -an attentive, honourable "higher" in relation to a "lower" accustomed -to modesty. Before we accept this hitherto unhistorical and arbitrary, -although logical, formulation of the conception of Government, let us -but consider its consequences, for the relation between people and -Government is the strongest typical relation, after the pattern of -which the relationship between teacher and pupil, master and servants, -father and family, leader and soldier, master and apprentice, is -unconsciously formed. At present, under the influence of the prevailing -constitutional system of government, all these relationships are -changing a little,--they are becoming compromises. But how they will -have to be reversed and shifted, and change name and nature, when that -newest of all conceptions has got the upper hand everywhere in people's -minds!--to achieve which, however, a century may yet be required. In -this matter there is nothing _further_ to be wished for except caution -and slow development. - - -451. - -JUSTICE AS THE DECOY-CRY OF PARTIES.--Well may noble (if not exactly -very intelligent) representatives of the governing classes asseverate: -"We will treat men equally and grant them equal rights"; so far a -socialistic mode of thought which is based on _justice_ is possible; -but, as has been said, only within the ranks of the governing class, -which in this case _practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations. -On the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the Socialists -of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of -covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and -withdraw them again, until it finally begins to roar, do you think that -roaring implies justice? - - -452. - -POSSESSION AND JUSTICE.--When the Socialists point out that the -division of property at the present day is the consequence of countless -deeds of injustice and violence, and, _in summa,_ repudiate obligation -to anything with so unrighteous a basis, they only perceive something -isolated. The entire past of ancient civilisation is built up on -violence, slavery, deception, and error; we, however, cannot annul -ourselves, the heirs of all these conditions, nay, the concrescences -of all this past, and are not entitled to demand the withdrawal of a -single fragment thereof. The unjust disposition lurks also in the souls -of non-possessors; they are not better than the possessors and have no -moral prerogative; for at one time or another their ancestors have been -possessors. Not forcible new distributions, but gradual transformations -of opinion are necessary; justice in all matters must become greater, -the instinct of violence weaker. - - -453. - -THE HELMSMAN OF THE PASSIONS.--The statesman excites public passions in -order to have the advantage of the counter-passions thereby aroused. To -give an example: a German statesman knows quite well that the Catholic -Church will never have the same plans as Russia; indeed, that it would -far rather be allied with the Turk than with the former country; he -likewise knows that Germany is threatened with great danger from an -alliance between France and Russia. If he can succeed, therefore, in -making France the focus and fortress of the Catholic Church, he has -averted this danger for a lengthy period. He has, accordingly, an -interest in showing hatred against the Catholics in transforming, by -all kinds of hostility, the supporters of the Pope's authority into an -impassioned political power which is opposed to German politics, and -must, as a matter of course, coalesce with France as the adversary of -Germany; his aim is the catholicising of France, just as necessarily -as Mirabeau saw the salvation of his native land in de-catholicising -it. The one State, therefore, desires to muddle millions of minds -of another State in order to gain advantage thereby. It is the same -disposition which supports the republican form of government of a -neighbouring State--_le désordre organisé,_ as Mérimée says--for the -sole reason that it assumes that this form of government makes the -nation weaker, more distracted, less fit for war. - - -454. - -THE DANGEROUS REVOLUTIONARY SPIRITS.--Those who are bent on -revolutionising society may be divided into those who seek something -for themselves thereby and those who seek something for their children -and grandchildren. The latter are the more dangerous, for they have the -belief and the good conscience of disinterestedness. The others can be -appeased by favours: those in power are still sufficiently rich and -wise to adopt that expedient. The danger begins as soon as the aims -become impersonal; revolutionists seeking impersonal interests may -consider all defenders of the present state of things as personally -interested, and may therefore feel themselves superior to their -opponents. - - -455. - -THE POLITICAL VALUE OF PATERNITY.--When a man has no sons he has not a -full right to join in a discussion concerning the needs of a particular -community. A person must himself have staked his dearest object along -with the others: that alone binds him fast to the State; he must have -in view the well-being of his descendants, and must, therefore, above -all, have descendants in order to take a right and natural share in -all institutions and the changes thereof. The development of higher -morality depends on a person's having sons; it disposes him to be -un-egoistic, or, more correctly, it extends his egoism in its duration -and permits him earnestly to strive after goals which lie beyond his -individual lifetime. - - -456. - -PRIDE OF DESCENT.--A man may be justly proud of an unbroken line of -_good_ ancestors down to his father,--not however of the line itself, -for every one has that. Descent from good ancestors constitutes the -real nobility of birth; a single break in the chain, one bad ancestor, -therefore, destroys the nobility of birth. Every one who talks about -his nobility should be asked: "Have you no violent, avaricious, -dissolute, wicked, cruel man amongst your ancestors?" If with good -cognisance and conscience he can answer No, then let his friendship be -sought. - - -457. - -SLAVES AND LABOURERS.--The fact that we regard the gratification of -vanity as of more account than all other forms of well-being (security, -position, and pleasures of all sorts), is shown to a ludicrous -extent by every one wishing for the abolition of slavery and utterly -abhorring to put any one into this position (apart altogether from -political reasons), while every one must acknowledge to himself that -in all respects slaves live more securely and more happily than modern -labourers, and that slave labour is very easy labour compared with that -of the "labourer." We protest in the name of the "dignity of man"; but, -expressed more simply, that is just our darling vanity which feels -non-equality, and inferiority in public estimation, to be the hardest -lot of all. The cynic thinks differently concerning the matter, -because he despises honour:--and so Diogenes was for some time a slave -and tutor. - - -458. - -LEADING MINDS AND THEIR INSTRUMENTS.--We see that great statesmen, and -in general all who have to employ many people to carry out their plans, -sometimes proceed one way and sometimes another; they either choose -with great skill and care the people suitable for their plans, and then -leave them a comparatively large amount of liberty, because they know -that the nature of the persons selected impels them precisely to the -point where they themselves would have them go; or else they choose -badly, in fact take whatever comes to hand, but out of every piece of -clay they form something useful for their purpose. These latter minds -are the more high-handed; they also desire more submissive instruments; -their knowledge of mankind is usually much smaller, their contempt of -mankind greater than in the case of the first mentioned class, but the -machines they construct generally work better than the machines from -the workshops of the former. - - -459. - -ARBITRARY LAW NECESSARY.--Jurists dispute whether the most perfectly -thought-out law or that which is most easily understood should prevail -in a nation. The former, the best model of which is Roman Law, seems -incomprehensible to the layman, and is therefore not the expression of -his sense of justice. Popular laws, the Germanic, for instance, have -been rude, superstitious, illogical, and in part idiotic, but they -represented very definite, inherited national morals and sentiments. -But where, as with us, law i no longer custom, it can only _command_ -and be compulsion; none of us any longer possesses a traditional sense -of justice; we must therefore content ourselves with _arbitrary laws,_ -which are the expressions of the necessity that there _must be_ law. -The most logical is then in any case the most acceptable, because it -is the most _impartial,_ granting even that in every case the smallest -unit of measure in the relation of crime and punishment is arbitrarily -fixed. - - -460. - -THE GREAT MAN OF THE MASSES.--The recipe for what the masses call a -great man is easily given. In all circumstances let a person provide -them with something very pleasant, or first let him put it into their -heads that this or that would be very pleasant, and then let him give -it to them. On no account give it _immediately,_ however: but let -him acquire it by the greatest exertions, or seem thus to acquire -it. The masses must have the impression that there is a powerful, -nay indomitable strength of will operating; at least it must seem to -be there operating. Everybody admires a strong will, because nobody -possesses it, and everybody says to himself that if he did possess -it there would no longer be any bounds for him and his egoism. If, -then, it becomes evident that such a strong will effects something -very agreeable to the masses, instead of hearkening to the wishes -of covetousness, people admire once more, and wish good luck to -themselves. Moreover, if he has all the qualities of the masses, they -are the less ashamed before him, and he is all the more popular. -Consequently, he may be violent, envious, rapacious, intriguing, -flattering, fawning, inflated, and, according to circumstances, -anything whatsoever. - - -461. - -PRINCE AND GOD.--People frequently commune with their princes in the -same way as with their God, as indeed the prince himself was frequently -the Deity's representative, or at least His high priest. This almost -uncanny disposition of veneration, disquiet, and shame, grew, and has -grown, much weaker, but occasionally it flares up again, and fastens -upon powerful persons generally. The cult of genius is an echo of this -veneration of Gods and Princes. Wherever an effort is made to exalt -particular men to the superhuman, there is also a tendency to regard -whole grades of the population as coarser and baser than they really -are. - - -462. - -MY UTOPIA.--In a better arranged society the heavy work and trouble -of life will be assigned to those who suffer least through it, to the -most obtuse, therefore; and so step by step up to those who are most -sensitive to the highest and sublimest kinds of suffering, and who -therefore still suffer notwithstanding the greatest alleviations of -life. - - -463. - -A DELUSION IN SUBVERSIVE DOCTRINES.--There are political and social -dreamers who ardently and eloquently call for the overthrow of all -order, in the belief that the proudest fane of beautiful humanity -will then rear itself immediately, almost of its own accord. In these -dangerous dreams there is still an echo of Rousseau's superstition, -which believes in a marvellous primordial goodness of human nature, -buried up, as it were; and lays all the blame of that burying-up on -the institutions of civilisation, on society, State, and education. -Unfortunately, it is well known by historical experiences that -every such overthrow reawakens into new life the wildest energies, -the long-buried horrors and extravagances of remotest ages; that -an overthrow, therefore, may possibly be a source of strength to a -deteriorated humanity, but never a regulator, architect, artist, -or perfecter of human nature. It was not _Voltaire's_ moderate -nature, inclined towards regulating, purifying, and reconstructing, -but _Rousseau's_ passionate follies and half-lies that aroused the -optimistic spirit of the Revolution, against which I cry, "_Écrasez -l'infâme!_" Owing to this _the Spirit of enlightenment and progressive -development_ has been long scared away; let us see--each of us -individually--if it is not possible to recall it! - - -464. - -MODERATION.--When perfect resoluteness in thinking and investigating, -that is to say, freedom of spirit, has become a feature of character, -it produces moderation of conduct; for it weakens avidity, attracts -much extant energy for the furtherance of intellectual aims, and shows -the semi-usefulness, or uselessness and danger, of all sudden changes. - - -465. - -THE RESURRECTION OF THE SPIRIT.--A nation usually renews its youth on -a political sick-bed, and there finds again the spirit which it had -gradually lost in seeking and maintaining power. Culture is indebted -most of all to politically weakened periods. - - -466. - -NEW OPINIONS IN THE OLD HOME.--The overthrow of opinions is not -immediately followed by the overthrow of institutions; on the contrary, -the new opinions dwell for a long time in the desolate and haunted -house of their predecessors, and conserve it even for want of a -habitation. - - -467. - -PUBLIC EDUCATION.--In large States public education will always be -extremely mediocre, for the same reason that in large kitchens the -cooking is at best only mediocre. - - -468. - -INNOCENT CORRUPTION.--In all institutions into which the sharp breeze -of public criticism does not penetrate an innocent corruption grows up -like a fungus (for instance, in learned bodies and senates). - - -469. - -SCHOLARS AS POLITICIANS.--To scholars who become politicians the comic -role is usually assigned; they have to be the good conscience of a -state policy. - - -470. - -THE WOLF HIDDEN BEHIND THE SHEEP.--Almost every politician, in certain -circumstances, has such need of an honest man that he breaks into the -sheep-fold like a famished wolf; not, however, to devour a stolen -sheep, but to hide himself behind its woolly back. - - -471. - -HAPPY TIMES.--A happy age is no longer possible, because men only wish -for it but do not desire to have it; and each individual, when good -days come for him, learns positively to pray for disquiet and misery. -The destiny of mankind is arranged for _happy moments_--every life has -such--but not for happy times. Nevertheless, such times will continue -to exist in man's imagination as "over the hills and far away," an -heirloom of his earliest ancestors; for the idea of the happy age, from -the earliest times to the present, has no doubt been derived from the -state in which man, after violent exertions in hunting and warfare, -gives himself over to repose, stretches out his limbs, and hears the -wings of sleep rustle around him. It is a false conclusion when, in -accordance with that old habit, man imagines that after _whole periods_ -of distress and trouble he will be able also to enjoy the state of -happiness in _proportionate increase and duration._ - - -472. - -RELIGION AND GOVERNMENT.--So long as the State, or, more properly, the -Government, regards itself as the appointed guardian of a number of -minors, and on their account considers the question whether religion -should be preserved or abolished, it is highly probable that it will -always decide for the preservation thereof. For religion satisfies -the nature of the individual in times of loss, destitution, terror, -and distrust, in cases, therefore, where the Government feels -itself incapable of doing anything directly for the mitigation of -the spiritual sufferings of the individual; indeed, even in general -unavoidable and next to inevitable evils (famines, financial crises, -and wars) religion gives to the masses an attitude of tranquillity and -confiding expectancy. Whenever the necessary or accidental deficiencies -of the State Government, or the dangerous consequences of dynastic -interests, strike the eyes of the intelligent and make them refractory, -the unintelligent will only think they see the finger of God therein -and will submit with patience to the dispensations from _on high_ -(a conception in which divine and human modes of government usually -coalesce); thus internal civil peace and continuity of development -will be preserved. The power, which lies in the unity of popular -feeling, in the existence of the same opinions and aims for all, is -protected and confirmed by religion,--the rare cases excepted in -which a priesthood cannot agree with the State about the price, and -therefore comes into conflict with it. As a rule the State will know -how to win over the priests, because it needs their most private and -secret system for educating souls, and knows how to value servants who -apparently, and outwardly, represent quite other interests. Even at -present no power can become "legitimate" without the assistance of the -priests; a fact which Napoleon understood. Thus, absolutely paternal -government and the careful preservation of religion necessarily go -hand-in-hand. In this connection it must be taken for granted that -the rulers and governing classes are enlightened concerning the -advantages which religion affords, and consequently feel themselves -to a certain extent superior to it, inasmuch as they use it as a -means; thus freedom of spirit has its origin here. But how will it be -when the totally different interpretation of the idea of Government, -such as is taught in _democratic_ States, begins to prevail? When -one sees in it nothing but the instrument of the popular will, no -"upper" in contrast to an "under," but merely a function of the sole -sovereign, the people? Here also only the same attitude which the -people assume towards religion can be assumed by the Government; -every diffusion of enlightenment will have to find an echo even in -the representatives, and the utilising and exploiting of religious -impulses and consolations for State purposes will not be so easy -(unless powerful party leaders occasionally exercise an influence -resembling that of enlightened despotism). When, however, the State -is not permitted to derive any further advantage from religion, or -when people think far too variously on religious matters to allow the -State to adopt a consistent and uniform procedure with respect to them, -the way out of the difficulty will necessarily present itself, namely -to treat religion as a private affair and leave it to the conscience -and custom of each single individual. The first result of all is that -religious feeling seems to be strengthened, inasmuch as hidden and -suppressed impulses thereof, which the State had unintentionally or -intentionally stifled, now break forth and rush to extremes; later -on, however, it is found that religion is over-grown with sects, and -that an abundance of dragon's teeth were sown as soon as religion was -made a private affair. The spectacle of strife, and the hostile laying -bare of all the weaknesses of religious confessions, admit finally of -no other expedient except that every better and more talented person -should make irreligiousness his private affair, a sentiment which now -obtains the upper hand even in the minds of the governing classes, -and, almost against their will, gives an anti-religious character to -their measures. As soon as this happens, the sentiment of persons -still religiously disposed, who formerly adored the State as something -half sacred or wholly sacred, changes into decided _hostility to the -State;_ they lie in wait for governmental measures, seeking to hinder, -thwart, and disturb as much as they can, and, by the fury of their -contradiction, drive the opposing parties, the irreligious ones, into -an almost fanatical enthusiasm _for_ the State; in connection with -which there is also the silently co-operating influence, that since -their separation from religion the hearts of persons in these circles -are conscious of a void, and seek by devotion to the State to provide -themselves provisionally with a substitute for religion, a kind of -stuffing for the void. After these perhaps lengthy transitional -struggles, it is finally decided whether the religious parties are -still strong enough to revive an old condition of things, and turn the -wheel backwards: in which case enlightened despotism (perhaps less -enlightened and more timorous than formerly), inevitably gets the -State into its hands,--or whether the non-religious parties achieve -their purpose, and, possibly through schools and education, check the -increase of their opponents during several generations, and finally -make them no longer possible. Then, however, their enthusiasm for the -State also abates: it always becomes more obvious that along with -the religious adoration which regards the State as a mystery and a -supernatural institution, the reverent and pious relation to it has -also been convulsed. Henceforth individuals see only that side of the -State which may be useful or injurious to them, and press forward by -all means to obtain an influence over it. But this rivalry soon becomes -too great; men and parties change too rapidly, and throw each other -down again too furiously from the mountain when they have only just -succeeded in getting aloft. All the measures which such a Government -carries out lack the guarantee of permanence; people then fight shy of -undertakings which would require the silent growth of future decades -or centuries to produce ripe fruit. Nobody henceforth feels any other -obligation to a law than to submit for the moment to the power which -introduced the law; people immediately set to work, however, to -undermine it by a new power, a newly-formed majority. Finally--it may -be confidently asserted--the distrust of all government, the insight -into the useless and harassing nature of these short-winded struggles, -must drive men to an entirely new resolution: to the abrogation of -the conception of the State and the abolition of the contrast of -"private and public." Private concerns gradually absorb the business -of the State; even the toughest residue which is left over from the -old work of governing (the business, for instance, which is meant to -protect private persons from private persons) will at last some day -be managed by private enterprise. The neglect, decline, and _death -of the State,_ the liberation of the private person (I am careful -not to say the individual), are the consequences of the democratic -conception of the State; that is its mission. When it has accomplished -its task,--which, like everything human, involves much rationality -and irrationality,--and when all relapses into the old malady have -been overcome, then a new leaf in the story-book of humanity will be -unrolled, on which readers will find all kinds of strange tales and -perhaps also some amount of good. To repeat shortly what has been -said: the interests of the tutelary Government and the interests of -religion go hand-in-hand, so that when the latter begins to decay -the foundations of the State are also shaken. The belief in a divine -regulation of political affairs, in a mystery in the existence of -the State, is of religious origin: if religion disappears, the State -will inevitably lose its old veil of Isis, and will no longer arouse -veneration. The sovereignty of the people, looked at closely, serves -also to dispel the final fascination and superstition in the realm -of these sentiments; modern democracy is the historical form of the -_decay of the State._ The outlook which results from this certain -decay is not, however, unfortunate in every respect; the wisdom and -the selfishness of men are the best developed of all their qualities; -when the State no longer meets the demands of these impulses, chaos -will least of all result, but a still more appropriate expedient than -the State will get the mastery over the State. How man organising forces -have already been seen to die out! For example, that of the _gens_ -or clan which for millennia was far mightier than the power of the -family, and indeed already ruled and regulated long before the latter -existed. We ourselves see the important notions of the right and might -of the family, which once possessed the supremacy as far as the Roman -system extended, always becoming paler and feebler. In the same way a -later generation will also see the State become meaningless in certain -parts of the world,--an idea which many contemporaries can hardly -contemplate without alarm and horror. To _labour_ for the propagation -and realisation of this idea is, certainly, another thing; one must -think very presumptuously of one's reason, and only half understand -history, to set one's hand to the plough at present--when as yet no -one can show us the seeds that are afterwards to be sown upon the -broken soil. Let us, therefore, trust to the "wisdom and selfishness -of men" that the State may _yet_ exist a good while longer, and that -the destructive attempts of over-zealous, too hasty sciolists may be in -vain! - - -473. - -SOCIALISM, WITH REGARD TO ITS MEANS.--Socialism is the fantastic -younger brother of almost decrepit despotism, which it wants to -succeed; its efforts are, therefore, in the deepest sense reactionary. -For it desires such an amount of State power as only despotism has -possessed,--indeed, it outdoes all the past, in that it aims at the -complete annihilation of the individual, whom it deems an unauthorised -luxury of nature, which is to be improved by it into an appropriate -_organ of the general community._ Owing to its relationship, it always -appears in proximity to excessive developments of power, like the -old typical socialist, Plato, at the court of the Sicilian tyrant; -it desires (and under certain circumstances furthers) the Cæsarian -despotism of this century, because, as has been said, it would like to -become its heir. But even this inheritance would not suffice for its -objects, it requires the most submissive prostration of all citizens -before the absolute State, such as has never yet been realised; and -as it can no longer even count upon the old religious piety towards -the State, but must rather strive involuntarily and continuously for -the abolition thereof,--because it strives for the abolition of all -existing _States,_--it can only hope for existence occasionally, here -and there for short periods, by means of the extremest terrorism. It is -therefore silently preparing itself for reigns of terror, and drives -the word "justice" like a nail into the heads of the half-cultured -masses in order to deprive them completely of their understanding -(after they had already suffered seriously from the half-culture), and -to provide them with a good conscience for the bad game they are to -play. Socialism may serve to teach, very brutally and impressively, the -danger of all accumulations of State power, and may serve so far to -inspire distrust of the State itself. When its rough voice strikes up -the way-cry "_as much State as possible_," the shout at first becomes -louder than ever,--but soon the opposition cry also breaks forth, with -so much greater force: "_as little State as possible._" - - -474. - -THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE MIND FEARED BY THE STATE.--The Greek _polis_ -was, like every organising political power, exclusive and distrustful -of the growth of culture; its powerful fundamental impulse seemed -almost solely to have a paralysing and obstructive effect thereon. -It did not want to let any history or any becoming have a place in -culture; the education laid down in the State laws was meant to -be obligatory on all generations to keep them at _one_ stage of -development. Plato also, later on, did not desire it to be otherwise -in his ideal State. _In spite of_ the polis culture developed itself -in this manner; indirectly to be sure, and against its will, the polis -furnished assistance because the ambition of individuals therein was -stimulated to the utmost, so that, having once found the path of -intellectual development, they followed it to its farthest extremity. -On the other hand, appeal should not be made to the panegyric of -Pericles, for it is only a great optimistic dream about the alleged -necessary connection between the Polis and Athenian culture; -immediately before the night fell over Athens the plague and the -breakdown of tradition, Thucydides makes this culture flash up once -more like of the evil day that had preceded. - - -475. - -EUROPEAN MAN AND THE DESTRUCTION OF NATIONALITIES.--Commerce and -industry, interchange of books and letters, the universality of -all higher culture, the rapid changing of locality and landscape, -and the present nomadic life of all who are not landowners,--these -circumstances necessarily bring with them a weakening, and finally -a destruction of nationalities, at least of European nationalities; -so that, in consequence of perpetual crossings, there must arise -out of them all a mixed race, that of the European man. At present -the isolation of nations, through the rise of _national_ enmities, -consciously or unconsciously counteracts this tendency; but -nevertheless the process of fusing advances slowly, in spite of those -occasional counter-currents. This artificial nationalism is, however, -as dangerous as was artificial Catholicism, for it is essentially -an un natural condition of extremity and martial la which has been -proclaimed by the few over the many, and requires artifice, lying, -and force maintain its reputation. It is not the interests the many -(of the peoples), as they probably say, but it is first of all the -interests of certain princely dynasties, and then of certain commercial -and social classes, which impel to this nationalism; once we have -recognised this fact, we should just fearlessly style ourselves _good -Europeans_ and labour actively for the amalgamation of nations; in -which efforts Germans may assist by virtue of their hereditary position -as _interpreters and intermediaries between nations._ By the way, the -great problem of the _Jews_ only exists within the national States, -inasmuch as their energy and higher intelligence, their intellectual -and volitional capital, accumulated from generation to generation in -tedious schools of suffering, must necessarily attain to universal -supremacy here to an extent provocative of envy and hatred; so that -the literary misconduct is becoming prevalent in almost all modern -nations --and all the more so as they again set up to be national--of -sacrificing the Jews as the scape-goats of all possible public -and private abuses. So soon as it is no longer a question of the -preservation or establishment of nations, but of the production and -training of a European mixed-race of the greatest possible strength, -the Jew is just as useful and desirable an ingredient as any other -national remnant. Every nation, every individual, has unpleasant and -even dangerous qualities,--it is cruel to require that the Jew should -be an exception. Those qualities may even be dangerous and frightful -in a special degree in his case; and perhaps the young Stock-Exchange -Jew is in general the most repulsive invention of the human species. -Nevertheless, in a general summing up, I should like to know how much -must be excused in a nation which, not without blame on the part of -all of us, has had the most mournful history of all nations, and to -which we owe the most loving of men (Christ), the most upright of sages -(Spinoza), the mightiest book, and the most effective moral law in the -world? Moreover, in the darkest times of the Middle Ages, when Asiatic -clouds had gathered darkly over Europe, it was Jewish free-thinkers, -scholars, and physicians who upheld the banner of enlightenment and of -intellectual independence under the severest personal sufferings, and -defended Europe against Asia; we owe it not least to their efforts that -a more natural, more reasonable, at all events un-mythical, explanation -of the world was finally able to get the upper hand once more, and -that the link of culture which now unites us with the enlightenment -of Greco-Roman antiquity has remained unbroken. If Christianity has -done everything to orientalise the Occident, Judaism has assisted -essentially in occidentalising it anew; which, in a certain sense, is -equivalent to making Europe's mission and history a _continuation of -that of Greece_. - - -476. - -APPARENT SUPERIORITY OF THE MIDDLE AGES.--The Middle Ages present in -the Church an institution with an absolutely universal aim, involving -the whole of humanity,--an aim, moreover, which--presumedly--concerned -man's highest interests; in comparison therewith the aims of the States -and nations which modern history exhibits make a painful impression; -they seem petty, base, material, and restricted in extent. But this -different impression on our imagination should certainly not determine -our judgment; for that universal institution corresponded to feigned -and fictitiously fostered needs, such as the need of salvation, which, -wherever they did not already exist, it had first of all to create: -the, new institutions, however, relieve actual distresses; and the -time is coming when institutions will arise to minister to the common, -genuine needs of all men, and to cast that fantastic prototype, the -Catholic Church, into shade and oblivion. - - -477. - -WAR INDISPENSABLE.--It is nothing but fanaticism and beautiful soulism -to expect very much (or even, much only) from humanity when it has -forgotten how to wage war. For the present we know of no other means -whereby the rough energy of the camp, the deep impersonal hatred, the -cold-bloodedness of murder with a good conscience, the general ardour -of the system in the destruction of the enemy, the proud indifference -to great losses, to one's own existence and that of one's friends, the -hollow, earthquake-like convulsion of the soul, can be as forcibly -and certainly communicated to enervated nations as is done by every -great war: owing to the brooks and streams that here break forth, -which, certainly, sweep stones and rubbish of all sorts along with -them and destroy the meadows of delicate cultures, the mechanism in -the workshops of the mind is afterwards, in favourable circumstances, -rotated by new power. Culture can by no means dispense with passions, -vices, and malignities. When the Romans, after having become Imperial, -had grown rather tired of war, they attempted to gain new strength -by beast-baitings, gladiatoral combats, and Christian persecutions. -The English of to-day, who appear on the whole to have also renounced -war, adopt other means in order to generate anew those vanishing -forces; namely, the dangerous exploring expeditions, sea voyages and -mountaineerings, nominally undertaken for scientific purposes, but in -reality to bring home surplus strength from adventures and dangers of -all kinds. Many other such substitutes for war will be discovered, but -perhaps precisely thereby it will become more and more obvious that -such a highly cultivated and therefore necessarily enfeebled humanity -as that of modern Europe not only needs wars, but the greatest and most -terrible wars,--consequently occasional relapses into barbarism,--lest, -by the means of culture, it should lose its culture and its very -existence. - - -478. - -INDUSTRY IN THE SOUTH AND THE NORTH.--Industry arises in two entirely -different ways. The artisans of the South are not industrious because -of acquisitiveness but because of the constant needs of others. The -smith is industrious because some one is always coming who wants a -horse shod or a carriage mended. If nobody came he would loiter about -in the market-place. In a fruitful land he has little trouble in -supporting himself, for that purpose he requires only a very small -amount of work, certainly no industry; eventually he would beg and -be contented. The industry of English workmen, on the contrary, has -acquisitiveness behind it; it is conscious of itself and its aims; with -property it wants power, and with power the greatest possible liberty -and individual distinction. - - -479. - -WEALTH AS THE ORIGIN OF A NOBILITY OF RACE.--Wealth necessarily -creates an aristocracy of race, for it permits the choice of the most -beautiful women and the engagement of the best teachers; it allows a -man cleanliness, time for physical exercises, and, above all, immunity -from dulling physical labour. So far it provides all the conditions -for making man, after a few generations, move and even act nobly and -handsomely: greater freedom of character and absence of niggardliness, -of wretchedly petty matters, and of abasement before bread-givers. It -is precisely these negative qualities which are the most profitable -birthday gift, that of happiness, for the young man; a person who is -quite poor usually comes to grief through nobility of disposition, -he does not get on, and acquires nothing, his race is not capable -of living. In this connection, however, it must be remembered that -wealth produces almost the same effects whether one have three hundred -or thirty thousand thalers a year; there is no further essential -progression of the favourable conditions afterwards. But to have less, -to beg in boyhood and to abase one's self is terrible, although it may -be the proper starting-point for such as seek their happiness in the -splendour of courts, in subordination to the mighty, and influential, -or for such as wish to be heads of the Church. (It teaches how to slink -crouching into the underground passages to favour.) - - -480. - -ENVY AND INERTIA IN DIFFERENT COURSES.--The two opposing parties, -the socialist and the national,--or whatever they may be called in -the different countries of Europe,--are worthy of each other; envy -and laziness are the motive powers in each of them. In the one camp -they desire to work as little as possible with their hands, in the -other as little as possible with their heads; in the latter they hate -and envy prominent, self-evolving individuals, who do not willingly -allow themselves to be drawn up in rank and file for the purpose of -a collective effect; in the former they hate and envy the better -social caste, which is more favourably circumstanced outwardly, whose -peculiar mission, the production of the highest blessings of culture, -makes life inwardly all the harder and more painful. Certainly, if it -be possible to make the spirit of the collective effect the spirit of -the higher classes of society, the socialist crowds are quite right, -when they also seek outward equalisation between themselves and these -classes, since they are certainly internally equalised with one another -already in head and heart. Live as higher men, and always do the deeds -of higher culture,--thus everything that lives will acknowledge your -right, and the order of society, whose summit ye are, will be safe -from every evil glance and attack! - - -481. - -HIGH POLITICS AND THEIR DETRIMENTS.--Just as a nation does not suffer -the greatest losses that war and readiness for war involve through -the expenses of the war, or the stoppage of trade and traffic, or -through the maintenance of a standing army,--however great these -losses may now be, when eight European States expend yearly the sum -of five milliards of marks thereon,--but owing to the fact that -year after year its ablest, strongest, and most industrious men are -withdrawn in extraordinary numbers from their proper occupations and -callings to be turned into soldiers: in the same way, a nation that -sets about practising high politics and securing a decisive voice -among the great Powers does not suffer its greatest losses where -they are usually supposed to be. In fact, from this time onward it -constantly sacrifices a number of its most conspicuous talents upon -the "Altar of the Fatherland" or of national ambition, whilst formerly -other spheres of activity were open to those talents which are now -swallowed up by politics. But apart from these public hecatombs, and -in reality much more horrible, there is a drama which is constantly -being performed simultaneously in a hundred thousand acts; every able, -industrious, intellectually striving man of a nation that thus covets -political laurels, is swayed by this covetousness, and no longer -belongs entirely to himself alone as he did formerly; the new daily -questions and cares of the public welfare devour a daily tribute of -the intellectual and emotional capital of every citizen; the sum of -all these sacrifices and losses of, individual energy and labour is -so enormous, that the political growth of a nation almost necessarily -entails an intellectual impoverishment and lassitude, a diminished -capacity for the performance of works that require great concentration -and specialisation. The question may finally be asked: "Does it then -_pay,_ all this bloom and magnificence of the total (which indeed only -manifests itself as the fear of the new Colossus in other nations, and -as the compulsory favouring by them of national trade and commerce) -when all the nobler, finer, and more intellectual plants and products, -in which its soil was hitherto so rich, must be sacrificed to this -coarse and opalescent flower of the nation?"[2] - - -482. - -REPEATED ONCE MORE.--Public opinion--private laziness. - - -[Footnote 1: This aphorism may have been suggested by Nietzsche's -observing the behaviour of his great contemporary, Bismarck, towards -the dynasty.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: This is once more an allusion to modern Germany.--J.M.K.] - - - - -NINTH DIVISION. - -MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. - - - -483. - -THE ENEMIES OF TRUTH.--Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth -than lies. - - -484. - -A TOPSY-TURVY WORLD.--We criticise a thinker more severely when he puts -an unpleasant statement before us; and yet it would be more reasonable -to do so when we find his statement pleasant. - - -485. - -DECIDED CHARACTER.--A man far oftener appears to have a decided -character from persistently following his temperament than from -persistently following his principles. - - -486. - -THE ONE THING NEEDFUL.--One thing a man must have: either a naturally -light disposition or a disposition _lightened_ by art and knowledge. - - -487. - -THE PASSION FOR THINGS.--Whoever sets his passion on things (sciences, -arts, the common weal, the interests of culture) withdraws much fervour -from his passion for persons (even when they are the representatives -of those things; as statesmen, philosophers, and artists are the -representatives of their creations). - - -488. - -CALMNESS IN ACTION.--As a cascade in its descent becomes more -deliberate and suspended, so the great man of action usually acts with -_more_ calmness than his strong passions previous to action would lead -one to expect. - - -489. - -NOT TOO DEEP.--Persons who grasp a matter in all its depth seldom -remain permanently true to it. They have just brought the depth up into -the light, and there is always much evil to be seen there. - - -490. - -THE ILLUSION OF IDEALISTS.--All idealists imagine that the cause which -they serve is essentially better than all other causes, and will not -believe that if their cause is really to flourish it requires precisely -the same evil-smelling manure which all other human undertakings have -need of. - - -491. - -SELF-OBSERVATION.--Man is exceedingly well protected from himself and -guarded against his self-exploring and self-besieging; as a rule he can -perceive nothing of himself but his outworks. The actual fortress is -inaccessible, and even invisible, to him, unless friends and enemies -become traitors and lead him inside by secret paths. - - -492. - -THE RIGHT CALLING.--Men can seldom hold on to a calling unless they -believe or persuade themselves that it is really more important than -any other. Women are the same with their lovers. - - -493. - -NOBILITY OF DISPOSITION.--Nobility of disposition consists largely in -good-nature and absence of distrust, and therefore contains precisely -that upon which money-grabbing and successful men take a pleasure in -walking with superiority and scorn. - - -494. - -GOAL AND PATH.--Many are obstinate with regard to the once-chosen path, -few with regard to the goal. - - -495. - -THE OFFENSIVENESS IN AN INDIVIDUAL WAY OF LIFE.--All specially -individual lines of conduct excite irritation against him who adopts -them; people feel themselves reduced to the level of commonplace -creatures by the extraordinary treatment he bestows on himself. - - -496. - -THE PRIVILEGE OF GREATNESS.--It is the privilege of greatness to confer -intense happiness with insignificant gifts. - - -497. - -UNINTENTIONALLY NOBLE.--A person behaves with unintentional nobleness -when he has accustomed himself to seek naught from others and always to -give to them. - - -498. - -A CONDITION OF HEROISM.--When a person wishes to become a hero, the -serpent must previously have become a dragon, otherwise he lacks his -proper enemy. - - -499. - -FRIENDS.--Fellowship in joy, and, not sympathy in sorrow, makes people -friends. - - -500. - -MAKING USE OF EBB AND FLOW.--For the purpose of knowledge we must know -how to make use of the inward current which draws us towards a thing, -and also of the current which after a time draws us away from it. - - -501. - -JOY IN ITSELF.--"Joy in the Thing" people say; but in reality it is joy -in itself by means of the thing. - - -502. - -THE UNASSUMING MAN.--He who is unassuming towards persons manifests his -presumption all the more with regard to things (town, State, society, -time, humanity). That is his revenge. - - -503. - -ENVY AND JEALOUSY.--Envy and jealousy are the pudenda of the human -soul. The comparison may perhaps be carried further. - - -504. - -THE NOBLEST HYPOCRITE.--It is a very noble hypocrisy not to talk of -one's self at all. - - -505. - -VEXATION.--Vexation is a physical disease, which is not by any means -cured when its cause is subsequently removed. - - -506. - -THE CHAMPIONS OF TRUTH.--Truth does not find fewest champions when it -is dangerous to speak it, but when it is dull. - - -507. - -MORE TROUBLESOME EVEN THAN ENEMIES.--Persons of whose sympathetic -attitude we are not, in all circumstances, convinced, while for -some reason or other (gratitude, for instance) we are obliged to -maintain the appearance of unqualified sympathy with them, trouble our -imagination far more than our enemies do. - - -508. - -FREE NATURE.--We are so fond of being out among Nature, because it has -no opinions about us. - - -509. - -EACH SUPERIOR IN ONE THING.--In civilised intercourse every one feels -himself superior to all others in at least one thing; kindly feelings -generally are based thereon, inasmuch as every one can, in certain -circumstances, render help, and is therefore entitled to accept help -without shame. - - -510. - -CONSOLATORY ARGUMENTS.--In the case of a death we mostly use -consolatory arguments not so much to alleviate the grief as to make -excuses for feeling so easily consoled. - - -511. - -PERSONS LOYAL TO THEIR CONVICTIONS.--Whoever is very busy retains his -general views and opinions almost unchanged. So also does every one -who labours in the service of an idea; he will nevermore examine the -idea itself, he no longer has any time to do so; indeed, it is against -his interests to consider it as still admitting of discussion. - - -512. - -MORALITY AND QUANTITY.--The higher morality of one man as compared -with that of another, often lies merely in the fact that his aims are -quantitively greater. The other, living in a circumscribed sphere, is -dragged down by petty occupations. - - -513. - -"THE LIFE" AS THE PROCEEDS OF LIFE.--A man may stretch himself out ever -so far with his knowledge; he may seem to himself ever so objective, -but eventually he realises nothing therefrom but his own biography. - - -514. - -IRON NECESSITY.--Iron necessity is a thing which has been found, in the -course of history, to be neither iron nor necessary. - - -515. - -FROM EXPERIENCE.--The unreasonableness of a thing is no argument -against its existence, but rather a condition thereof. - - -516. - -TRUTH.--Nobody dies nowadays of fatal truths, there are too many -antidotes to them. - - -517. - -A FUNDAMENTAL INSIGHT.--There is no pre-established harmony between the -promotion of truth and the welfare of mankind. - - -518. - -MAN'S LOT.--He who thinks most deeply knows that he is always in the -wrong, however he may act and decide. - - -519. - -TRUTH AS CIRCE.--Error has made animals into men; is truth perhaps -capable of making man into an animal again? - - -520. - -THE DANGER OF OUR CULTURE.--We belong to a period of which the culture -is in danger of being destroyed by the appliances of culture. - - -521. - -GREATNESS MEANS LEADING THE WAY.--No stream is large and copious of -itself, but becomes great by receiving and leading on so many tributary -streams. It is so, also, with all intellectual greatnesses. It is only -a question of some one indicating the direction to be followed by so -many affluents; not whether he was richly or poorly gifted originally. - - -522. - -A FEEBLE CONSCIENCE.--People who talk about their importance to mankind -have a feeble conscience for common bourgeois rectitude, keeping of -contracts, promises, etc. - - -523. - -DESIRING TO BE LOVED.--The demand to be loved is the greatest of -presumptions. - - -524. - -CONTEMPT FOR MEN.--The most unequivocal sign of contempt for man is -to regard everybody merely as a means to _one's own_ ends, or of no -account whatever. - - -525. - -PARTISANS THROUGH CONTRADICTION.--Whoever has driven men to fury -against himself has also gained a party in his favour. - - -526. - -FORGETTING EXPERIENCES.--Whoever thinks much and to good purpose -easily forgets his own experiences, but not the thoughts which these -experiences have called forth. - - -527. - -STICKING TO AN OPINION.--One person sticks to an opinion because he -takes pride in having acquired it himself,--another sticks to it -because he has learnt it with difficulty and is proud of having -understood it; both of them, therefore, out of vanity. - - -528. - -AVOIDING THE LIGHT.--Good deeds avoid the light just as anxiously as -evil deeds; the latter fear that pain will result from publicity (as -punishment), the former fear that pleasure will vanish with publicity -(the pure pleasure _per se,_ which ceases as soon as satisfaction of -vanity is added to it). - - -529. - -THE LENGTH OF THE DAY.--When one has much to put into them, a day has a -hundred pockets. - - -530. - -THE GENIUS OF TYRANNY.--When an invincible desire to obtain tyrannical -power has been awakened in the soul, and constantly keeps up its -fervour, even a very mediocre talent (in politicians, artists, etc.) -gradually becomes an almost irresistible natural force. - - -531. - -THE ENEMY'S LIFE.--He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an -interest in the preservation of the enemy's life.[1] - - -532. - -MORE IMPORTANT.--Unexplained, obscure matters are regarded as more -important than explained, clear ones. - - -533. - -VALUATION OF SERVICES RENDERED.--We estimate services rendered to -us according to the value set on them by those who render them, not -according to the value they have for us. - - -534. - -UNHAPPINESS.--The distinction associated with unhappiness (as if it -were a sign of stupidity, unambitiousness, or commonplaceness to feel -happy) is so great that when any one says to us, "How happy you are!" -we usually protest. - - -535. - -IMAGINATION IN ANGUISH.--When one is afraid of anything, one's -imagination plays the part of that evil spirit which springs on one's -back just when one has the heaviest load to bear. - - -536. - -THE VALUE OF INSIPID OPPONENTS.--We sometimes remain faithful to a -cause merely because its opponents never cease to be insipid. - - -537. - -THE VALUE OF A PROFESSION.--A profession makes us thoughtless; that -is its greatest blessing. For it is a bulwark behind which we are -permitted to withdraw when commonplace doubts and cares assail us. - - -538. - -TALENT.--Many a man's talent appears less than it is, because he has -always set himself too heavy tasks. - - -539. - -YOUTH.--Youth is an unpleasant period; for then it is not possible or -not prudent to be productive in any sense whatsoever. - - -540. - -TOO GREAT AIMS.--Whoever aims publicly at great things and at length -perceives secretly that he is too weak to achieve them, has usually -also insufficient strength to renounce his aims publicly, and then -inevitably becomes a hypocrite. - - -541. - -IN THE CURRENT.--Mighty waters sweep many stones and shrubs away with -them; mighty spirits many foolish and confused minds. - - -542. - -THE DANGERS OF INTELLECTUAL EMANCIPATION.--In a seriously intended -intellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also -hope to find their advantage. - - -543. - -THE INCARNATION OF THE MIND.--When any one thinks much and to good -purpose, not only his face but also his body acquires a sage look. - - -544. - -SEEING BADLY AND HEARING BADLY.--The man who sees little always sees -less than there is to see; the man who hears badly always hears -something more than there is to hear. - - -545. - -SELF-ENJOYMENT IN VANITY.--The vain man does not wish so much to be -prominent as to feel himself prominent; he therefore disdains none of -the expedients for self-deception and self-out-witting. It is not the -opinion of others that he sets his heart on, but his opinion of their -opinion - - -546. - -EXCEPTIONALLY VAIN.--He who is usually self-sufficient becomes -exceptionally vain, and keenly alive to fame and praise when he is -physically ill. The more he loses himself the more he has to endeavour -to regain his position by means of the opinion of others. - - -547. - -THE "WITTY."--Those who seek wit do not possess it. - - -548. - -A HINT TO THE HEADS OF PARTIES.--When one can make people publicly -support a cause they have also generally been brought to the point of -inwardly declaring themselves in its favour, because they wish to be -regarded as consistent. - - -549. - -CONTEMPT.--Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to -self-contempt. - - -550. - -THE TIE OF GRATITUDE.--There are servile souls who carry so far their -sense of obligation for benefits received that they strangle themselves -with the tie of gratitude. - - -551. - -THE PROPHET'S KNACK.--In predicting beforehand the procedure of -ordinary individuals, it must be taken for granted that they always -make use of the smallest intellectual expenditure in freeing themselves -from disagreeable situations. - - -552. - -MAN'S SOLE RIGHT.--He who swerves from the traditional is a victim of -the unusual; he who keeps to the traditional is its slave. The man is -ruined in either case. - - -553. - -BELOW THE BEAST.--When a man roars with laughter he surpasses all the -animals by his vulgarity. - - -554. - -PARTIAL KNOWLEDGE.--He who speaks a foreign language imperfectly has -more enjoyment therein than he who speaks it well. The enjoyment is -with the partially initiated. - - -555. - -DANGEROUS HELPFULNESS.--There are people who wish to make human life -harder for no other reason than to be able afterwards to offer men -their life-alleviating recipes--their Christianity, for example. - - -556. - -INDUSTRIOUSNESS AND CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.--Industriousness and -conscientiousness are often antagonists, owing to the fact that -industriousness wants to pluck the fruit sour from the tree while -conscientiousness wants to let it hang too long, until it falls and is -bruised. - - -557. - -CASTING SUSPICION.--We endeavour to cast suspicion on persons whom we -cannot endure. - - -558. - -THE CONDITIONS ARE LACKING.--Many people wait all their lives for the -opportunity to be good in _their own way._ - - -559. - -LACK OF FRIENDS.--Lack of friends leads to the inference that a person -is envious or presumptuous. Many a man owes his friends merely to the -fortunate circumstance that he has no occasion for envy. - - -560. - -DANGER IN MANIFOLDNESS.--With one talent more we often stand less -firmly than with one less; just as a table stands better on three feet -than on four. - - -561. - -AN EXEMPLAR FOR OTHERS.--Whoever wants to set a good example must add a -grain of folly to his virtue; people then imitate their exemplar and at -the same time raise themselves above him, a thing they love to do. - - -562. - -BEING A TARGET.--The bad things others say about us are often not -really aimed at us, but are the manifestations of spite or ill-humour -occasioned by quite different causes. - - -563. - -EASILY RESIGNED.--We suffer but little on account of ungratified wishes -if we have exercised our imagination in distorting the past. - - -564. - -IN DANGER.--One is in greatest danger of being run over when one has -just got out of the way of a carriage. - - -565. - -THE ROLE ACCORDING TO THE VOICE.--Whoever is obliged to speak louder -than he naturally does (say, to a partially deaf person or before a -large audience), usually exaggerates what he has to communicate. Many -a one becomes a conspirator, malevolent gossip, or intriguer, merely -because his voice is best suited for whispering. - - -566. - -LOVE AND HATRED.--Love and hatred are not blind, but are dazzled by the -fire which they carry about with them. - - -567. - -ADVANTAGEOUSLY PERSECUTED.--People who cannot make their merits -perfectly obvious to the world endeavour to awaken a strong hostility -against themselves. They have then the consolation of thinking that -this hostility stands between their merits and the acknowledgment -thereof--- and that many others think the same thing, which is very -advantageous for their recognition. - - -568. - -CONFESSION.--We forget our fault when we have confessed it to another -person, but he does not generally forget it. - - -569. - -SELF-SUFFICIENCY.--The Golden Fleece of self-sufficiency is a -protection against blows, but not against needle-pricks. - - -570. - -SHADOWS IN THE FLAME.--The flame is not so bright to itself as to those -whom it illuminates,--so also the wise man. - - -571. - -OUR OWN OPINIONS.--The first opinion that occurs to us when we are -suddenly asked about anything is not usually our own, but only the -current opinion belonging to our caste, position, or family; our own -opinions seldom float on the surface. - - -572. - -THE ORIGIN OF COURAGE.--The ordinary man is as courageous and -invulnerable as a hero when he does not see the danger, when he has no -eyes for it. Reversely, the hero has his one vulnerable spot upon the -back, where he has no eyes. - - -573. - -THE DANGER IN THE PHYSICIAN.--One must be born for one's physician, -otherwise one comes to grief through him. - - -574. - -MARVELLOUS VANITY.--Whoever has courageously prophesied the weather -three times and has been successful in his hits, acquires a certain -amount of inward confidence in his prophetic gift. We give credence to -the marvellous and irrational when it flatters our self-esteem. - - -575. - -A PROFESSION.--A profession is the backbone of life. - - -576. - -THE DANGER OF PERSONAL INFLUENCE.--Whoever feels that he exercises a -great inward influence over another person must give him a perfectly -free rein, must, in fact, welcome and even induce occasional -opposition, otherwise he will inevitably make an enemy. - - -577. - -RECOGNITION OF THE HEIR.--Whoever has founded something great in an -unselfish spirit is careful to rear heirs for his work. It is the sign -of a tyrannical and ignoble nature to see opponents in all possible -heirs, and to live in a state of self-defence against them. - - -578. - -PARTIAL KNOWLEDGE.--Partial knowledge is more triumphant than complete -knowledge; it takes things to be simpler than they are, and so makes -its theory more popular and convincing. - - -579. - -UNSUITABLE FOR A PARTY-MAN.--Whoever thinks much is unsuitable for a -party-man; his thinking leads him too quickly beyond the party. - - -580. - -A BAD MEMORY.--The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several -times the same good things for the _first_ time. - - -581. - -SELF-AFFLICTION.--Want of consideration is often the sign of a -discordant inner nature, which craves for stupefaction. - - -582. - -MARTYRS.--The disciples of a martyr suffer more than the martyr. - - -583. - -ARREARS OF VANITY.--The vanity of many people who have no occasion to -be vain is the inveterate habit, still surviving from the time when -people had no right to the belief in themselves and only begged it in -small sums from others. - - -584. - -_PUNCTUM SALIENS_ OF PASSION.--A person falling into a rage or into a -violent passion of love reaches a point when the soul is full like a -hogshead, but nevertheless a drop of water has still to be added, the -good will for the passion (which is also generally called the evil -will). This item only is necessary, and then the hogshead overflows. - - -585. - -A GLOOMY THOUGHT.--It is with men as with the charcoal fires in the -forest. It is only when young men have cooled down and have got -charred, like these piles, that they become _useful._ As long as they -fume and smoke they are perhaps more interesting, but they are useless -and too often uncomfortable. Humanity ruthlessly uses every individual -as material for the heating of its great machines; but what then is the -purpose of the machines, when all individuals (that is, the human race) -are useful only to maintain them? Machines that are ends in themselves: -is that the _umana commedia_? - - -586. - -THE HOUR-HAND OF LIFE.--Life consists of rare single moments of the -greatest importance, and of countless intervals during which, at best, -the phantoms of those moments hover around us. Love, the Spring, every -fine melody, the mountains, the moon, the sea--all speak but once -fully to the heart, if, indeed, they ever do quite attain to speech. -For many people have not those moments at all, and are themselves -intervals and pauses in the symphony of actual life. - - -587. - -ATTACK OR COMPROMISE.--We often make the mistake of showing violent -enmity towards a tendency, party, or period, because we happen only -to get a sight of its most exposed side, its stuntedness, or the -inevitable "faults of its virtues,"--perhaps because we ourselves have -taken a prominent part in them. We then turn our backs on them and -seek a diametrically opposite course; but the better way would be to -seek out their strong good sides, or to develop them in ourselves. To -be sure, a keener glance and a better will are needed to improve the -becoming and the imperfect than are required to see through it in its -imperfection and to deny it. - -588. - - -MODESTY.--There is true modesty (that is the knowledge that we are -not the works we create); and it is especially becoming in a great -mind, because such a mind can well grasp the thought of absolute -irresponsibility (even for the good it creates). People do not hate -a great man's presumptuousness in so far as he feels his strength, -but because he wishes to prove it by injuring others, by dominating -them, and seeing how long they will stand it. This, as a rule, is even -a proof of the absence of a secure sense of power, and makes people -doubt his greatness. We must therefore beware of presumption from the -stand-point of wisdom. - - -589. - -THE DAY'S FIRST THOUGHT.--The best way to begin a day well is to think, -on awakening, whether we cannot give pleasure during the day to at -least one person. If this could become a substitute for the religious -habit of prayer our fellow-men would benefit by the change. - - -590. - -PRESUMPTION AS THE LAST CONSOLATION.--When we so interpret a -misfortune, an intellectual defect, or a disease that we see therein -our predestined fate, our trial, or the mysterious punishment of our -former misdeeds, we thereby make our nature interesting and exalt -ourselves in imagination above our fellows. The proud sinner is a -well-known figure in all religious sects. - - -591. - -THE VEGETATION OF HAPPINESS.--Close beside the world's woe, and -often upon its volcanic soil, man has laid out his little garden of -happiness. Whether one regard life with the eyes of him who only seeks -knowledge therefrom, or of him who submits and is resigned, or of him -who rejoices over surmounted difficulties--everywhere one will find -some happiness springing up beside the evil--and in fact always the -more happiness the more volcanic the soil has been,--only it would be -absurd to say that suffering itself is justified by this happiness. - - -592. - -THE PATH OF OUR ANCESTORS.--It is sensible when a person develops still -further in himself the _talent_ upon which his father or grandfather -spent much trouble, and does not shift to something entirely new; -otherwise he deprives himself of the possibility of attaining -perfection in any one craft. That is why the proverb says, "Which road -shouldst thou ride?--That of thine ancestors." - - -593. - -VANITY AND AMBITION AS EDUCATORS.--As long as a person has not become -an instrument of general utility, ambition may torment him; if, -however, that point has been reached, if he necessarily works like a -machine for the good of all, then vanity may result; it will humanise -him in small matters and make him more sociable, endurable, and -considerate, when ambition has completed the coarser work of making him -useful. - - -594. - -PHILOSOPHICAL NOVICES.--Immediately we have comprehended the wisdom of -a philosopher, we go through the streets with a feeling as if we had -been re-created and had become great men; for we encounter only those -who are ignorant of this wisdom, and have therefore to deliver new and -unknown verdicts concerning everything. Because we now recognise a -law-book we think we must also comport ourselves as judges. - - -595. - -PLEASING BY DISPLEASING.--People who prefer to attract attention, and -thereby to displease, desire the same thing as those who neither wish -to please nor to attract attention, only they seek it more ardently and -indirectly by means of a step by which they apparently move away from -their goal. They desire influence and power, and therefore show their -superiority, even to such an extent that it becomes disagreeable; for -they know that he who has finally attained power, pleases in almost all -he says and does, and that even when he displeases he still seems to -please. The free spirit also, and in like manner the believer, desire -power, in order some day to please thereby; when, on account of their -doctrine, evil fate, persecution, dungeon, or execution threaten them, -they rejoice in the thought that their teaching will thus be engraved -and branded on the heart of mankind; though its effect is remote they -accept their fate as a painful but powerful means of still attaining to -power. - - -596. - -_CASUS BELLI_ AND THE LIKE.--The prince who, for his determination -to make war against his neighbour, invents a _casus belli,_ is like -a father who foists on his child a mother who is henceforth to be -regarded as such. And are not almost all publicly avowed motives of -action just such spurious mothers? - - -597. - -PASSION AND RIGHT.--Nobody talks more passionately of his rights than -he who, in the depths of his soul, is doubtful about them. By getting -passion on his side he seeks to confound his understanding and its -doubts,--he thus obtains a good conscience, and along with it success -with his fellow-men. - - -598. - -THE TRICK OF THE RESIGNING ONE.--He who protests against marriage, -after the manner of Catholic priests, will conceive of it in its -lowest and vulgarest form. In the same way he who disavows the honour -of his contemporaries will have a mean opinion of it; he can thus -dispense with it and struggle against it more easily. Moreover, he -who denies himself much in great matters will readily indulge himself -in small things. It might be possible that he who is superior to the -approbation of his contemporaries would nevertheless not deny himself -the gratification of small vanities. - - -599. - -THE YEARS OF PRESUMPTION.--The proper period of presumption in gifted -people is between their twenty-sixth and thirtieth years; it is the -time of early ripeness, with a large residue of sourness. On the -ground of what we feel within ourselves we demand honour and humility -from men who see little or nothing of it, and because this tribute -is not immediately forthcoming we revenge ourselves by the look, the -gesture of arrogance, and the tone of voice, which a keen ear and -eye recognise in every product of those years, whether it be poetry, -philosophy, or pictures and music. Older men of experience smile -thereat, and think with emotion of those beautiful years in which one -resents the fate of _being_ so much and _seeming_ so little. Later on -one really _seems_ more,--but one has lost the good belief in _being_ -much,--unless one remain for life an incorrigible fool of vanity. - - -600. - -DECEPTIVE AND YET DEFENSIBLE.--Just as in order to pass by an abyss or -to cross a deep stream on a plank we require a railing, not to hold -fast by,--for it would instantly break down with us,--but to give -the notion of security to the eye, so in youth we require persons -who unconsciously render us the service of that railing. It is true -they would not help us if we really wished to lean upon them in great -danger, but they afford the tranquillising sensation of protection -close to one (for instance, fathers, teachers, friends, as all three -usually are). - - -601. - -LEARNING TO LOVE.--One must learn to love, one must learn to be kind, -and this from childhood onwards; when education and chance give us no -opportunity for the exercise of these feelings our soul becomes dried -up, and even incapable of understanding the fine devices of loving men. -In the same way hatred must be learnt and fostered, when one wants to -become a proficient hater,--otherwise the germ of it will gradually die -out. - - -602. - -RUIN AS ORNAMENT.--Persons who pass through numerous mental phases -retain certain sentiments and habits of their earlier states, which -then project like a piece of inexplicable antiquity and grey stonework -into their new thought and action, often to the embellishment of the -whole surroundings. - - -603. - -LOVE AND HONOUR.--Love desires, fear avoids. That is why one cannot -be both loved and honoured by the same person, at least not at the -same time.[2] For he who honours recognises power,--that is to say, he -fears it, he is in a state of reverential fear (_Ehr-furcht_) But love -recognises no power, nothing that divides, detaches, superordinates, -or subordinates. Because it does not honour them, ambitious people -secretly or openly resent being loved. - - -604. - -A PREJUDICE IN FAVOUR OF COLD NATURES.--People who quickly take fire -grow cold quickly, and therefore are, on the whole, unreliable. For -those, therefore, who are always cold, or pretend to be so, there -is the favourable prejudice that they are particularly trustworthy, -reliable persons; they are confounded with those who take fire slowly -and retain it long. - - -605. - -THE DANGER IN FREE OPINIONS.--Frivolous occupation with free opinions -has a charm, like a kind of itching; if one yields to it further, -one begins to chafe the places; until at last an open, painful wound -results; that is to say, until the free opinion begins to disturb and -torment us in our position in life and in our human relations. - - -606. - -DESIRE FOR SORE AFFLICTION.--When passion is over it leaves behind an -obscure longing for it, and even in disappearing it casts a seductive -glance at us. It must have afforded a kind of pleasure to have -been beaten with this scourge. Compared with it, the more moderate -sensations appear insipid; we still prefer, apparently, the more -violent displeasure to languid delight. - - -607. - -DISSATISFACTION WITH OTHERS AND WITH THE WORLD.--When, as so frequently -happens, we vent our dissatisfaction on others when we are really -dissatisfied with ourselves, we are in fact attempting to mystify and -deceive our judgment; we desire to find a motive _a posteriori_ for -this dissatisfaction, in the mistakes or deficiencies of others, and -so lose sight of ourselves. Strictly religious people, who have been -relentless judges of themselves, have at the same time spoken most ill -of humanity generally; there has never been a saint who reserved sin -for himself and virture for others, any more than a man who, according -to Buddha's rule, hides his good qualities from people and only shows -his bad ones. - - -608. - -CONFUSION OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.--Unconsciously we seek the principles -and opinions which are suited to our temperament, so that at last it -seems as if these principles and opinions had formed our character -and given it support and stability, whereas exactly the contrary has -taken place. Our thoughts and judgments are, apparently, to be taken -subsequently as the causes of our nature, but as a matter of fact _our_ -nature is the cause of our so thinking and judging. And what induces -us to play this almost unconscious comedy? Inertness and convenience, -and to a large extent also the vain desire to be regarded as thoroughly -consistent and homogeneous in nature and thought; for this wins -respect and gives confidence and power. - - -609. - -AGE IN RELATION TO TRUTH.--Young people love what is interesting and -exceptional, indifferent whether it is truth or falsehood. Riper minds -love what is interesting and extraordinary when it is truth. Matured -minds, finally, love truth even in those in whom it appears plain and -simple and is found tiresome by ordinary people, because they have -observed that truth is in the habit of giving utterance to its highest -intellectual verities with all the appearance of simplicity. - - -610. - -MEN AS BAD POETS.--Just as bad poets seek a thought to fit the rhyme -in the second half of the verse, so men in the second half of life, -having become more scrupulous, are in the habit of seeking pursuits, -positions, and conditions which suit those of their earlier life, so -that outwardly all sounds well, but their life is no longer ruled and -continuously determined anew by a powerful thought: in place thereof -there is merely the intention of finding a rhyme. - - -611. - -ENNUI AND PLAY.--Necessity compels us to work, with the product of -which the necessity is appeased; the ever new awakening of necessity, -however, accustoms us to work. But in the intervals in which necessity -is appeased and asleep, as it were, we are attacked by ennui. What is -this? In a word it is the habituation to work, which now makes itself -felt as a new and additional necessity; it will be all the stronger the -more a person has been accustomed to work, perhaps, even, the more a -person has suffered from necessities. In order to escape ennui, a man -either works beyond the extent of his former necessities, or he invents -play, that is to say, work that is only intended to appease the general -necessity for work. He who has become satiated with play, and has no -new necessities impelling him to work, is sometimes attacked by the -longing for a third state, which is related to play as gliding is to -dancing, as dancing is to walking, a blessed, tranquil movement; it is -the artists' and philosophers' vision of happiness. - - -612. - -LESSONS FROM PICTURES.--If we look at a series of pictures of -ourselves, from the time of later childhood to the time of mature -manhood, we discover with pleased surprise that the man bears more -resemblance to the child than to the youth: that probably, therefore, -in accordance with this fact, there has been in the interval a -temporary alienation of the fundamental character, over which the -collected, concentrated force of the man has again become master. With -this observation this other is also in accordance, namely, that all -strong influences of passions, teachers, and political events, which -in our youthful years draw us hither and thither, seem later on to be -referred back again to a fixed standard; of course they still continue -to exist and operate within us, but our fundamental sentiments and -opinions have now the upper hand, and use their influence perhaps as a -source of strength, but are no longer merely regulative, as was perhaps -the case in our twenties. Thus even the thoughts and sentiments of the -man appear more in accordance with those of his childish years,--and -this objective fact expresses itself in the above-mentioned subjective -fact. - - -613. - -THE TONE OF VOICE OF DIFFERENT AGES.--The tone in which youths speak, -praise, blame, and versify, displeases an older person because it is -too loud, and yet at the same time dull and confused like a sound in -a vault, which acquires such a loud ring owing to the emptiness; for -most of the thought of youths does not gush forth out of the fulness -of their own nature, but is the accord and the echo of what has been -thought, said, praised or blamed around them. As their sentiments, -however (their inclinations and aversions), resound much more forcibly -than the reasons thereof, there is heard, whenever they divulge these -sentiments, the dull, clanging tone which is a sign of the absence -or scarcity of reasons. The tone of riper age is rigorous, abruptly -concise, moderately loud, but, like everything distinctly articulated, -is heard very far off. Old age, finally, often brings a certain -mildness and consideration into the tone of the voice, and as it were, -sweetens it; in many cases, to be sure it also sours it. - - -614. - -THE ATAVIST AND THE FORERUNNER.--The man of unpleasant character, -full of distrust, envious of the success of fellow-competitors and -neighbours, violent and enraged at divergent opinions, shows that he -belongs to an earlier grade of culture, and is, therefore, an atavism; -for the way in which he behaves to people was right and suitable only -for an age of club-law; he is an _atavist._ The man of a different -character, rich in sympathy, winning friends everywhere, finding all -that is growing and becoming amiable, rejoicing at the honours and -successes of others and claiming no privilege of solely knowing the -truth, but full of a modest distrust,--he is a forerunner who presses -upward towards a higher human culture. The man of unpleasant character -dates from the times when the rude basis of human intercourse had -yet to be laid, the other lives on the upper floor of the edifice of -culture, removed as far as possible from the howling and raging wild -beast imprisoned in the cellars. - - -615. - -CONSOLATION FOR HYPOCHONDRIACS.--When a great thinker is temporarily -subjected to hypochondriacal self-torture he can say to himself, by -way of consolation: "It is thine own great strength on which this -parasite feeds and grows; if thy strength were smaller thou wouldst -have less to suffer." The statesman may say just the same thing when -jealousy and vengeful feeling, or, in a word, the tone of the _bellum -omnium contra omnes,_ for which, as the representative of a nation, he -must necessarily have a great capacity, occasionally intrudes into his -personal relations and makes his life hard. - - -616. - -ESTRANGED FROM THE PRESENT.--There are great advantages in estranging -one's self for once to a large extent from one's age, and being as -it were driven back from its shores into the ocean of past views of -things. Looking thence towards the coast one commands a view, perhaps -for the first time, of its aggregate formation, and when one again -approaches the land one has the advantage of understanding it better, -on the whole, than those who have never left it. - - -617. - -SOWING AND REAPING ON THE FIELD OF PERSONAL DEFECTS.--Men like Rousseau -understand how to use their weaknesses, defects, and vices as manure -for their talent. When Rousseau bewails the corruption and degeneration -of society as the evil results of culture, there is a personal -experience at the bottom of it, the bitterness which gives sharpness to -his general condemnation and poisons the arrows with which he shoots; -he unburdens himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting a -remedy which, while benefiting society directly, will also benefit -himself indirectly by means of society. - - -618. - -PHILOSOPHICALLY MINDED.--We usually endeavour to acquire _one_ -attitude of mind, _one_ set of opinions for all situations and events -of life--it is mostly called being philosophically minded. But for -the acquisition of knowledge it may be of greater importance not to -make ourselves thus uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the -different situations in life; these bring their own opinions with -them. We thus take an intelligent interest in the life and nature of -many persons by not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single -individuals. - - -619. - -IN THE FIRE OF CONTEMPT.--It is a fresh step towards independence when -one first dares to give utterance to opinions which it is considered as -disgraceful for a person to entertain; even friends and acquaintances -are then accustomed to grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass -through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more to itself. - - -620. - -SELF-SACRIFICE.--In the event of choice, a great sacrifice is preferred -to a small one, because we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice -by self-admiration, which is not possible in the case of a small one. - - -621. - -LOVE AS AN ARTIFICE.--Whoever really wishes to _become acquainted -with_ something new (whether it be a person, an event, or a book), -does well to take up the matter with all possible love, and to avert -his eye quickly from all that seems hostile, objectionable, and false -therein,--in fact to forget such things; so that, for instance, he -gives the author of a book the best start possible, and straightway, -just as in a race, longs with beating heart that he may reach the goal. -In this manner one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its -moving point, and this is called becoming acquainted with it. This -stage having been arrived at, the understanding afterwards makes its -restrictions; the over-estimation and the temporary suspension of the -critical pendulum were only artifices to lure forth the soul of the -matter. - - -622. - -THINKING TOO WELL AND TOO ILL OF THE WORLD.--Whether we think too -well or too ill of things, we always have the advantage of deriving -therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good preconception we -usually put more sweetness into things (experiences) than they actually -contain. A too bad preconception causes a pleasant disappointment, the -pleasantness that lay in the things themselves is increased by the -pleasantness of the surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will have -the reverse experience in both cases. - - -623. - -PROFOUND PEOPLE.--Those whose strength lies in the deepening of -impressions--they are usually called profound people--are relatively -self-possessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for in the first -moment the impression is still shallow, it only then _becomes_ deep. -Long foreseen, long expected events or persons, however, excite such -natures most, and make them almost incapable of eventually having -presence of mind on the arrival thereof. - - -624. - -INTERCOURSE WITH THE HIGHER SELF.--Every one has his good day, when -he finds his higher self; and true humanity demands that a person -shall be estimated according to this state and not according to his -work-days of constraint and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be -appraised and honoured according to the most exalted vision he could -see and represent. But men themselves commune very differently with -this their higher self, and are frequently their own playactors, in so -far as they repeatedly imitate what they are in those moments. Some -stand in awe and humility before their ideal, and would fain deny it; -they are afraid of their higher self because, when it speaks, it speaks -pretentiously. Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and -staying away just as it pleases; on that account it is often called a -gift of the gods, while in fact everything else is a gift of the gods -(of chance); this, however, is the man himself. - - -625. - -LONELY PEOPLE.--Some people are so much accustomed to being alone -in self-communion that they do not at all compare themselves with -others, but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet, happy mood, -conversing pleasantly, and even hilariously, with themselves. If, -however, they are brought to the point of comparing themselves with -others, they are inclined to a brooding under-estimation of their own -worth, so that they have first to be compelled by others _to form_ once -more a good and just opinion of themselves, and even from this acquired -opinion they will always want to subtract and abate something. We must -not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneliness or foolishly -commiserate them on that account, as is so often done. - - -626. - -WITHOUT MELODY.--There are persons to whom a constant repose in -themselves and the harmonious ordering of all their capacities is -so natural that every definite activity is repugnant to them. They -resemble music which consists of nothing but prolonged, harmonious -accords, without even the tendency to an organised and animated melody -showing itself. All external movement serves only to restore to the -boat its equilibrium on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men -usually become excessively impatient when they meet such natures, who -_will never be anything in_ the world, only it is not allowable to say -of them that they _are nothing._ But in certain moods the sight of them -raises the unusual question: "Why should there be melody at all? Why -should it not suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a deep -lake?" The Middle Ages were richer in such natures than our times. How -seldom one now meets with any one who can live on so peacefully and -happily with himself even in the midst of the crowd, saying to himself, -like Goethe, "The best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live -and grow in opposition to the world, and gain what it cannot take away -from me with fire and sword." - - -627. - -TO LIVE AND EXPERIENCE.--If we observe how some people can deal with -their experiences--their unimportant, everyday experiences--so that -these become soil which yields fruit thrice a year; whilst others--and -how many!--are driven through the surf of the most exciting adventures, -the most diversified movements of times and peoples, and yet always -remain light, always remain on the surface, like cork; we are finally -tempted to divide mankind into a minority (minimality) of those who -know how to make much out of little, and a majority of those who -know how to make little out of much; indeed, we even meet with the -counter-sorcerers who, instead of making the world out of nothing, -make a nothing out of the world. - - -628. - -SERIOUSNESS IN PLAY.---In Genoa one evening, in the twilight, I heard -from a tower a long chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and -sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the streets, out into the -evening sky and sea-air, so thrilling, and at the same time so childish -and so sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and suddenly felt the -force of them in my heart: "_Human matters, one and all, are not worthy -of great seriousness; nevertheless ..._" - - -629. - -CONVICTION AND JUSTICE.--The requirement that a person must afterwards, -when cool and sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves -during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that weigh upon mankind. -To have to acknowledge for all future time the consequences of anger, -of fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to a bitterness -against these feelings proportionate to the idolatry with which they -are idolised, especially by artists. These cultivate to its full extent -the _esteem of the passions,_ and have always done so; to be sure, they -also glorify the terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person -affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with death, mutilation, or -voluntary banishment in their train, and the resignation of the broken -heart. In any case they keep alive curiosity about the passions; it is -as if they said: "Without passions you have no experience whatever." -Because we have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely fictitious -being, such as a god), because we have surrendered our heart to a -prince, a party, a woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, -in a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm over us and made -those beings appear worthy of all veneration, and every sacrifice--are -we, therefore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we not, after all, -deceive ourselves then? Was there not a hypothetical promise, under the -tacit presupposition that those beings to whom we consecrated ourselves -were really the beings they seemed to be in our imagination? Are we -under obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with the knowledge -that by this fidelity we shall cause injury to our higher selves? No, -there is no law, no obligation of that sort; we _must_ become traitors, -we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals again and again. We -cannot advance from one period of life into another without causing -these pains of treachery and also suffering from them. Might it be -necessary to guard against the ebullitions of our feelings in order -to escape these pains? Would not the world then become too arid, too -ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves whether these pains -are _necessary_ on a change of convictions, or whether they do not -depend on a _mistaken_ opinion and estimate. Why do we admire a person -who remains true to his convictions and despise him who changes them? -I fear the answer must be, "because every one takes for granted that -such a change is caused only by motives of more general utility or of -personal trouble." That is to say, we believe at bottom that nobody -alters his opinions as long as they are advantageous to him, or at -least as long as they do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however, -it furnishes a bad proof of the _intellectual_ significance of all -convictions. Let us once examine how convictions arise, and let us see -whether their importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will thereby -be seen that the _change_ of convictions also is in all circumstances -judged according to a false standard, that we have hitherto been -accustomed to suffer _too much_ from this change. - - -630. - -Conviction is belief in the possession of absolute truth on any matter -of knowledge. This belief takes it for granted, therefore, that there -are absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have been found for -attaining to them; and finally, that every one who has convictions -makes use of these perfect methods. All three notions show at once that -the man of convictions is not the man of scientific thought; he seems -to us still in the age of theoretical innocence, and is practically -a child, however grown-up he may be. Whole centuries, however, have -been lived under the influence of those childlike presuppositions, and -out of them have flowed the mightiest sources of human strength. The -countless numbers who sacrificed themselves for their convictions -believed they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth. They were -all wrong, however; probably no one has ever sacrificed himself for -Truth; at least, the dogmatic expression of the faith of any such -person has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But really, -people wanted to carry their point because they believed that they -_must be_ in the right. To allow their belief to be wrested from -them probably meant calling in question their eternal salvation. In -an affair of such extreme importance the "will" was too audibly the -prompter of the intellect. The presupposition of every believer of -every shade of belief has been that he _could not_ be confuted; if the -counter-arguments happened to be very strong, it always remained for -him to decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set up the -"_credo quia absurdum est_" as the standard of extreme fanaticism. It -is not the struggle of opinions that has made history so turbulent; but -the struggle of belief in opinions,--that is to say, of convictions. -If all those who thought so highly of their convictions, who made -sacrifices of all kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body, -nor life in their service, had only devoted half of their energy to -examining their right to adhere to this or that conviction and by what -road they arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of mankind now -appear! How much more knowledge would there be! All the cruel scenes -in connection with the persecution of heretics of all kinds would have -been avoided, for two reasons: firstly, because the inquisitors would -above all have inquired of themselves, and would have recognised -the presumption of defending absolute truth; and secondly, because -the heretics themselves would, after examination, have taken no more -interest in such badly established doctrines as those of all religious -sectarians and "orthodox" believers. - - -631. - -From the ages in which it was customary to believe in the possession -of absolute truth, people have inherited a profound _dislike_ of all -sceptical and relative attitudes with regard to questions of knowledge; -they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for good or evil, in the convictions -of those in authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and they -have a kind of remorse of conscience when they do not do so. This -tendency is quite comprehensible, and its results furnish no ground -for condemnation of the course of the development of human reason. -The scientific spirit in man, however, has gradually to bring to -maturity the virtue of _cautious forbearance,_ the wise moderation, -which is better known in practical than in theoretical life, and -which, for instance, Goethe has represented in "Antonio," as an object -of provocation for all Tassos,--that is to say, for unscientific and -at the same time inactive natures. The man of convictions has in -himself the right not to comprehend the man of cautious thought, the -theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the other hand, has no -right to blame the former on that account, he takes no notice thereof, -and knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former will yet cling -to him, as Tasso finally clung to Antonio. - - -632. - -He who has not passed through different phases of conviction, but -sticks to the faith in whose net he was first caught, is, under -all circumstances, just on account of this unchangeableness, a -representative of _atavistic_ culture; in accordance with this lack -of culture (which always presupposes plasticity for culture), he -is severe, unintelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever -suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who has recourse to all -expedients for enforcing his opinions because he cannot conceive that -there must be other opinions; he is, in such respects, perhaps a -source of strength, and even wholesome in cultures that have become -too emancipated and languid, but only because he strongly incites to -opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation of the new culture, -which is forced to struggle with him, becomes strong itself. - - -633. - -In essential respects we are still the same men as those of the time -of the Reformation; how could it be otherwise? But the fact that we -_no longer_ allow ourselves certain means for promoting the triumph -of our opinions distinguishes us from that age, and proves that we -belong to a higher culture. He who still combats and overthrows -opinions with calumnies and outbursts of rage, after the manner of -the Reformation men, obviously betrays the fact that he would have -burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times, and that he would -have resorted to all the methods of the Inquisition if he had been -an opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition was rational at that -time; for it represented nothing else than the universal application of -martial law, which had to be proclaimed throughout the entire domain -of the Church, and which, like all martial law, gave a right to the -extremest methods, under the presupposition, of course, (which we now -no longer share with those people), that the Church _possessed_ truth -and had to preserve it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the -salvation of mankind. Now, however, one does not so readily concede to -any one that he possesses the truth; strict methods of investigation -have diffused enough of distrust and precaution, so that every one who -violently advocates opinions in word and deed is looked upon as an -enemy of our modern culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter -of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is now of very little -consequence in comparison with the certainly milder and less noisy -pathos of the search for truth, which is never weary of learning afresh -and examining anew. - - -634. - -Moreover, the methodical search for truth is itself the outcome of -those ages in which convictions were at war with each other. If the -individual had not cared about _his_ "truth," that is to say, about -carrying his point, there would have been no method of investigation; -thus, however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of different -individuals to absolute truth, people went on step by step to find -irrefragable principles according to which the rights of the claims -could be tested and the dispute settled. At first people decided -according to authorities; later on they criticised one another's ways -and means of finding the presumed truth; in the interval there was a -period when people deduced the consequences of the adverse theory, and -perhaps found them to be productive of injury and unhappiness; from -which it was then to be inferred by every one that the conviction of -the adversary involved an error. The _personal struggle of the thinker_ -at last so sharpened his methods that real truths could be discovered, -and the mistakes of former methods exposed before the eyes of all. - - -635. - -On the whole, scientific methods are at least as important results -of investigation as any other results, for the scientific spirit is -based upon a knowledge of method, and if the methods were lost, all -the results of science could not prevent the renewed prevalence of -superstition and absurdity. Clever people may _learn_ as much as -they like of the results of science, but one still notices in their -conversation, and especially in the hypotheses they make, that they -lack the scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive distrust of -the devious courses of thinking which, in consequence of long training, -has taken root in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough for -them to find any kind of hypothesis on a subject, they are then all -on fire for it, and imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have -an opinion is with them equivalent to immediately becoming fanatical -for it, and finally taking it to heart as a conviction. In the case -of an unexplained matter they become heated for the first idea that -comes into their head which has any resemblance to an explanation--a -course from which the worst results constantly follow, especially in -the field of politics. On that account everybody should nowadays have -become thoroughly acquainted with at least _one_ science, for then -surely he knows what is meant by method, and how necessary is the -extremest carefulness. To women in particular this advice is to be -given at present; as to those who are irretrievably the victims of all -hypotheses, especially when these have the appearance of being witty, -attractive, enlivening, and invigorating. Indeed, on close inspection -one sees that by far the greater number of educated people still desire -convictions from a thinker and nothing but _convictions,_ and that -only a small minority want _certainty._ The former want to be forcibly -carried away in order thereby to obtain an increase of strength; the -latter few have the real interest which disregards personal advantages -and the increase of strength also. The former class, who greatly -predominate, are always reckoned upon when the thinker comports himself -and labels himself as a _genius,_ and thus views himself as a higher -being to whom authority belongs. In so far as genius of this kind -upholds the ardour of convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious -and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of truth, however much it -may think itself the wooer thereof. - - -636. - -There is, certainly, also an entirely different species of genius, that -of justice; and I cannot make up my mind to estimate it lower than any -kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius. Its peculiarity -is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out of the way of everything that -blinds and confuses people's judgment of things; it is consequently -an _adversary of convictions,_ for it wants to give their own to all, -whether they be living or dead, real or imaginary--and for that purpose -it must know thoroughly; it therefore places everything in the best -light and goes around it with careful eyes. Finally, it will even give -to its adversary the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men call -it,--among women it is called "faith"), what is due to conviction--for -the sake of truth. - - -637. - -Opinions evolve out of _passions; indolence of intellect_ allows those -to congeal into _convictions._ He, however, who is conscious of himself -as a _free,_ restless, lively spirit can prevent this congelation by -constant change; and if he is altogether a thinking snowball, he will -not have opinions in his head at all, but only certainties and properly -estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a mixed nature, alternately -inspired with ardour and chilled through and through by the intellect, -want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess we acknowledge. The -_fire_ in us generally makes us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our -goddess; in this condition we are not permitted to take her hand, and -the serious smile of her approval never rests upon us. We reverence -her as the veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her our pain -as penance and sacrifice when the fire threatens to burn and consume -us. It is the _intellect_ that saves us from being utterly burnt and -reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away from the sacrificial -altar of justice or enwraps us in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from -the fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass from opinion to -opinion, through the change of parties, as noble _betrayers_ of all -things that can in any way be betrayed--and nevertheless without a -feeling of guilt. - - -638. - -THE WANDERER.--He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any -extent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as -a wanderer on the face of the earth--and not even as a traveller -_towards_ a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly -wants to observe and keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens -in the world; therefore he cannot attach his heart too firmly to -anything individual; he must have in himself something wandering that -takes pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be sure such a man will -have bad nights, when he is weary and finds the gates of the town that -should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may also find that, as in -the East, the desert reaches to the gates, that wild beasts howl far -and near, that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take away his -beasts of burden. Then the dreadful night closes over him like a second -desert upon the desert, and his heart grows weary of wandering. Then -when the morning sun rises upon him, glowing like a Deity of anger, -when the town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of the dwellers -therein still more desert, uncleanliness, deceit, and insecurity than -outside the gates--and the day is almost worse than the night. Thus -it may occasionally happen to the wanderer; but then there come as, -compensation the delightful mornings of other lands and days, when -already in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of muses dancing -by, close to him, in the mist of the mountain; when afterwards, in -the symmetry of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under -the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-places all manner of -good and bright things are flung to him, the gifts of all the free -spirits who are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes, and who, -like himself, alternately merry and thoughtful, are wanderers and -philosophers. Born of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the -question how the day, between the hours of ten and twelve, can have -such a pure, transparent, and gloriously cheerful countenance: they -seek the _ante-meridian_ philosophy. - - -[Footnote 1: This is why Nietzsche pointed out later on that he had an -interest in the preservation of Christianity, and that he was sure his -teaching would not undermine this faith--just as little as anarchists -have undermined kings; but have left them seated all the more firmly on -their thrones.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: Women never understand this.--J.M.K.] - - - - - AN EPODE. - - - AMONG FRIENDS. - - - (Translated by T. COMMON.) - - - - Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming, - Nicer still when we are laughing, - 'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding, - On the moss the book a-reading, - Sweetly loud with friends all laughing - Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming. - Do I well, we're mute and humble; - Do I ill--we'll laugh exceeding; - Make it worse and worse, unheeding, - Worse proceeding, more laughs needing, - Till into the grave we stumble. - Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain? - Amen! Till we meet again. - - - II. - - No excuses need be started! - Give, ye glad ones, open hearted, - To this foolish book before you - Ear and heart and lodging meet; - Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you, - Though of folly I may treat! - What I find, seek, and am needing, - Was it e'er in book for reading? - Honour now fools in my name, - Learn from out this book by reading - How "our sense" from reason came. - Thus, my friends, shall it obtain? - Amen! Till we meet again. - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Human All-Too-Human, Part 1, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51935 *** diff --git a/old/51935-h/51935-h.htm b/old/51935-h/51935-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3b799d5..0000000 --- a/old/51935-h/51935-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11546 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Human, all-too-Human volume 1, by Friedrich Nietzsche. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - color: #C0C0C0; -} /* page numbers */ - -.linenum { - position: absolute; - top: auto; - left: 4%; -} /* poetry number */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -a:link {color: #000099; text-decoration: none; } - -v:link {color: #000099; text-decoration: none; } - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -.parnum {margin-top: 2em; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: - 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51935 ***</div> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>HUMAN</h1> - -<h1>ALL-TOO-HUMAN</h1> - -<h3><i>A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS</i></h3> - -<h4>PART I</h4> - -<h3>By</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>HELEN ZIMMERN</h4> - -<h4>WITH INTRODUCTION BY</h4> - -<h4>J. M. KENNEDY</h4> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/ill_niet.jpg" width="150" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h4>The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche</h4> - -<h5>The First Complete and Authorised English Translation</h5> - -<h4>Edited by Dr Oscar Levy</h4> - -<h4>Volume Six</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1909</h5> -<hr class="full" /> - - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span class="caption">CONTENTS</span>.<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#PREFACE">AUTHOR'S PREFACE</a><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#FIRST_DIVISION">FIRST DIVISION</a>: FIRST AND LAST THINGS<br /> -<a href="#SECOND_DIVISION">SECOND DIVISION</a>: THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENT<br /> -<a href="#THIRD_DIVISION">THIRD DIVISION</a>: THE RELIGIOUS LIFE<br /> -<a href="#FOURTH_DIVISION">FOURTH DIVISION</a>: CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS<br /> -<a href="#FIFTH_DIVISION">FIFTH DIVISION</a>: THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE<br /> -<a href="#SIXTH_DIVISION">SIXTH DIVISION</a>: MAN IN SOCIETY<br /> -<a href="#SEVENTH_DIVISION">SEVENTH DIVISION</a>: WIFE AND CHILD<br /> -<a href="#EIGHTH_DIVISION">EIGHTH DIVISION</a>: A GLANCE AT THE STATE<br /> -<a href="#AN_EPODE">AN EPODE</a>—AMONG FRIENDS<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION.</a></h4> - - -<p>Nietzsche's essay, <i>Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,</i> appeared in 1876, -and his next publication was his present work, which was issued in -1878. A comparison of the books will show that the two years of -meditation intervening had brought about a great change in Nietzsche's -views, his style of expressing them, and the form in which they -were cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives way to an -Apollonian thinker with a touch of pessimism. The long essay form is -abandoned, and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some tinged with -melancholy, others with satire, several, especially towards the end, -with Nietzschian wit at its best, and a few at the beginning so very -abstruse as to require careful study.</p> - -<p>Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche had gradually come to -see Wagner as he really was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had -pictured in his own mind turned out to be nothing more than a rather -dilettante philosopher, an opportunistic decadent with a suspicious -tendency towards Christianity. The young philosopher thereupon -proceeded to shake off the influence which the musician had exercised -upon him. He was successful in doing so, but not without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> struggle, -just as he had formerly shaken off the influence of Schopenhauer. -Hence he writes in his autobiography:<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> "<i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> is -the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A book for <i>free</i> spirits,' -and almost every line in it represents a victory—in its pages I freed -myself from everything foreign to my real nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title says, 'Where <i>you</i> see ideal things, I see things -which are only—human alas! all-too-human!' I know man <i>better</i>—the -term 'free spirit' must here be understood in no other sense than this: -a <i>freed</i> man, who has once more taken possession of himself."</p> - -<p>The form of this book will be better understood when it is remembered -that at this period Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach -trouble and headaches. As a cure for his complaints, he spent his time -in travel when he could get a few weeks' respite from his duties at -Basel University; and it was in the course of his solitary walks and -hill-climbing tours that the majority of these thoughts occurred to -him and were jotted down there and then. A few of them, however, date -further back, as he tells us in the preface to the second part of this -work. Many of them, he says, occupied his mind even before he published -his first book, <i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> and several others, as we learn -from his notebooks and posthumous writings, date from the period of the -<i>Thoughts out of Season.</i></p> - -<p>It must be clearly understood, however, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> Nietzsche's disease must -not be looked upon in the same way as that of an ordinary man. People -are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous; but any one who rights -with and conquers his disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did, -benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In the first place, he has -passed through several stages of human psychology with which a healthy -man is entirely unacquainted; <i>e.g.</i> he has learnt by introspection -the spiteful and revengeful spirit of the sick man and his religion. -Secondly, in his moments of freedom from pain and gloom his thoughts -will be all the more brilliant.</p> - -<p>In support of this last statement, one instance may be selected out of -hundreds that could be adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater part -of his life in exile from his native country, tortured by headaches, -and finally dying in a foreign land as the result of a spinal disease. -His splendid works were composed in his moments of respite from -illness, and during the last years of his life, when his health was -at its worst, he gave to the world his famous <i>Romancero.</i> We would -likewise do well to recollect Goethe's saying:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen,<br /> -Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Thus neither the form of this book—so startling at first to those who -have been brought up in the traditions of our own school—nor the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> -treat all men as equals, and proclaim the establishment of equal rights:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on -<i>justice</i> is possible; but, as has been said, only within -the ranks of the governing classes, which in this case -<i>practises</i> justice with sacrifices and abnegations. On -the other hand, to <i>demand</i> equality of rights, as do the -Socialists of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome -of justice, but of covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces -of flesh to a beast, and then withdraw them again until -it finally begins to roar, do you think that the roaring -implies justice?</p></blockquote> - -<p>Theologians on the other hand, as may be expected, will find no such -ready help in their difficulties from Nietzsche. They must, on the -contrary, be on their guard against so alert an adversary—a duty -which they are apparently not going to shirk; for theologians are -amongst the most ardent students of Nietzsche in this country. Their -attention may therefore be drawn to aphorism 630 of this book, dealing -with convictions and their origin, which will no doubt be successfully -refuted by the defenders of the true faith. In fact, there is not a -single paragraph in the book that does not deserve careful study by all -serious thinkers.</p> - -<p>On the whole, however, this is a calm book, and those who are -accustomed to Nietzsche the out-spoken Immoralist, may be somewhat -astonished at the calm tone of the present volume. The explanation is -that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on his own philosophical -path. His life-long aim, the uplifting of the type man, was still in -view, but the way leading towards it was once more uncertain. Hence the -peculiarly calm, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> melancholic, and what Nietzsche himself would -call Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so different from -the style of his earlier and later writings. For this very reason, -however, the book may appeal all the more to English readers, who are -of course more Apollonian than Dionysian. Nietzsche is feeling his way, -and these aphorisms represent his first steps. As such—besides having -a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are enormous aids to the -study of his character and temperament.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. M. KENNEDY.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Ecce Homo,</i> p. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> "Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a dark -and sombre background."—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a><br /><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h4> - - -<p class="parnum">1.</p> - - -<p>I have been told frequently, and always with great surprise, that there -is something common and distinctive in all my writings, from the <i>Birth -of Tragedy</i> to the latest published <i>Prelude to a Philosophy of the -Future.</i> They all contain, I have been told, snares and nets for unwary -birds, and an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the inversion -of customary valuations and valued customs. What? <i>Everything</i> -only—human-all-too-human? People lay down my writings with this sigh, -not without a certain dread and distrust of morality itself, indeed -almost tempted and encouraged to become advocates of the <i>worst</i> -things: as being perhaps only the <i>best</i> disparaged? My writings have -been called a school of suspicion and especially of disdain, more -happily, also, a school of courage and even of audacity. Indeed, I -myself do not think that any one has ever looked at the world with such -a profound suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's Advocate, but -equally also, to speak theologically, as enemy and impeacher of God; -and he who realises something of the consequences involved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> in every -profound suspicion, something of the chills and anxieties of loneliness -to which every uncompromising <i>difference of outlook</i> condemns him -who is affected therewith, will also understand how often I sought -shelter in some kind of reverence or hostility, or scientificality -or levity or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and, as it -were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness; also why, when I did not -find what I <i>needed,</i> I was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit -and to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else have poets ever -done? And for what purpose has all the art in the world existed?). -What I always required most, however, for my cure and self-recovery, -was the belief that I was <i>not</i> isolated in such circumstances, that I -did not <i>see</i> in an isolated manner—a magic suspicion of relationship -and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a repose in the -confidence of friendship, a blindness in both parties without suspicion -or note of interrogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces -of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour, epidermis, and -outside appearance. Perhaps I might be reproached in this respect -for much "art" and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily -and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will to -morality at a time when I had become sufficiently clear-sighted about -morality; also for deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable -romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an end; also about -the Greeks, also about the Germans and their future—and there would -still probably be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> however, -that this were all true and that I were reproached with good reason, -what do <i>you</i> know, what <i>could</i> you know as to how much artifice of -self-preservation, how much rationality and higher protection there is -in such self-deception,—and how much falseness I still <i>require</i> in -order to allow myself again and again the luxury of <i>my</i> sincerity? -... In short, I still live; and life, in spite of ourselves, is not -devised by morality; it <i>demands</i> illusion, it <i>lives</i> by illusion -... but——There! I am already beginning again and doing what I have -always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher that I am,—I am talking -un-morally, ultra-morally, "beyond good and evil"?...</p> - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - -<p>Thus then, when I found it necessary, I <i>invented</i> once on a time the -"free spirits," to whom this discouragingly encouraging book with -the title <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> is dedicated. There are no such -"free spirits" nor have there been such, but, as already said, I then -required them for company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils -(sickness, loneliness, foreignness,—<i>acedia,</i> inactivity) as brave -companions and ghosts with whom I could laugh and gossip when so -inclined and send to the devil when they became bores,—as compensation -for the lack of friends. That such free spirits <i>will be possible</i> some -day, that our Europe <i>will</i> have such bold and cheerful wights amongst -her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> as the shadows of -a hermit's phantasmagoria—<i>I</i> should be the last to doubt thereof. -Already I see them <i>coming,</i> slowly, slowly; and perhaps I am doing -something to hasten their coming when I describe in advance under what -auspices I <i>see</i> them originate, and upon what paths I <i>see</i> them come.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">3.</p> - -<p>One may suppose that a spirit in which the type "free spirit" is to -become fully mature and sweet, has had its decisive event in a <i>great -emancipation,</i> and that it was all the more fettered previously and -apparently bound for ever to its corner and pillar. What is it that -binds most strongly? What cords are almost unrendable? In men of a -lofty and select type it will be their duties; the reverence which is -suitable to youth, respect and tenderness for all that is time-honoured -and worthy, gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand which -led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt to adore,—their most -exalted moments themselves will bind them most effectively, will lay -upon them the most enduring obligations. For those who are thus bound -the great emancipation comes suddenly, like an earthquake; the young -soul is all at once convulsed, unloosened and extricated—it does not -itself know what is happening. An impulsion and-compulsion sway and -over-master it like a command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth -on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent, dangerous curiosity -about an undiscovered world flames and flares in every sense. "Better -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> die than live <i>here</i>"—says the imperious voice and seduction, and -this "here," this "at home" is all that the soul has hitherto loved! A -sudden fear and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of disdain -for what was called its "duty," a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanically -throbbing longing for travel, foreignness, estrangement, coldness, -disenchantment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious -clutch and look <i>backwards,</i> to where it hitherto adored and loved, -perhaps a glow of shame at what it was just doing, and at the same -time a rejoicing <i>that</i> it was doing it, an intoxicated, internal, -exulting thrill which betrays a triumph—a triumph? Over what? Over -whom? An enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but the <i>first</i> -triumph nevertheless;—such evil and painful incidents belong to the -history of the great emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease -which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of power and will to -self-decision, self-valuation, this will to <i>free</i> will; and how much -disease is manifested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by which -the liberated and emancipated one now seeks to demonstrate his mastery -over things! He roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; whatever -he captures has to suffer for the dangerous tension of his pride; -he tears to pieces whatever attracts him. With a malicious laugh he -twirls round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a sense of shame; -he tries how these things look when turned upside down. It is a matter -of arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness, if he now -perhaps bestow his favour on what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> had hitherto a bad repute,—if he -inquisitively and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden. In the -background of his activities and wanderings —for he is restless and -aimless in his course as in a desert—stands the note of interrogation -of an increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot <i>all</i> valuations be -reversed? And is good perhaps evil? And God only an invention and -artifice of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically false? And -if we are the deceived, are we not thereby also deceivers? <i>Must</i> we -not also be deceivers?"—Such thoughts lead and mislead him more and -more, onward and away. Solitude encircles and engirdles him, always -more threatening, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that terrible -goddess and <i>mater sæva cupidinum</i>—but who knows nowadays what -<i>solitude</i> is?...</p> - - -<p class="parnum">4.</p> - -<p>From this morbid solitariness, from the desert of such years of -experiment, it is still a long way to the copious, overflowing safety -and soundness which does not care to dispense with disease itself as -an instrument and angling-hook of knowledge;—to that <i>mature</i> freedom -of spirit which is equally self-control and discipline of the heart, -and gives access to many and opposed modes of thought;—to that inward -comprehensiveness and daintiness of superabundance, which excludes any -danger of the spirit's becoming enamoured and lost in its own paths, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that excess of -plastic, healing, formative, and restorative powers, which is exactly -the sign of <i>splendid</i> health, that excess which gives the free spirit -the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to live by <i>experiments</i> -and offer itself to adventure; the free spirit's prerogative of -mastership! Long years of convalescence may lie in between, years full -of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magical transformations, curbed -and led by a tough <i>will to health,</i> which often dares to dress and -disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle condition therein, -which a man of such a fate never calls to mind later on without -emotion; a pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are peculiar -to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom, prospect, and haughtiness, a -<i>tertium quid</i> in which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined. A -"free spirit"—this cool expression does good in every condition, it -almost warms. One no longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred, -without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near, voluntarily distant, -preferring to escape, to turn aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and -away; one is fastidious like every one who has once seen an immense -variety <i>beneath</i> him,—and one has become the opposite of those who -trouble themselves about things which do not concern them. In fact, it -is nothing but things which now concern the free spirit,—and how many -things!—which no longer <i>trouble</i> him!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">5.</p> - -<p>A step further towards recovery, and the free spirit again draws -near to life; slowly, it is true, and almost stubbornly, almost -distrustfully. Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it were, -yellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,. thawing winds of every -kind pass lightly over him. He almost feels as if his eyes were now -first opened to what is <i>near.</i> He marvels and is still; where has -he been? The near and nearest things, how changed they appear to -him! What a bloom and magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks -back gratefully,—grateful to his wandering, his austerity and -self-estrangement, his far-sightedness and his bird-like flights -in cold heights. What a good thing that he did not always stay "at -home," "by himself," like a sensitive, stupid tenderling. He has been -<i>beside himself,</i> there is no doubt. He now sees himself for the first -time,—and what surprises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced -hitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the old illness, in the -relapses of the convalescent! How he likes to sit still and suffer, to -practise patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as he with the -joy of winter, with the patch of sunshine upon the wall! They are the -most grateful animals in the world, and also the most unassuming, these -lizards of convalescents with their faces half-turned towards life once -more:—there are those amongst them who never let a day pass without -hanging a little hymn of praise on its trailing fringe. And, speaking -seriously, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> is a radical <i>cure</i> for all pessimism (the well-known -disease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to become ill after -the manner of these free spirits, to remain ill a good while, and then -grow well (I mean "better") for a still longer period. It is wisdom, -practical wisdom, to prescribe even health for one's self for a long -time only in small doses.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">6.</p> - -<p>About this time it may at last happen, under the sudden illuminations -of still disturbed and changing health, that the enigma of that great -emancipation begins to reveal itself to the free, and ever freer, -spirit,—that enigma which had hitherto lain obscure, questionable, -and almost intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he scarcely -dared to ask himself, "Why so apart? So alone? denying everything that -I revered? denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this suspicion, -this severity towards my own virtues?"—he now dares and asks the -questions aloud, and already hears something like an answer to them— -"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and master also of thine own -virtues. Formerly <i>they</i> were thy masters; but they are only entitled -to be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst obtain power over -thy pro and contra, and learn how to put them forth and withdraw them -again in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou shouldst learn how -to take the proper perspective of every valuation—the shifting, -distortion, and apparent teleology of the horizons and everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> that -belongs to perspective; also the amount of stupidity which opposite -values involve, and all the intellectual loss with which every pro -and every contra has to be paid for. Thou shouldst learn how much -<i>necessary</i> injustice there is in every for and against, injustice -as inseparable from life, and life itself as <i>conditioned</i> by the -perspective and its injustice. Above all thou shouldst see clearly -where the injustice is always greatest:—namely, where life has -developed most punily, restrictedly, necessitously, and incipiently, -and yet cannot help regarding <i>itself</i> as the purpose and standard of -things, and for the sake of self-preservation, secretly, basely, and -continuously wasting away and calling in question the higher, greater, -and richer,—thou shouldst see clearly the problem of gradation of -rank, and how power and right and amplitude of perspective grow up -together. Thou shouldst——" But enough; the free spirit <i>knows</i> -henceforth which "thou shalt" he has obeyed, and also what he <i>can</i> now -<i>do,</i> what he only now—<i>may do</i>....</p> - - -<p class="parnum">7.</p> - -<p>Thus doth the free spirit answer himself with regard to the riddle of -emancipation, and ends therewith, while he generalises his case, in -order thus to decide with regard to his experience. "As it has happened -to <i>me</i>," he says to himself, "so must it happen to every one in whom -a <i>mission</i> seeks to embody itself and to 'come into the world.'" The -secret power and necessity of this mission will operate in and upon -the destined individuals like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> an unconscious pregnancy,—long before -they have had the mission itself in view and have known its name. Our -destiny rules over us, even when we are not yet aware of it; it is -the future that makes laws for our to-day. Granted that it is <i>the -problem of the gradations of rank,</i> of which we may say that it is -<i>our</i> problem, we free spirits; now only in the midday of our life do -we first understand what preparations, detours, tests, experiments, -and disguises the problem needed, before it <i>was permitted</i> to rise -before us, and how we had first to experience the most manifold and -opposing conditions of distress and happiness in soul and body, as -adventurers and circumnavigators of the inner world called "man," as -surveyors of all the "higher" and the "one-above-another," also called -"man"—penetrating everywhere, almost without fear, rejecting nothing, -losing nothing, tasting everything, cleansing everything from all that -is accidental, and, as it were, sifting it out—until at last we could -say, we free spirits, "Here—a <i>new</i> problem! Here a long ladder, -the rungs of which we ourselves have sat upon and mounted,—which we -ourselves at some time have <i>been</i>! Here a higher place, a lower place, -an under-us, an immeasurably long order, a hierarchy which we <i>see;</i> -here—<i>our</i> problem!"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">8.</p> - -<p>No psychologist or augur will be in doubt for a moment as to what stage -of the development just described the following book belongs (or is -assigned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> to). But where are these psychologists nowadays? In France, -certainly; perhaps in Russia; assuredly not in Germany. Reasons are -not lacking why the present-day Germans could still even count this -as an honour to them—bad enough, surely, for one who in this respect -is un-German in disposition and constitution! This <i>German</i> book, -which has been able to find readers in a wide circle of countries -and nations—it has been about ten years going its rounds—and must -understand some sort of music and piping art, by means of which -even coy foreign ears are seduced into listening,—it is precisely -in Germany that this book has been most negligently read, and worst -<i>listened to;</i> what is the reason?" It demands too much, "I have been -told," it appeals to men free from the pressure of coarse duties, it -wants refined and fastidious senses, it needs superfluity—superfluity -of time, of clearness of sky and heart, of <i>otium</i> in the boldest -sense of the term:—purely good things, which we Germans of to-day do -not possess and therefore cannot give." After such a polite answer -my philosophy advises me to be silent and not to question further; -besides, in certain cases, as the proverb points out, one only -<i>remains</i> a philosopher by being—silent.<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>NICE, <i>Spring</i> 1886.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> An allusion to the mediæval Latin distich: -</p> -<p> -O si tacuisses,<br /> -Philosophus mansisses.—J.M.K.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h3><a name="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN" id="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.</a></h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="FIRST_DIVISION" id="FIRST_DIVISION">FIRST DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>FIRST AND LAST THINGS.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Chemistry of Ideas and Sensations</span>.—Philosophical problems adopt in -almost all matters the same form of question as they did two thousand -years ago; how can anything spring from its opposite? for instance, -reason out of unreason, the sentient out of the dead, logic out of -unlogic, disinterested contemplation out of covetous willing, life for -others out of egoism, truth out of error? Metaphysical philosophy has -helped itself over those difficulties hitherto by denying the origin of -one thing in another, and assuming a miraculous origin for more highly -valued things, immediately out of the kernel and essence of the "thing -in itself." Historical philosophy, on the contrary, which is no longer -to be thought of as separate from physical science, the youngest of all -philosophical methods, has ascertained in single cases (and presumably -this will happen in everything)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> that there are no opposites except in -the usual exaggeration of the popular or metaphysical point of view, -and that an error of reason lies at the bottom of the opposition: -according to this explanation, strictly understood, there is neither -an unegoistical action nor an entirely disinterested point of view, -they are both only sublimations in which the fundamental element -appears almost evaporated, and is only to be discovered by the closest -observation. All that we require, and which can only be given us by the -present advance of the single sciences, is a <i>chemistry</i> of the moral, -religious, æsthetic ideas and sentiments, as also of those emotions -which we experience in ourselves both in the great and in the small -phases of social and intellectual intercourse, and even in solitude; -but what if this chemistry should result in the fact that also in this -case the most beautiful colours have been obtained from base, even -despised materials? Would many be inclined to pursue such examinations? -Humanity likes to put all questions as to origin and beginning out -of its mind; must one not be almost dehumanised to feel a contrary -tendency in one's self?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Inherited Faults of Philosophers</span>.—All philosophers have the common -fault that they start from man in his present state and hope to attain -their end by an analysis of him. Unconsciously they look upon "man" -as an <i>cetema Veritas,</i> as a thing unchangeable in all commotion, as -a sure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> standard of things. But everything that the philosopher says -about man is really nothing more than testimony about the man of a -<i>very limited</i> space of time. A lack of the historical sense is the -hereditary fault of all philosophers; many, indeed, unconsciously -mistake the very latest variety of man, such as has arisen under the -influence of certain religions, certain political events, for the -permanent form from which one must set out. They will not learn that -man has developed, that his faculty of knowledge has developed also; -whilst for some of them the entire world is spun out of this faculty -of knowledge. Now everything <i>essential</i> in human development happened -in pre-historic times, long before those four thousand years which we -know something of; man may not have changed much during this time. But -the philosopher sees "instincts" in the present man and takes it for -granted that this is one of the unalterable facts of mankind, and, -consequently, can furnish a key to the understanding of the world; the -entire teleology is so constructed that man of the last four thousand -years is spoken of as an <i>eternal</i> being, towards which all things in -the world have from the beginning a natural direction. But everything -has evolved; there are <i>no eternal facts,</i> as there are likewise no -absolute truths. Therefore, <i>historical philosophising</i> is henceforth -necessary, and with it the virtue of diffidence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">3.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Appreciation of Unpretentious Truths</span>.—It is a mark of a higher -culture to value the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> little unpretentious truths, which have been -found by means of strict method, more highly than the joy-diffusing -and dazzling errors which spring from metaphysical and artistic times -and peoples. First of all one has scorn on the lips for the former, -as if here nothing could have equal privileges with anything else, -so unassuming, simple, bashful, apparently discouraging are they, -so beautiful, stately, intoxicating, perhaps even animating, are -the others. But the hardly attained, the certain, the lasting, and -therefore of great consequence for all wider knowledge, is still -the higher; to keep one's self to that is manly and shows bravery, -simplicity, and forbearance. Gradually not only single individuals -but the whole of mankind will be raised to this manliness, when -it has at last accustomed itself to the higher appreciation of -durable, lasting knowledge, and has lost all belief in inspiration -and the miraculous communication of truths. Respecters of <i>forms,</i> -certainly, with their standard of the beautiful and noble, will first -of all have good reasons for mockery, as soon as the appreciation of -unpretentious truths, and the scientific spirit, begin to obtain the -mastery; but only because their eye has either not yet recognised the -charm of the <i>simplest</i> form, or because men educated in that spirit -are not yet completely and inwardly saturated by it, so that they -still thoughtlessly imitate old forms (and badly enough, as one does -who no longer cares much about the matter). Formerly the spirit was -not occupied with strict thought, its earnestness then lay in the -spinning out of symbols and forms. This is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> changed; that earnestness -in the symbolical has become the mark of a lower culture. As our arts -themselves grow evermore intellectual, our senses more spiritual, and -as, for instance, people now judge concerning what sounds well to the -senses quite differently from how they did a hundred years ago, so the -forms of our life grow ever more <i>spiritual,</i> to the eye of older ages -perhaps <i>uglier,</i> but only because it is incapable of perceiving how -the kingdom of the inward, spiritual beauty constantly grows deeper -and wider, and to what extent the inner intellectual look may be of -more importance to us all than the most beautiful bodily frame and the -noblest architectural structure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">4.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Astrology and the Like</span>.—It is probable that the objects of religious, -moral, æsthetic and logical sentiment likewise belong only to the -surface of things, while man willingly believes that here, at least, -he has touched the heart of the world; he deceives himself, because -those things enrapture him so profoundly, and make him so profoundly -unhappy, and he therefore shows the same pride here as in astrology. -For astrology believes that the firmament moves round the destiny of -man; the moral man, however, takes it for granted that what he has -essentially at heart must also be the essence and heart of things.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">5.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Misunderstanding of Dreams</span>.—In the ages of a rude and primitive -civilisation man believed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> that in dreams he became acquainted with -a <i>second actual world</i>; herein lies the origin of all metaphysics. -Without dreams there could have been found no reason for a division of -the world. The distinction, too, between soul and body is connected -with the most ancient comprehension of dreams, also the supposition of -an imaginary soul-body, therefore the origin of all belief in spirits, -and probably also the belief in gods. "The dead continues to live, -<i>for</i> he appears to the living in a dream": thus men reasoned of old -for thousands and thousands of years.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">6.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Scientific Spirit Partially But Not Wholly Powerful</span>.—The -<i>smallest</i> subdivisions of science taken separately are dealt with -purely in relation to themselves,—the general, great sciences, on the -contrary, regarded as a whole, call up the question—certainly a very -non-objective one—"Wherefore? To what end?" It is this utilitarian -consideration which causes them to be dealt with less impersonally -when taken as a whole than when considered in their various parts. -In philosophy, above all, as the apex of the entire, pyramid of -science, the question as to the utility of knowledge is involuntarily -brought forward, and every philosophy has the unconscious intention of -ascribing to it the <i>greatest</i> usefulness. For this reason there is so -much high-flying metaphysics in all philosophies and such a shyness of -the apparently unimportant solutions of physics; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> the importance -of knowledge for life <i>must</i> appear as great as possible. Here is the -antagonism between the separate provinces of science and philosophy. -The latter desires, what art does, to give the greatest possible depth -and meaning to life and actions; in the former one seeks knowledge and -nothing further, whatever may emerge thereby. So far there has been no -philosopher in whose hands philosophy has not grown into an apology -for knowledge; on this point, at least, every one is an optimist, that -the greatest usefulness must be ascribed to knowledge. They are all -tyrannised over by logic, and this is optimism—in its essence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">7.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Kill-joy in Science</span>.—Philosophy separated from science when it -asked the question, "Which is the knowledge of the world and of life -which enables man to live most happily?" This happened in the Socratic -schools; the veins of scientific investigation were bound up by the -point of view of <i>happiness,</i>—and are so still.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">8.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pneumatic Explanation of Nature</span>.—Metaphysics explains the writing of -Nature, so to speak, <i>pneumatically,</i> as the Church and her learned men -formerly did with the Bible. A great deal of understanding is required -to apply to Nature the same method of strict interpretation as the -philologists have now established for all books<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> with the intention -of clearly understanding what the text means, but not suspecting a -<i>double</i> sense or even taking it for granted. Just, however, as with -regard to books, the bad art of interpretation is by no means overcome, -and in the most cultivated society one still constantly comes across -the remains of allegorical and mystic interpretation, so it is also -with regard to Nature, indeed it is even much worse.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">9.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Metaphysical World</span>.—It is true that there <i>might</i> be a -metaphysical world; the absolute possibility of it is hardly to be -disputed. We look at everything through the human head and cannot cut -this head off; while the question remains, What would be left of the -world if it had been cut off? This is a purely scientific problem, -and one not very likely to trouble mankind; but everything which -has hitherto made metaphysical suppositions <i>valuable, terrible, -delightful</i> for man, what has produced them, is passion, error, and -self-deception; the very worst methods of knowledge, not the best, -have taught belief therein. When these methods have been discovered as -the foundation of all existing religions and metaphysics, they have -been refuted. Then there still always remains that possibility; but -there is nothing to be done with it, much less is it possible to let -happiness, salvation, and life depend on the spider-thread of such a -possibility. For nothing could be said of the metaphysical world but -that it would be a different condition, a condition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> inaccessible and -incomprehensible to us; it would be a thing of negative qualities. -Were the existence of such a world ever so well proved, the fact would -nevertheless remain that it would be precisely the most irrelevant -of all forms of knowledge: more irrelevant than the knowledge of the -chemical analysis of water to the sailor in danger in a storm.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">10.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Harmlessness of Metaphysics in the Future</span>.—Directly the origins -of religion, art, and morals have been so described that one can -perfectly explain them without having recourse to metaphysical concepts -at the beginning and in the course of the path, the strongest interest -in the purely theoretical problem of the "thing-in-itself" and the -"phenomenon" ceases. For however it may be here, with religion, art, -and morals we do not touch the "essence of the world in itself"; we are -in the domain of representation, no "intuition" can carry us further. -With the greatest calmness we shall leave the question as to how our -own conception of the world can differ so widely from the revealed -essence of the world, to physiology and the history of the evolution of -organisms and ideas.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">11.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Language As a Presumptive Science</span>.—The importance of language for -the development of culture lies in the fact that in language man has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -placed a world of his own beside the other, a position which he deemed -so fixed that he might therefrom lift the rest of the world off its -hinges, and make himself master of it. Inasmuch as man has believed in -the ideas and names of things as <i>æternæ veritates</i> for a great length -of time, he has acquired that pride by which he has raised himself -above the animal; he really thought that in language he possessed -the knowledge of the world. The maker of language was not modest -enough to think that he only gave designations to things, he believed -rather that with his words he expressed the widest knowledge of the -things; in reality language is the first step in the endeavour after -science. Here also it is belief in ascertained truth, from which the -mightiest sources of strength have flowed. Much later—only now—it -is dawning upon men that they have propagated a tremendous error in -their belief in language. Fortunately it is now too late to reverse -the development of reason, which is founded upon that belief. <i>Logic,</i> -also, is founded upon suppositions to which nothing in the actual -world corresponds,—for instance, on the supposition of the equality -of things, and the identity of the same thing at different points of -time,—but that particular science arose out of the contrary belief -(that such things really existed in the actual world). It is the same -with mathematics, which would certainly not have arisen if it had been -known from the beginning that in Nature there are no exactly straight -lines, no real circle, no absolute standard of size.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">12.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dream and Culture</span>.—The function of the brain which is most influenced -by sleep is the memory; not that it entirely ceases; but it is brought -back to a condition of imperfection, such as everyone may have -experienced in pre-historic times, whether asleep or awake. Arbitrary -and confused as it is, it constantly confounds things on the ground -of the most fleeting resemblances; but with the same arbitrariness -and confusion the ancients invented their mythologies, and even at -the present day travellers are accustomed to remark how prone the -savage is to forgetfulness, how, after a short tension of memory, his -mind begins to sway here and there from sheer weariness and gives -forth lies and nonsense. But in dreams we all resemble the savage; -bad recognition and erroneous comparisons are the reasons of the -bad conclusions, of which we are guilty in dreams: so that, when we -clearly recollect what we have dreamt, we are alarmed at ourselves at -harbouring so much foolishness within us. The perfect distinctness of -all dream-representations, which pre-suppose absolute faith in their -reality, recall the conditions that appertain, to primitive man, -in whom hallucination was extraordinarily frequent, and sometimes -simultaneously seized entire communities, entire nations. Therefore, in -sleep and in dreams we once more carry out the task of early humanity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">13.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Logic of Dreams</span>.—In sleep our nervous system is perpetually -excited by numerous inner occurrences; nearly all the organs are -disjointed and in a state of activity, the blood runs its turbulent -course, the position of the sleeper causes pressure on certain limbs, -his coverings influence his sensations in various ways, the stomach -digests and by its movements it disturbs other organs, the intestines -writhe, the position of the head occasions unaccustomed play of -muscles, the feet, unshod, not pressing upon the floor with the soles, -occasion the feeling of the unaccustomed just as does the different -clothing of the whole body: all this, according to its daily change -and extent, excites by its extraordinariness the entire system to the -very functions of the brain, and thus there are a hundred occasions -for the spirit to be surprised and to seek for the <i>reasons</i> of this -excitation;—the dream, however, is <i>the seeking and representing of -the causes</i> of those excited sensations,—that is, of the supposed -causes. A person who, for instance, binds his feet with two straps -will perhaps dream that two serpents are coiling round his feet; this -is first hypothesis, then a belief, with an accompanying <i>mental</i> -picture and interpretation—" These serpents must be the <i>causa</i> of -those sensations which I, the sleeper, experience,"—so decides the -mind of the sleeper. The immediate past, so disclosed, becomes to him -the present through his excited imagination. Thus every one knows -from experience how quickly the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> dreamer weaves into his dream a -loud sound that he hears, such as the ringing of bells or the firing -of cannon, that is to say, explains it from <i>afterwards</i> so that he -first <i>thinks</i> he experiences the producing circumstances and then -that sound. But how does it happen that the mind of the dreamer is -always so mistaken, while the same mind when awake is accustomed to be -so temperate, careful, and sceptical with regard to its hypotheses? -so that the first random hypothesis for the explanation of a feeling -suffices for him to believe immediately in its truth? (For in dreaming -we believe in the dream as if it were a reality, <i>i.e.</i> we think our -hypothesis completely proved.) I hold, that as man now still reasons in -dreams, so men reasoned also <i>when awake</i> through thousands of years; -the first <i>causa</i> which occurred to the mind to explain anything that -required an explanation, was sufficient and stood for truth. (Thus, -according to travellers' tales, savages still do to this very day.) -This ancient element in human nature still manifests itself in our -dreams, for it is the foundation upon which the higher reason has -developed and still develops in every individual; the dream carries -us back into remote conditions of human culture, and provides a ready -means of understanding them better. Dream-thinking is now so easy to -us because during immense periods of human development we have been -so well drilled in this form of fantastic and cheap explanation, -by means of the first agreeable notions. In so far, dreaming is a -recreation for the brain, which by day has to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> satisfy the stern -demands of thought, as they are laid down by the higher culture. We -can at once discern an allied process even in our awakened state, as -the door and ante-room of the dream. If we shut our eyes, the brain -produces a number of impressions of light and colour, probably as a -kind of after-play and echo of all those effects of light which crowd -in upon it by day. Now, however, the understanding, together with -the imagination, instantly works up this play of colour, shapeless -in itself, into definite figures, forms, landscapes, and animated -groups. The actual accompanying process thereby is again a kind of -conclusion from the effect to the cause: since the mind asks, "Whence -come these impressions of light and colour?" it supposes those figures -and forms as causes; it takes them for the origin of those colours and -lights, because in the daytime, with open eyes, it is accustomed to -find a producing cause for every colour, every effect of light. Here, -therefore, the imagination constantly places pictures before the mind, -since it supports itself on the visual impressions of the day in their -production, and the dream-imagination does just the same thing,—that -is, the supposed cause is deduced from the effect and represented after -the effect; all this happens with extraordinary rapidity, so that here, -as with the conjuror, a confusion of judgment may arise and a sequence -may look like something simultaneous, or even like a reversed sequence. -From these circumstances we may gather <i>how lately</i> the more acute -logical thinking, the strict discrimination of cause and effect has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -been developed, when our reasoning and understanding faculties <i>still</i> -involuntarily hark back to those primitive forms of deduction, and -when we pass about half our life in this condition. The poet, too, and -the artist assign causes for their moods and conditions which are by -no means the true ones; in this they recall an older humanity and can -assist us to the understanding of it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">14.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Co-echoing</span>.—All <i>stronger</i> moods bring with them a co-echoing of -kindred sensations and moods, they grub up the memory, so to speak. -Along with them something within us remembers and becomes conscious -of similar conditions and their origin. Thus there are formed quick -habitual connections of feelings and thoughts, which eventually, when -they follow each other with lightning speed, are no longer felt as -complexes but as <i>unities.</i> In this sense one speaks of the moral -feeling, of the religious feeling, as if they were absolute unities: in -reality they are streams with a hundred sources and tributaries. Here -also, as so often happens, the unity of the word is no security for the -unity of the thing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">15.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">No Internal and External in the World</span>.—As Democritus transferred the -concepts "above" and "below" to endless space where they have no sense, -so philosophers in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> general have transferred the concepts "Internal" -and "External" to the essence and appearance of the world; they think -that with deep feelings one can penetrate deeply into the internal and -approach the heart of Nature. But these feelings are only deep in so -far as along with them, barely noticeable, certain complicated groups -of thoughts, which we call deep, are regularly excited; a feeling -is deep because we think that the accompanying thought is deep. But -the "deep" thought can nevertheless be very far from the truth, as, -for instance, every metaphysical one; if one take away from the deep -feeling the commingled elements of thought, then the <i>strong</i> feeling -remains, and this guarantees nothing for knowledge but itself, just -as strong faith proves only its strength and not the truth of what is -believed in.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">16.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Phenomenon and Thing-in-itself</span>.—Philosophers are in the habit of -setting themselves before life and experience—before that which they -call the world of appearance—as before a picture that is once for -all unrolled and exhibits unchangeably fixed the same process,—this -process, they think, must be rightly interpreted in order to come to -a conclusion about the being that produced the picture: about the -thing-in-itself, therefore, which is always accustomed to be regarded -as sufficient ground for the world of phenomenon. On the other hand, -since one always makes the idea of the metaphysical stand definitely -as that of th<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>e unconditioned, <i>consequently</i> also unconditioning, one -must directly disown all connection between the unconditioned (the -metaphysical world) and the world which is known to us; so that the -thing-in-itself should most certainly <i>not</i> appear in the phenomenon, -and every conclusion from the former as regards the latter is to be -rejected. Both sides overlook the fact that that picture—that which -we now call human life and experience—has gradually evolved,—nay, -is still in the full process of evolving,—and therefore should not -be regarded as a fixed magnitude from which a conclusion about its -originator might be deduced (the sufficing cause) or even merely -neglected. It is because for thousands of years we have looked into -the world with moral, æsthetic, and religious pretensions, with blind -inclination, passion, or fear, and have surfeited ourselves in the -vices of illogical thought, that this world has gradually <i>become</i> so -marvellously motley, terrible, full of meaning and of soul, it has -acquired colour—but we were the colourists; the human intellect, -on the basis of human needs, of human emotions, has caused this -"phenomenon" to appear and has carried its erroneous fundamental -conceptions into things. Late, very late, it takes to thinking, and -now the world of experience and the thing-in-itself seem to it so -extraordinarily different and separated, that it gives up drawing -conclusions from the former to the latter—or in a terribly mysterious -manner demands the renunciation of our intellect, of our personal -will, in order <i>thereby</i> to reach the essential, that one may <i>become -essential.</i> Again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> others have collected all the characteristic -features of our world of phenomenon,—that is, the idea of the world -spun out of intellectual errors and inherited by us,—and <i>instead of -accusing the intellect</i> as the offenders, they have laid the blame on -the nature of things as being the cause of the hard fact of this very -sinister character of the world, and have preached the deliverance -from Being. With all these conceptions the constant and laborious -process of science (which at last celebrates its greatest triumph in a -<i>history of the origin of thought</i>) becomes completed in various ways, -the result of which might perhaps run as follows:—"That which we now -call the world is the result of a mass of errors and fantasies which -arose gradually in the general development of organic being, which -are inter-grown with each other, and are now inherited by us as the -accumulated treasure of all the past,—as a treasure, for the value of -our humanity depends upon it. From this world of representation strict -science is really only able to liberate us to a very slight extent—as -it is also not at all desirable—inasmuch as it cannot essentially -break the power of primitive habits of feeling; but it can gradually -elucidate the history of the rise of that world as representation,—and -lift us, at least for moments, above and beyond the whole process. -Perhaps we shall then recognise that the thing in itself is worth a -Homeric laugh; that it <i>seemed</i> so much, indeed everything, and <i>is</i> -really empty, namely, empty of meaning."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">17.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Metaphysical Explanations</span>.—The young man values metaphysical -explanations, because they show him something highly significant -in things which he found unpleasant or despicable, and if he is -dissatisfied with himself, the feeling becomes lighter when he -recognises the innermost world-puzzle or world-misery in that which he -so strongly disapproves of in himself. To feel himself less responsible -and at the same time to find things more interesting—that seems to -him a double benefit for which he has to thank metaphysics. Later on, -certainly, he gets distrustful of the whole metaphysical method of -explanation; then perhaps it grows clear to him that those results can -be obtained equally well and more scientifically in another way: that -physical and historical explanations produce the feeling of personal -relief to at least the same extent, and that the interest in life and -its problems is perhaps still more aroused thereby.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">18.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fundamental Questions of Metaphysics</span>.—When the history of the rise -of thought comes to be written, a new light will be thrown on the -following statement of a distinguished logician:—"The primordial -general law of the cognisant subject consists in the inner necessity -of recognising every object in itself in its own nature, as a thing -identical with itself, consequently self-existing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> and at bottom -remaining ever the same and unchangeable: in short, in recognising -everything as a substance." Even this law, which is here called -"primordial," has evolved: it will some day be shown how gradually this -tendency arises in the lower organisms, how the feeble mole-eyes of -their organisations at first see only the same thing,—;how then, when -the various awakenings of pleasure and displeasure become noticeable, -various substances are gradually distinguished, but each with one -attribute, <i>i.e.</i> one single relation to such an organism. The first -step in logic is the judgment,—the nature of which, according to the -decision of the best logicians, consists in belief. At the bottom of -all belief lies <i>the sensation of the pleasant or the painful</i> in -relation to the <i>sentient subject.</i> A new third sensation as the result -of two previous single sensations is the judgment in its simplest -form. We organic beings have originally no interest in anything but -its relation to <i>us</i> in connection with pleasure and pain. Between -the moments (the states of feeling) when we become conscious of -this connection, lie moments of rest, of non-feeling; the world and -everything is then without interest for us, we notice no change in it -(as even now a deeply interested person does not notice when any one -passes him). To the plant, things are as a rule tranquil and eternal, -everything like itself. From the period of the lower organisms man -has inherited the belief that <i>similar things</i> exist (this theory -is only contradicted by the matured experience of the most advanced -science). The primordial belief of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> everything organic from the -beginning is perhaps even this, that all the rest of the world is one -and immovable. The point furthest removed from those early beginnings -of logic is the idea of <i>Causality,</i>—indeed we still really think -that all sensations and activities are acts of the free will; when the -sentient individual contemplates himself, he regards every sensation, -every alteration as something <i>isolated,</i> that is to say, unconditioned -and disconnected,—it rises up in us without connection with anything -foregoing or following. We are hungry, but do not originally think that -the organism must be nourished; the feeling seems to make itself felt -<i>without cause and purpose,</i> it isolates itself and regards itself as -arbitrary. Therefore, belief in the freedom of the will is an original -error of everything organic, as old as the existence of the awakenings -of logic in it; the belief in unconditioned substances and similar -things is equally a primordial as well as an old error of everything -organic. But inasmuch as all metaphysics has concerned itself chiefly -with substance and the freedom of will, it may be designated as the -science which treats of the fundamental errors of mankind, but treats -of them as if they were fundamental truths.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">19.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Number</span>.—The discovery of the laws of numbers is made upon the ground -of the original, already prevailing error, that there are many similar -things (but in reality there is nothing similar), at least,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> that there -are things (but there is no "thing"). The supposition of plurality -always presumes that there is something which appears frequently,—but -here already error reigns, already we imagine beings, unities, -which do not exist. Our sensations of space and time are false, for -they lead—examined in sequence—to logical contradictions. In all -scientific determinations we always reckon inevitably with certain -false quantities, but as these quantities are at least constant, as, -for instance, our sensation of time and space, the conclusions of -science have still perfect accuracy and certainty in their connection -with one another; one may continue to build upon them—until that final -limit where the erroneous original suppositions, those constant faults, -come into conflict with the conclusions, for instance in the doctrine -of atoms. There still we always feel ourselves compelled to the -acceptance of a "thing" or material "sub-stratum" that is moved, whilst -the whole scientific procedure has pursued the very task of resolving -everything substantial (material) into motion; here, too, we still -separate with our sensation the mover and the moved and cannot get -out of this circle, because the belief in things has from immemorial -times been bound up with our being. When Kant says, "The understanding -does not derive its laws from Nature, but dictates them to her," it is -perfectly true with regard to the idea of Nature which we are compelled -to associate with her (Nature = World as representation, that is to -say as error), but which is the summing up of a number of errors of -the understanding. The laws<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> of numbers are entirely inapplicable to a -world which is not our representation—these laws obtain only in the -human world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">20.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Few Steps Back</span>.—A degree of culture, and assuredly a very high one, -is attained when man rises above superstitious and religious notions -and fears, and, for instance, no longer believes in guardian angels or -in original sin, and has also ceased to talk of the salvation of his -soul,—if he has attained to this degree of freedom, he has still also -to overcome metaphysics with the greatest exertion of his intelligence. -Then, however, a <i>retrogressive movement</i> is necessary; he must -understand the historical justification as well as the psychological in -such representations, he must recognise how the greatest advancement -of humanity has come therefrom, and how, without such a retrocursive -movement, we should have been robbed of the best products of hitherto -existing mankind. With regard to philosophical metaphysics, I always -see increasing numbers who have attained to the negative goal (that -all positive metaphysics is error), but as yet few who climb a few -rungs backwards; one ought to look out, perhaps, over the last steps of -the ladder, but not try to stand upon them. The most enlightened only -succeed so far as to free themselves from metaphysics and look back -upon it with superiority, while it is necessary here, too, as in the -hippodrome, to turn round the end of the course.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">21.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conjectural Victory of Scepticism</span>.—For once let the sceptical -starting-point be accepted,—granted that there were no other -metaphysical world, and all explanations drawn from metaphysics about -the only world we know were useless to us, in what light should we -then look upon men and things? We can think this out for ourselves, it -is useful, even though the question whether anything metaphysical has -been scientifically proved by Kant and Schopenhauer were altogether set -aside. For it is quite possible, according to historical probability, -that some time or other man, as a general rule, may grow <i>sceptical;</i> -the question will then be this: What form will human society take under -the influence of such a mode of thought? Perhaps the <i>scientific proof</i> -of some metaphysical world or other is already so <i>difficult</i> that -mankind will never get rid of a certain distrust of it. And when there -is distrust of metaphysics, there are on the whole the same results as -if it had been directly refuted and <i>could</i> no longer be believed in. -The historical question with regard to an unmetaphysical frame of mind -in mankind remains the same in both cases.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">22.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unbelief in the "<i>monumentum Ære Perennius</i>"</span>.—An actual drawback -which accompanies the cessation of metaphysical views lies in the fact -that the individual looks upon his short span<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> of life too exclusively -and receives no stronger incentives to build durable institutions -intended to last for centuries,—he himself wishes to pluck the fruit -from the tree which he plants, and therefore he no longer plants those -trees which require regular care for centuries, and which are destined -to afford shade to a long series of generations. For metaphysical -views furnish the belief that in them the last conclusive foundation -has been given, upon which henceforth all the future of mankind is -compelled to settle down and establish itself; the individual furthers -his salvation, when, for instance, he founds a church or convent, he -thinks it will be reckoned to him and recompensed to him in the eternal -life of the soul, it is work for the soul's eternal salvation. Can -science also arouse such faith in its results? As a matter of fact, it -needs doubt and distrust as its most faithful auxiliaries; nevertheless -in the course of time, the sum of inviolable truths—those, namely, -which have weathered all the storms of scepticism, and all destructive -analysis—may have become so great (in the regimen of health, for -instance), that one may determine to found thereupon "eternal" works. -For the present the <i>contrast</i> between our excited ephemeral existence -and the long-winded repose of metaphysical ages still operates too -strongly, because the two ages still stand too closely together; -the individual man himself now goes through too many inward and -outward developments for him to venture to arrange his own lifetime -permanently, and once and for all. An entirely modern man, for -instance, who is going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> to build himself a house, has a feeling as if -he were going to immure himself alive in a mausoleum.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">23.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Age of Comparison.</span>—The less men are fettered by tradition, the -greater becomes the inward activity of their motives; the greater, -again, in proportion thereto, the outward restlessness, the confused -flux of mankind, the polyphony of strivings. For whom is there still an -absolute compulsion to bind himself and his descendants to one place? -For whom is there still anything strictly compulsory? As all styles of -arts are imitated simultaneously, so also are all grades and kinds of -morality, of customs, of cultures. Such an age obtains its importance -because in it the various views of the world, customs, and cultures can -be compared and experienced simultaneously,—which was formerly not -possible with the always localised sway of every culture, corresponding -to the rooting of all artistic styles in place and time. An increased -æsthetic feeling will now at last decide amongst so many forms -presenting themselves for comparison; it will allow the greater number, -that is to say all those rejected by it, to die out. In the same way -a selection amongst the forms and customs of the higher moralities is -taking place, of which the aim can be nothing else than the downfall of -the lower moralities. It is the age of comparison! That is its pride, -but more justly also its grief. Let us not be afraid of this grief! -Rather will we comprehend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> as adequately as possible the task our age -sets us: posterity will bless us for doing so,—a posterity which knows -itself to be as much above the terminated original national cultures as -above the culture of comparison, but which looks back with gratitude on -both kinds of culture as upon antiquities worthy of veneration.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">24.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Possibility of Progress</span>.—When a scholar of the ancient culture -forswears the company of men who believe in progress, he does quite -right. For the greatness and goodness of ancient culture lie behind -it, and historical education compels one to admit that they can never -be fresh again; an unbearable stupidity or an equally insufferable -fanaticism would be necessary to deny this. But men can <i>consciously</i> -resolve to develop themselves towards a new culture; whilst formerly -they only developed unconsciously and by chance, they can now create -better conditions for the rise of human beings, for their nourishment, -education and instruction; they can administer the earth economically -as a whole, and can generally weigh and restrain the powers of man. -This new, conscious culture kills the old, which, regarded as a whole, -has led an unconscious animal and plant life; it also kills distrust -in progress,—progress is <i>possible.</i> I must say that it is over-hasty -and almost nonsensical to believe that progress must <i>necessarily</i> -follow; but how could one deny that it is possible? On the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> other hand, -progress in the sense and on the path of the old culture is not even -thinkable. Even if romantic fantasy has also constantly used the word -"progress" to denote its aims (for instance, circumscribed primitive -national cultures), it borrows the picture of it in any case from the -past; its thoughts and ideas on this subject are entirely without -originality.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">25.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Private and Œcumenical Morality</span>.—Since the belief has ceased that -a God directs in general the fate of the world and, in spite of all -apparent crookedness in the path of humanity, leads it on gloriously, -men themselves must set themselves œcumenical aims embracing the -whole earth. The older morality, especially that of Kant, required -from the individual actions which were desired from all men,—that was -a delightfully naïve thing, as if each one knew off-hand what course -of action was beneficial to the whole of humanity, and consequently -which actions in general were desirable; it is a theory like that -of free trade, taking for granted that the general harmony <i>must</i> -result of itself according to innate laws of amelioration. Perhaps a -future contemplation of the needs of humanity will show that it is -by no means desirable that all men should act alike; in the interest -of œcumenical aims it might rather be that for whole sections of -mankind, special, and perhaps under certain circumstances even evil, -tasks would have to be set. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> any case, if mankind is not to destroy -itself by such a conscious universal rule, there must previously be -found, as a scientific standard for œcumenical aims, a <i>knowledge of -the conditions of culture</i> superior to what has hitherto been attained. -Herein lies the enormous task of the great minds of the next century.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">26.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Reaction As Progress</span>.—Now and again there appear rugged, powerful, -impetuous, but nevertheless backward-lagging minds which conjure up -once more a past phase of mankind; they serve to prove that the new -tendencies against which they are working are not yet sufficiently -strong, that they still lack something, otherwise they would show -better opposition to those exorcisers. Thus, for example, Luther's -Reformation bears witness to the fact that in his century all the -movements of the freedom of the spirit were still uncertain, tender, -and youthful; science could not yet lift up its head. Indeed the whole -Renaissance seems like an early spring which is almost snowed under -again. But in this century also, Schopenhauer's Metaphysics showed -that even now the scientific spirit is not yet strong enough; thus the -whole mediæval Christian view of the world and human feeling could -celebrate its resurrection in Schopenhauer's doctrine, in spite of -the long achieved destruction of all Christian dogmas. There is much -science in his doctrine, but it does not dominate it: it is rather -the old well-known "metaphysical requirement" that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> does so. It is -certainly one of the greatest and quite invaluable advantages which -we gain from Schopenhauer, that he occasionally forces our sensations -back into older, mightier modes of contemplating the world and man, to -which no other path would so easily lead us. The gain to history and -justice is very great,—I do not think that any one would so easily -succeed now in doing justice to Christianity and its Asiatic relations -without Schopenhauer's assistance, which is specially impossible -from the basis of still existing Christianity. Only after this great -<i>success of justice,</i> only after we have corrected so essential a point -as the historical mode of contemplation which the age of enlightenment -brought with it, may we again bear onward the banner of enlightenment, -the banner with the three names, Petrarch, Erasmus, Voltaire. We have -turned reaction into progress.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">27.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Substitute For Religion</span>.—It is believed that something good -is said of philosophy when it is put forward as a substitute for -religion for the people. As a matter of fact, in the spiritual economy -there is need, at times, of an <i>intermediary</i> order of thought: the -transition from religion to scientific contemplation is a violent, -dangerous leap, which is not to be recommended. To this extent the -recommendation is justifiable. But one should eventually learn that -the needs which have been satisfied by religion and are now to be -satisfied by philosophy are not unchangeable;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> these themselves can be -<i>weakened</i> and <i>eradicated.</i> Think, for instance, of the Christian's -distress of soul, his sighing over inward corruption, his anxiety -for salvation,—all notions which originate only in errors of reason -and deserve not satisfaction but destruction. A philosophy can serve -either to <i>satisfy</i> those needs or to <i>set them aside</i>; for they are -acquired, temporally limited needs, which are based upon suppositions -contradictory to those of science. Here, in order to make a transition, -<i>art</i> is far rather to be employed to relieve the mind overburdened -with emotions; for those notions receive much less support from it than -from a metaphysical philosophy. It is easier, then, to pass over from -art to a really liberating philosophical science.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">28.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ill-famed Words</span>.—Away with those wearisomely hackneyed terms -Optimism and Pessimism! For the occasion for using them becomes less -and less from day to day; only the chatterboxes still find them so -absolutely necessary. For why in all the world should any one wish to -be an optimist unless he had a God to defend who <i>must</i> have created -the best of worlds if he himself be goodness and perfection,—what -thinker, however, still needs the hypothesis of a God? But every -occasion for a pessimistic confession of faith is also lacking when -one has no interest in being annoyed at the advocates of God (the -theologians, or the theologising philosophers), and in energetically -defending the opposite view, that evil reigns, that pain is greater<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -than pleasure, that the world is a bungled piece of work, the -manifestation of an ill-will to life. But who still bothers about the -theologians now—except the theologians? Apart from all theology and -its contentions, it is quite clear that the world is not good and not -bad (to say nothing of its being the best or the worst), and that the -terms "good" and "bad" have only significance with respect to man, and -indeed, perhaps, they are not justified even here in the way they are -usually employed; in any case we must get rid of both the calumniating -and the glorifying conception of the world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">29.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intoxicated by the Scent of the Blossoms.</span>—It is supposed that the ship -of humanity has always a deeper draught, the heavier it is laden; it is -believed that the deeper a man thinks, the more delicately he feels, -the higher he values himself, the greater his distance from the other -animals,—the more he appears as a genius amongst the animals,—all -the nearer will he approach the real essence of the world and its -knowledge; this he actually does too, through science, but he <i>means</i> -to do so still more through his religions and arts. These certainly -are blossoms of the world, but by no means any <i>nearer to the root of -the world</i> than the stalk; it is not possible to understand the nature -of things better through them, although almost every one believes he -can. <i>Error</i> has made man so deep, sensitive, and inventive that he has -put forth such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> blossoms as religions and arts. Pure knowledge could -not have been capable of it. Whoever were to unveil for us the essence -of the world would give us all the most disagreeable disillusionment. -Not the world as thing-in-itself, but the world as representation (as -error) is so full of meaning, so deep, so wonderful, bearing happiness -and unhappiness in its bosom. This result leads to a philosophy of the -logical denial of the world, which, however, can be combined with a -practical world-affirming just as well as with its opposite.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">30.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bad Habits in Reasoning</span>.—The usual false conclusions of mankind are -these: a thing exists, therefore it has a right to exist. Here there -is inference from the ability to live to its suitability; from its -suitability to its rightfulness. Then: an opinion brings happiness; -therefore it is the true opinion. Its effect is good; therefore it is -itself good and true. To the effect is here assigned the predicate -beneficent, good, in the sense of the useful, and the cause is then -furnished with the same predicate good, but here in the sense of the -logically valid. The inversion of the sentences would read thus: an -affair cannot be carried through, or maintained, therefore it is -wrong; an opinion causes pain or excites, therefore it is false. The -free spirit who learns only too often the faultiness of this mode -of reasoning, and has to suffer from its consequences, frequently -gives way to the temptation to draw the very opposite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> conclusions, -which, in general, are naturally just as false: an affair cannot be -carried through, therefore it is good; an opinion is distressing and -disturbing, therefore it is true.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">31.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Illogical Necessary</span>.—One of those things that may drive a thinker -into despair is the recognition of the fact that the illogical is -necessary for man, and that out of the illogical comes much that is -good. It is so firmly rooted in the passions, in language, in art, -in religion, and generally in everything that gives value to life, -that it cannot be withdrawn without thereby hopelessly injuring these -beautiful things. It is only the all-too-naïve people who can believe -that the nature of man can be changed into a purely logical one; but -if there were degrees of proximity to this goal, how many things would -not have to be lost on this course! Even the most rational man has need -of nature again from time to time, <i>i.e.</i> his <i>illogical fundamental -attitude</i> towards all things.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">32.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Injustice Necessary</span>.—All judgments on the value of life are -illogically developed, and therefore unjust. The inexactitude of -the judgment lies, firstly, in the manner in which the material is -presented, namely very imperfectly; secondly, in the manner in which -the conclusion is formed out of it; and thirdly, in the fact that every -separate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> element of the material is again the result of vitiated -recognition, and this, too, of necessity. For instance, no experience -of an individual, however near he may stand to us, can be perfect, so -that we could have a logical right to make a complete estimate of him; -all estimates are rash, and must be so. Finally, the standard by which -we measure, our nature, is not of unalterable dimensions,—we have -moods and vacillations, and yet we should have to recognise ourselves -as a fixed standard in order to estimate correctly the relation of any -thing whatever to ourselves. From this it will, perhaps, follow that -we should make no judgments at all; if one could only live without -making estimations, without having likes and dislikes! For all dislike -is connected with an estimation, as well as all inclination. An -impulse towards or away from anything without a feeling that something -advantageous is desired, something injurious avoided, an impulse -without any kind of conscious valuation of the worth of the aim does -not exist in man. We are from the beginning illogical, and therefore -unjust beings, <i>and can recognise this</i>; it is one of the greatest and -most inexplicable discords of existence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">33.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Error About Life Necessary For Life</span>.—Every belief in the value and -worthiness of life is based on vitiated thought; it is only possible -through the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of -mankind is very weakly developed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> in the individual. Even the rarer -people who think outside themselves do not contemplate this general -life, but only a limited part of it. If one understands how to direct -one's attention chiefly to the exceptions,—I mean to the highly gifted -and the rich souls,—if one regards the production of these as the aim -of the whole world-development and rejoices in its operation, then -one may believe in the value of life, because one thereby <i>overlooks</i> -the other men—one consequently thinks fallaciously. So too, when -one directs one's attention to all mankind, but only considers <i>one</i> -species of impulses in them, the less egoistical ones, and excuses -them with regard to the other instincts, one may then again entertain -hopes of mankind in general and believe so far in the value of life, -consequently in this case also through fallaciousness of thought. Let -one, however, behave in this or that manner: with such behaviour one -is an <i>exception</i> amongst men. Now, most people bear life without any -considerable grumbling, and consequently <i>believe</i> in the value of -existence, but precisely because each one is solely self-seeking and -self-affirming, and does not step out of himself like those exceptions; -everything extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or at most seems -only a faint shadow. Therefore on this alone is based the value of -life for the ordinary everyday man, that he regards himself as more -important than the world. The great lack of imagination from which -he suffers is the reason why he cannot enter into the feelings of -other beings, and therefore sympathises as little as possible with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -their fate and suffering. He, on the other hand, who really <i>could</i> -sympathise therewith, would have to despair of the value of life; were -he to succeed in comprehending and feeling in himself the general -consciousness of mankind, he would collapse with a curse on existence; -for mankind as a whole has <i>no</i> goals, consequently man, in considering -his whole course, cannot find in it his comfort and support, but his -despair. If, in all that he does, he considers the final aimlessness -of man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the character of -wastefulness. But to feel one's self just as much wasted as humanity -(and not only as an individual) as we see the single blossom of nature -wasted, is a feeling above all other feelings. But who is capable -of it? Assuredly only a poet, and poets always know how to console -themselves.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">34.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">For Tranquillity</span>.—But does not our philosophy thus become a tragedy? -Does not truth become hostile to life, to improvement? A question seems -to weigh upon our tongue and yet hesitate to make itself heard: whether -one <i>can</i> consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing one were -<i>obliged</i> to do this, would not death be preferable? For there is no -longer any "must"; morality, in so far as it had any "must" or "shalt", -has been destroyed by our mode of contemplation, just as religion has -been destroyed. Knowledge can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and -injury to subsist as motives; but how will these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> motives agree with -the sense of truth? They also contain errors (for, as already said, -inclination and aversion, and their very incorrect determinations, -practically regulate our pleasure and pain). The whole of human life -is deeply immersed in untruthfulness; the individual cannot draw it -up out of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to his -whole past, without finding his present motives—those of honour, -for instance—inconsistent, and without opposing scorn and disdain -to the passions which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it true -that there remains but one sole way of thinking which brings after it -despair as a personal experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy -of dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I believe that -the decision with regard to the after-effects of the knowledge will -be given through the <i>temperament</i> of a man; I could imagine another -after-effect, just as well as that one described, which is possible in -certain natures, by means of which a life would arise much simpler, -freer from emotions than is the present one, so that though at first, -indeed, the old motives of passionate desire might still have strength -from old hereditary habit, they would gradually become weaker under -the influence—of purifying knowledge. One would live at last amongst -men, and with one's self as with <i>Nature,</i> without praise, reproach, -or agitation, feasting one's eyes, as if it were a <i>play,</i> upon much -of which one was formerly afraid. One would be free from the emphasis, -and would no longer feel the goading, of the thought that one is not -only nature or more than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -good temperament would be necessary for this, an even, mild, and -naturally joyous soul, a disposition which would not always need to be -on its guard against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would not convey -in its utterances anything of a grumbling or sudden nature,—those -well-known vexatious qualities of old dogs and men who have been long -chained up. On the contrary, a man from whom the ordinary fetters of -life have so far fallen that he continues to live only for the sake of -ever better knowledge must be able to renounce without envy and regret: -much, indeed almost everything that is precious to other men, he must -regard as the <i>all-sufficing</i> and the most desirable condition; the -free, fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the traditional -valuations of things. The joy of this condition he imparts willingly, -and he <i>has</i> perhaps nothing else to impart,—wherein, to be sure, -there is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless, more is -demanded from him, he will point with a friendly shake of his head to -his brother, the free man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a -little derision, for as regards this "freedom" it is a very peculiar -case.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a><br /><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="SECOND_DIVISION" id="SECOND_DIVISION">SECOND DIVISION.</a></h4> - -<h5>THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">35.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Advantages of Psychological Observation</span>.—That reflection on the human, -all-too-human—or, according to the learned expression, psychological -observation—is one of the means by which one may lighten the burden -of life, that exercise in this art produces presence of mind in -difficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome surroundings, even -that from the most thorny and unpleasant periods of one's own life -one may gather maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this -was believed, was known in former centuries. Why was it forgotten -by our century, when in Germany at least, even in all Europe, the -poverty of psychological observation betrays itself by many signs? Not -exactly in novels, tales, and philosophical treatises,—they are the -work of exceptional individuals,—rather in the judgments on public -events and personalities; but above all there is a lack of the art of -psychological analysis and summing-up in every rank of society, in -which a great deal is talked about men, but nothing about <i>man.</i> Why -do we allow the richest and most harmless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> subject of conversation to -escape us? Why are not the great masters of psychological maxims more -read? For, without any exaggeration, the educated man in Europe who has -read La Rochefoucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely found, -and still more rare is he who knows them and does not blame them. It -is probable, however, that even this exceptional reader will find much -less pleasure in them than the form of this artist should afford him; -for even the clearest head is not capable of rightly estimating the -art of shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really been brought -up to it and has competed in it. Without this practical teaching one -deems this shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one has not -a sufficient perception of fitness and charm. For this reason the -present readers of maxims find in them a comparatively small pleasure, -hardly a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble the people who -generally look at cameos, who praise because they cannot love, and are -very ready to admire, but still more ready to run away.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">36.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Objection</span>.—Or should there be a counter-reckoning to that theory -that places psychological observation amongst the means of charming, -curing, and relieving existence? Should one have sufficiently convinced -one's self of the unpleasant consequences of this art to divert from -it designedly the attention of him who is educating himself in it? As -a matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> goodness of human -nature, an innate aversion to the analysis of human actions, a kind -of shame-facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul may -really be more desirable for the general well-being of a man than that -quality, useful in isolated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness; -and perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men and deeds, in an -abundance of impersonal goodwill in the world, has made men better -inasmuch as it has made them less distrustful. When one imitates -Plutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and turns with disgust from a -suspicious examination of the motives for their actions, it is not -truth which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human society; the -psychological mistake and, generally speaking, the insensibility -on this matter helps humanity forwards, while the recognition of -truth gains more through the stimulating power of hypothesis than La -Rochefoucauld has said in his preface to the first edition of his -"<i>Sentences et maximes morales." ... "Ce que le monde nomme vertu n'est -d'ordinaire qu'un fantôme formé par nos passions, à qui on donne un -nom honnête pour faire impunément ce qu'on veut."</i> La Rochefoucauld -and those other French masters of soul-examination who have lately -been joined by a German, the author of <i>Psychological Observations</i><a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -resemble good marksmen who again and again hit the bull's-eye; but it -is the bull's-eye of human nature. Their art arouses astonishment; but -in the end a spectator who is not led by the spirit of science,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> but -by humane intentions, will probably execrate an art which appears to -implant in the soul the sense of the disparagement and suspicion of -mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">37.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nevertheless</span>.—However it may be with reckoning and counter-reckoning, -in the present condition of philosophy the awakening of moral -observation is necessary. Humanity can no longer be spared the cruel -sight of the psychological dissecting-table with its knives and -forceps. For here rules that science which inquires into the origin and -history of the so-called moral sentiments, and which, in its progress, -has to draw up and solve complicated sociological problems:—the older -philosophy knows the latter one not at all, and has always avoided the -examination of the origin and history of moral sentiments on any feeble -pretext. With what consequences it is now very easy to see, after -it has been shown by many examples how the mistakes of the greatest -philosophers generally have their starting-point in a wrong explanation -of certain human actions and sensations, just as on the ground of an -erroneous analysis—for instance, that of the so-called unselfish -actions a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with this again, -religion and mythological confusion are brought in to assist, and -finally the shades of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and -the general mode of regarding the world. If it is certain, however, -that superficiality in psychological<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> observation has laid, and still -lays, the most dangerous snares for human judgments and conclusions, -then there is need now of that endurance of work which does not grow -weary of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble; there is need of -courage not to be ashamed of such humble work and to turn a deaf ear -to scorn. And this is also true,—numberless single observations on -the human and all-too-human have first been discovered, and given -utterance to, in circles of society which were accustomed to offer -sacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please, and not to scientific -knowledge,—and the odour of that old home of the moral maxim, a very -seductive odour, has attached itself almost inseparably to the whole -species, so that on its account the scientific man involuntarily -betrays a certain distrust of this species and its earnestness. But -it is sufficient to point to the consequences, for already it begins -to be seen what results of a serious kind spring from the ground of -psychological observation. What, after all, is the principal axiom -to which the boldest and coldest thinker, the author of the book -<i>On the Origin of Moral Sensations</i><a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> has attained by means of his -incisive and decisive analyses of human actions? "The moral man," he -says, "is no nearer to the intelligible (metaphysical) world than -is the physical man." This theory, hardened and sharpened under the -hammer-blow of historical knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> some future period, serve as the axe which is applied to the root -of the "metaphysical need" of man,—whether <i>more</i> as a blessing than -a curse to the general welfare it is not easy to say, but in any case -as a theory with the most important consequences, at once fruitful and -terrible, and looking into the world with that Janus-face which all -great knowledge possesses.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">38.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Far Useful</span>.—It must remain for ever undecided whether -psychological observation is advantageous or disadvantageous to -man; but it is certain that it is necessary, because science cannot -do without it. Science, however, has no consideration for ultimate -purposes, any more than Nature has, but just as the latter occasionally -achieves things of the greatest suitableness without intending to do -so, so also true science, as the <i>imitator of nature in ideas,</i> will -occasionally and in many ways further the usefulness and welfare of -man,—<i>but also without intending to do so.</i></p> - -<p>But whoever feels too chilled by the breath of such a reflection has -perhaps too little fire in himself; let him look around him meanwhile -and he will become aware of illnesses which have need of ice-poultices, -and of men who are so "kneaded together" of heat and spirit that -they can hardly find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough. -Moreover, as individuals and nations that are too serious have need of -frivolities, as others too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> mobile and excitable have need occasionally -of heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their health, should not -we, the more <i>intellectual</i> people of this age, that grows visibly more -and more inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means that exist, in -order that we may at least remain as constant, harmless, and moderate -as we still are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other as mirror -and self-contemplation for this age?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">39.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fable of Intelligible Freedom</span>.—The history of the sentiments by -means of which we make a person responsible consists of the following -principal phases. First, all single actions are called good or bad -without any regard to their motives, but only on account of the useful -or injurious consequences which result for the community. But soon the -origin of these distinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the -qualities "good" or "bad" are contained in the action itself without -regard to its consequences, by the same error according to which -language describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,—with which, -in short, the result is regarded as the cause. Then the goodness or -badness is implanted in the motive, and the action in itself is looked -upon as morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further, and applies -the predicate good or bad no longer to single motives, but to the -whole nature of an individual, out of whom the motive grows as the -plant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> is made responsible -for his operations, then for his actions, then for his motives, and -finally for his nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this -nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an absolutely necessary -consequence concreted out of the elements and influences of past and -present things,—that man, therefore, cannot be made responsible for -anything, neither for his nature, nor his motives, nor his actions, nor -his effects. It has therewith come to be recognised that the history -of moral valuations is at the same time the history of an error, the -error of responsibility, which is based upon the error of the freedom -of will. Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because certain actions -bring ill humour ("consciousness of guilt") in their train, there -must be a responsibility; for there would be <i>no reason</i> for this ill -humour if not only all human actions were not done of necessity,—which -is actually the case and also the belief of this philosopher,—but -man himself from the same necessity is precisely the <i>being</i> that -he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From the fact of that ill humour -Schopenhauer thinks he can prove a liberty which man must somehow -have had, not with regard to actions, but with regard to nature; -liberty, therefore, to <i>be</i> thus or otherwise, not to <i>act</i> thus or -otherwise. From the <i>esse,</i> the sphere of freedom and responsibility, -there results, in his opinion, the <i>operari,</i> the sphere of strict -causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This ill humour is -apparently directed to the <i>operari,</i>—in so far it is erroneous,—but -in reality it is directed to the <i>esse,</i> which is the deed of a free -will, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> fundamental cause of the existence of an individual, man -becomes that which he <i>wishes</i> to be, his will is anterior to his -existence. Here the mistaken conclusion is drawn that from the fact -of the ill humour, the justification, the reasonable <i>admissableness</i> -of this ill humour is presupposed; and starting from this mistaken -conclusion, Schopenhauer arrives at his fantastic sequence of the -so-called intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the deed is -not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is assuredly not reasonable, for -it is based upon the erroneous presumption that the action need <i>not</i> -have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is only because man <i>believes</i> -himself to be free, not because he is free, that he experiences remorse -and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill humour is a habit that can -be broken off; in many people it is entirely absent in connection with -actions where others experience it. It is a very changeable thing, and -one which is connected with the development of customs and culture, -and probably only existing during a comparatively short period of the -world's history. Nobody is responsible for his actions, nobody for his -nature; to judge is identical with being unjust. This also applies when -an individual judges himself. The theory is as clear as sunlight, and -yet every one prefers to go back into the shadow and the untruth, for -fear of the consequences.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">40.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Super-animal</span>.—The beast in us wishes to be deceived; morality is -a lie of necessity in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> order that we may not be torn in pieces by it. -Without the errors which lie in the assumption of morality, man would -have remained an animal. Thus, however, he has considered himself as -something higher and has laid strict laws upon himself. Therefore he -hates the grades which have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the -former scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to be explained as a -fact.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">41.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Unchangeable Character</span>.—That the character is unchangeable is -not true in a strict sense; this favourite theory means, rather, that -during the short lifetime of an individual the new influencing motives -cannot penetrate deeply enough to destroy the ingrained marks of many -thousands of years. But if one were to imagine a man of eighty thousand -years, one would have in him an absolutely changeable character, so -that a number of different individuals would gradually develop out -of him. The shortness of human life misleads us into forming many -erroneous ideas about the qualities of man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">42.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Order of Possessions and Morality</span>.—The once-accepted hierarchy -of possessions, according as this or the other is coveted by a lower, -higher, or highest egoism, now decides what is moral or immoral. To -prefer a lesser good (for instance, the gratification of the senses)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -to a more highly valued good (for instance, health) is accounted -immoral, and also to prefer luxury to liberty. The hierarchy of -possessions, however, is not fixed and equal at all times; if any one -prefers vengeance to justice he is moral according to the standard of -an earlier civilisation, but immoral according to the present one. To -be "immoral," therefore, denotes that an individual has not felt, or -not felt sufficiently strongly, the higher, finer, spiritual motives -which have come in with a new culture; it marks one who has remained -behind, but only according to the difference of degrees. The order of -possessions itself is <i>not</i> raised and lowered according to a moral -point of view; but each time that it is fixed it supplies the decision -as to whether an action is moral or immoral.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">43.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Cruel People As Those Who Have Remained Behind</span>.—People who are -cruel nowadays must be accounted for by us as the grades of earlier -civilisations which have survived; here are exposed those deeper -formations in the mountain of humanity which usually remain concealed. -They are backward people whose brains, through all manner of accidents -in the course of inheritance, have not been developed in so delicate -and manifold a way. They show us what we all <i>were</i> and horrify us, but -they themselves are as little responsible as is a block of granite for -being granite. There must, too, be grooves and twists in our brains -which answer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> that condition of mind, as in the form of certain -human organs there are supposed to be traces of a fish-state. But these -grooves and twists are no longer the bed through which the stream of -our sensation flows.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">44.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gratitude and Revenge</span>.—The reason why the powerful man is grateful -is this: his benefactor, through the benefit he confers, has mistaken -and intruded into the sphere of the powerful man,—now the latter, -in return, penetrates into the sphere of the benefactor by the act of -gratitude. It is a milder form of revenge. Without the satisfaction of -gratitude, the powerful man would have shown himself powerless, and -would have been reckoned as such ever after. Therefore every society of -the good, which originally meant the powerful, places gratitude amongst -the first duties.—Swift propounded the maxim that men were grateful in -the same proportion as they were revengeful.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">45.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Twofold Early History of Good and Evil</span>.—The conception of good -and evil has a twofold early history, namely, <i>once</i> in the soul of -the ruling tribes and castes. Whoever has the power of returning -good for good, evil for evil, and really practises requital, and who -is, therefore, grateful and revengeful, is called good; whoever is -powerless, and unable to requite, is reckoned as bad. As a good man one -is reckoned among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> "good," a community which has common feelings -because the single individuals are bound to one another by the sense -of requital. As a bad man one belongs to the "bad," to a party of -subordinate, powerless people who have no common feeling. The good are -a caste, the bad are a mass like dust. Good and bad have for a long -time meant the same thing as noble and base, master and slave. On the -other hand, the enemy is not looked upon as evil, he can requite. In -Homer the Trojan and the Greek are both good. It is not the one who -injures us, but the one who is despicable, who is called bad. Good is -inherited in the community of the good; it is impossible that a bad man -could spring from such good soil. If, nevertheless, one of the good -ones does something which is unworthy of the good, refuge is sought in -excuses; the guilt is thrown upon a god, for instance; it is said that -he has struck the good man with blindness and madness.—</p> - -<p><i>Then</i> in the soul of the oppressed and powerless. Here every <i>other</i> -man is looked upon as hostile, inconsiderate, rapacious, cruel, -cunning, be he noble or base; evil is the distinguishing word for man, -even for every conceivable living creature, <i>e.g.</i> for a god; human, -divine, is the same thing as devilish, evil. The signs of goodness, -helpfulness, pity, are looked upon with fear as spite, the prelude to -a terrible result, stupefaction and out-witting,—in short, as refined -malice. With such a disposition in the individual a community could -hardly exist, or at most it could exist only in its crudest form, so -that in all places where this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> conception of good and evil obtains, -the downfall of the single individuals, of their tribes and races, is -at hand.—Our present civilisation has grown up on the soil of the -<i>ruling</i> tribes and castes.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">46.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sympathy Stronger Than Suffering</span>.—There are cases when sympathy is -stronger than actual suffering. For instance, we are more pained when -one of our friends is guilty of something shameful than when we do -it ourselves. For one thing, we have more faith in the purity of his -character than he has himself; then our love for him, probably on -account of this very faith, is stronger than his love for himself. And -even if his egoism suffers more thereby than our egoism, inasmuch as it -has to bear more of the bad consequences of his fault, the un-egoistic -in us—this word is not to be taken too seriously, but only as a -modification of the expression—is more deeply wounded by his guilt -than is the un-egoistic in him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">47.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hypochondria</span>.—There are people who become hypochondriacal through -their sympathy and concern for another person; the kind of sympathy -which results therefrom is nothing but a disease. Thus there is -also a Christian hypochondria, which afflicts those solitary, -religiously-minded people who keep constantly before their eyes the -sufferings and death of Christ.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">48.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Economy of Goodness</span>.—Goodness and love, as the most healing herbs and -powers in human intercourse, are such costly discoveries that one would -wish as much economy as possible to be exercised in the employment of -these balsamic means; but this is impossible. The economy of goodness -is the dream of the most daring Utopians.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">49.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Goodwill</span>.—Amongst the small, but countlessly frequent and therefore -very effective, things to which science should pay more attention than -to the great, rare things, is to be reckoned goodwill; I mean that -exhibition of a friendly disposition in intercourse, that smiling -eye, that clasp of the hand, that cheerfulness with which almost all -human actions are usually accompanied. Every teacher, every official, -adds this to whatever is his duty; it is the perpetual occupation -of humanity, and at the same time the waves of its light, in which -everything grows; in the narrowest circle, namely, within the family, -life blooms and flourishes only through that goodwill. Kindliness, -friendliness, the courtesy of the heart, are ever-flowing streams of -un-egoistic impulses, and have given far more powerful assistance to -culture than even those much more famous demonstrations which are -called pity, mercy, and self-sacrifice. But they are thought little -of, and, as a matter of fact, there is not much that is un-egoistic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> -in them. The <i>sum</i> of these small doses is nevertheless mighty, their -united force is amongst the strongest forces. Thus one finds much more -happiness in the world than sad eyes see, if one only reckons rightly, -and does not forget all those moments of comfort in which every day is -rich, even in the most harried of human lives.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">50.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Wish to Arouse Pity</span>.—In the most remarkable passage of his -auto—portrait (first printed in 1658), La Rochefoucauld assuredly -hits the nail on the head when he warns all sensible people against -pity, when he advises them to leave that to those orders of the people -who have need of passion (because it is not ruled by reason), and to -reach the point of helping the suffering and acting energetically in an -accident; while pity, according to his (and Plato's) judgment, weakens -the soul. Certainly we should <i>exhibit</i> pity, but take good care not -to <i>feel</i> it, for the unfortunate are so <i>stupid</i> that to them the -exhibition of pity is the greatest good in the world. One can, perhaps, -give a more forcible warning against this feeling of pity if one looks -upon that need of the unfortunate not exactly as stupidity and lack of -intellect, a kind of mental derangement which misfortune brings with -it (and as such, indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to regard it), but -as something quite different and more serious. Observe children, who -cry and scream <i>in order</i> to be pitied, and therefore wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> for the -moment when they will be noticed; live in intercourse with the sick and -mentally oppressed, and ask yourself whether that ready complaining and -whimpering, that making a show of misfortune, does not, at bottom, aim -at <i>making the spectators miserable;</i> the pity which the spectators -then exhibit is in so far a consolation for the weak and suffering in -that the latter recognise therein that they <i>possess still one power,</i> -in spite of their weakness, <i>the power of giving pain.</i> The unfortunate -derives a sort of pleasure from this feeling of superiority, of which -the exhibition of pity makes him conscious; his imagination is exalted, -he is still powerful enough to give the world pain. Thus the thirst for -pity is the thirst for self-gratification, and that, moreover, at the -expense of his fellow-men; it shows man in the whole inconsiderateness -of his own dear self, but not exactly in his "stupidity," as La -Rochefoucauld thinks. In society-talk three-fourths of all questions -asked and of all answers given are intended to cause the interlocutor -a little pain; for this reason so many people pine for company; it -enables them to feel their power. There is a powerful charm of life -in such countless but very small doses in which malice makes itself -felt, just as goodwill, spread in the same way throughout the world, is -the ever-ready means of healing. But are there many honest people who -will admit that it is pleasing to give pain? that one not infrequently -amuses one's self—and amuses one's self very well—in causing -mortifications to others, at least in thought, and firing off at them -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> grape-shot of petty malice? Most people are too dishonest, and a -few are too good, to know anything of this <i>pudendum</i> these will always -deny that Prosper Mérimée is right when he says, "<i>Sachez aussi qu'il -n'y a rien de plus commun que de faire le mal pour le plaisir de le -faire.</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">51.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Appearance Becomes Actuality</span>.—The actor finally reaches such a -point that even in the deepest sorrow he cannot cease from thinking -about the impression made by his own person and the general scenic -effect; for instance, even at the funeral of his child, he will weep -over his own sorrow and its expression like one of his own audience. -The hypocrite, who always plays one and the same part, ceases at -last to be a hypocrite; for instance, priests, who as young men are -generally conscious or unconscious hypocrites, become at last natural, -and are then really without any affectation, just priests; or if the -father does not succeed so far, perhaps the son does, who makes use -of his father's progress and inherits his habits. If any one long and -obstinately desires to <i>appear</i> something, he finds it difficult at -last to <i>be</i> anything else. The profession of almost every individual, -even of the artist, begins with hypocrisy, with an imitating from -without, with a copying of the effective. He who always wears the -mask of a friendly expression must eventually obtain a power over -well-meaning dispositions without which the expression of friendliness -is not to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> compelled,—and finally, these, again, obtain a power -over him, he <i>is</i> well-meaning.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">52.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Point of Honour in Deception</span>.—In all great deceivers one thing -is noteworthy, to which they owe their power. In the actual act of -deception, with all their preparations, the dreadful voice, expression, -and mien, in the midst of their effective scenery they are overcome -by their <i>belief in themselves</i> it is this, then, which speaks so -wonderfully and persuasively to the spectators. The founders of -religions are distinguished from those great deceivers in that they -never awake from their condition of self-deception; or at times, but -very rarely, they have an enlightened moment when doubt overpowers -them; they generally console themselves, however, by ascribing these -enlightened moments to the influence of the Evil One. There must -be self-deception in order that this and that may <i>produce</i> great -<i>effects.</i> For men believe in the truth of everything that is visibly, -strongly believed in.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">53.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Nominal Degrees of Truth</span>.—One of the commonest mistakes is this: -because some one is truthful and honest towards us, he must speak the -truth. Thus the child believes in its parents' judgment, the Christian -in the assertions of the Founder of the Church. In the same way men -refuse to admit that all those things which men defended in former ages -with the sacrifice of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> life and happiness were nothing but errors; it -is even said, perhaps, that they were degrees of the truth. But what -is really meant is that when a man has honestly believed in something, -and has fought and died for his faith, it would really be too <i>unjust</i> -if he had only been inspired by an error. Such a thing seems a -contradiction of eternal justice; therefore the heart of sensitive man -ever enunciates against his head the axiom: between moral action and -intellectual insight there must absolutely be a necessary connection. -It is unfortunately otherwise; for there is no eternal justice.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">54.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Falsehood</span>.—Why do people mostly speak the truth in daily -life?—Assuredly not because a god has forbidden falsehood. But, -firstly, because it is more convenient, as falsehood requires -invention, deceit, and memory. (As Swift says, he who tells a lie is -not sensible how great a task he undertakes; for in order to uphold -one lie he must invent twenty others.) Therefore, because it is -advantageous in upright circumstances to say straight out, "I want -this, I have done that," and so on; because, in other words, the path -of compulsion and authority is surer than that of cunning. But if a -child has been brought up in complicated domestic circumstances, he -employs falsehood, naturally and unconsciously says whatever best suits -his interests; a sense of truth and a hatred of falsehood are quite -foreign and unknown to him, and so he lies in all innocence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">55.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Throwing Suspicion on Morality For Faith's Sake</span>.—No power can be -maintained when it is only represented by hypocrites; no matter how -many "worldly" elements the Catholic Church possesses, its strength -lies in those still numerous priestly natures who render life hard -and full of meaning for themselves, and whose glance and worn bodies -speak of nocturnal vigils, hunger, burning prayers, and perhaps even of -scourging; these move men and inspire them with fear. What if it were -<i>necessary</i> to live thus? This is the terrible question which their -aspect brings to the lips. Whilst they spread this doubt they always -uprear another pillar of their power; even the free-thinker does not -dare to withstand such unselfishness with hard words of truth, and to -say, "Thyself deceived, deceive not others!" Only the difference of -views divides them from him, certainly no difference of goodness or -badness; but men generally treat unjustly that which they do not like. -Thus we speak of the cunning and the infamous art of the Jesuits, but -overlook the self-control which every individual Jesuit practises, and -the fact that the lightened manner of life preached by Jesuit books -is by no means for their benefit, but for that of the laity. We may -even ask whether, with precisely similar tactics and organisation, -we enlightened ones would make equally good tools, equally admirable -through self-conquest, indefatigableness, and renunciation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">56.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Victory of Knowledge Over Radical Evil</span>.—It is of great advantage to -him who desires to be wise to have witnessed for a time the spectacle -of a thoroughly evil and degenerate man; it is false, like the contrary -spectacle, but for whole long periods it held the mastery, and its -roots have even extended and ramified themselves to us and our world. -In order to understand <i>ourselves</i> we must understand <i>it</i> but then, in -order to mount higher we must rise above it. We recognise, then, that -there exist no sins in the metaphysical sense; but, in the same sense, -also no virtues; we recognise that the entire domain of ethical ideas -is perpetually tottering, that there are higher and deeper conceptions -of good and evil, of moral and immoral. He who does not desire much -more from things than a knowledge of them easily makes peace with his -soul, and will make a mistake (or commit a sin, as the world calls -it) at the most from ignorance, but hardly from covetousness. He will -no longer wish to excommunicate and exterminate desires; but his -only, his wholly dominating ambition, to <i>know</i> as well as possible -at all times, will make him cool and will soften all the savageness -in his disposition. Moreover, he has been freed from a number of -tormenting conceptions, he has no more feeling at the mention of the -words "punishments of hell," "sinfulness," "incapacity for good," he -recognises in them only the vanishing shadow-pictures of false views of -the world and of life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">57.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Morality As the Self-disintegration of Man</span>.—A good author, who -really has his heart in his work, wishes that some one could come -and annihilate him by representing the same thing in a clearer way -and answering without more ado the problems therein proposed. The -loving girl wishes she could prove the self-sacrificing faithfulness -of her love by the unfaithfulness of her beloved. The soldier hopes -to die on the field of battle for his victorious fatherland; for his -loftiest desires triumph in the victory of his country. The mother -gives to the child that of which she deprives herself—sleep, the best -food, sometimes her health and fortune. But are all these un-egoistic -conditions? Are these deeds of morality <i>miracles,</i> because, to use -Schopenhauer's expression, they are "impossible and yet performed"? Is -it not clear that in all four cases the individual loves <i>something -of himself,</i> a thought, a desire, a production, better than <i>anything -else of himself;</i> that he therefore divides his nature and to one part -sacrifices all the rest? Is it something <i>entirely</i> different when an -obstinate man says, "I would rather be shot than move a step out of -my way for this man"? The <i>desire for something</i> (wish, inclination, -longing) is present in all the instances mentioned; to give way to it, -with all its consequences, is certainly not "un-egoistic."—In ethics -man does not consider himself as <i>Individuum</i> but as <i>dividuum.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">58.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What One May Promise</span>.—One may promise actions, but no sentiments, for -these are involuntary. Whoever promises to love or hate a person, or be -faithful to him for ever, promises something which is not within his -power; he can certainly promise such actions as are usually the results -of love, hate, or fidelity, but which may also spring from other -motives; for many ways and motives lead to one and the same action. -The promise to love some one for ever is, therefore, really: So long -as I love you I will act towards you in a loving way; if I cease to -love you, you will still receive the same treatment from me, although -inspired by other motives, so that our fellow-men will still be deluded -into the belief that our love is unchanged and ever the same. One -promises, therefore, the continuation of the semblance of love, when, -without self-deception, one speaks vows of eternal love.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">59.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intellect and Morality</span>.—One must have a good memory to be able to keep -a given promise. One must have a strong power of imagination to be -able to feel pity. So closely is morality bound to the goodness of the -intellect.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">60.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">TO WISH FOR REVENGE AND TO TAKE REVENGE</span>.—To have a revengeful thought -and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> carry it into effect is to have a violent attack of fever, -which passes off, however,—but to have a revengeful thought without -the strength and courage to carry it out is a chronic disease, a -poisoning of body and soul which we have to bear about with us. -Morality, which only takes intentions into account, considers the -two cases as equal; usually the former case is regarded as the worse -(because of the evil consequences which may perhaps result from the -deed of revenge). Both estimates are short-sighted.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">61.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Power of Waiting</span>.—Waiting is so difficult that even great poets -have not disdained to take incapability of waiting as the motive for -their works. Thus Shakespeare in Othello or Sophocles in Ajax, to whom -suicide, had he been able to let his feelings cool down for one day, -would no longer have seemed necessary, as the oracle intimated; he -would probably have snapped his fingers at the terrible whisperings -of wounded vanity, and said to himself, "Who has not already, in -my circumstances, mistaken a fool for a hero? Is it something so -very extraordinary?" On the contrary, it is something very commonly -human; Ajax might allow himself that consolation. Passion will not -wait; the tragedy in the lives of great men frequently lies <i>not</i> in -their conflict with the times and the baseness of their fellow-men, -but in their incapacity of postponing their work for a year or two; -they cannot wait. In all duels advising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> friends have one thing to -decide, namely whether the parties concerned can still wait awhile; -if this is not the case, then a duel is advisable, inasmuch as each -of the two says, "Either I continue to live and that other man must -die immediately, or <i>vice versa</i>." In such case waiting would mean a -prolonged suffering of the terrible martyrdom of wounded honour in the -face of the insulter, and this may entail more suffering than life is -worth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">62.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Revelling in Vengeance</span>.—Coarser individuals who feel themselves -insulted, make out the insult to be as great as possible, and relate -the affair in greatly exaggerated language, in order to be able to -revel thoroughly in the rarely awakened feelings of hatred and revenge.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">63.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of Disparagement</span>.—In order to maintain their self-respect -in their own eyes and a certain thoroughness of action, not a few men, -perhaps even the majority, find it absolutely necessary to run down and -disparage all their acquaintances. But as mean natures are numerous, -and since it is very important whether they possess that thoroughness -or lose it, hence——</p> - - -<p class="parnum">64.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Man in a Passion</span>.—We must beware of one who is in a passion -against us as of one who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> has once sought our life; for the fact that -we still live is due to the absence of power to kill,—if looks would -suffice, we should have been dead long ago. It is a piece of rough -civilisation to force some one into silence by the exhibition of -physical savageness and the inspiring of fear. That cold glance which -exalted persons employ towards their servants is also a relic of that -caste division between man and man, a piece of rough antiquity; women, -the preservers of ancient things, have also faithfully retained this -<i>survival</i> of an ancient habit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">65.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Whither Honesty Can Lead</span>.—Somebody had the bad habit of occasionally -talking quite frankly about the motives of his actions, which were as -good and as bad as the motives of most men. He first gave offence, -then aroused suspicion, was then gradually excluded from society and -declared a social outlaw, until at last justice remembered such an -abandoned creature, on occasions when it would otherwise have had no -eyes, or would have closed them. The lack of power to hold his tongue -concerning the common secret, and the irresponsible tendency to see -what no one wishes to see—himself—brought him to a prison and an -early death.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">66.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Punishable, But Never Punished</span>.—Our crime against criminals lies in -the fact that we treat them like rascals.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">67.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Sancta Simplicitas</span></i> OF VIRTUE.—Every virtue has its privileges; for -example, that of contributing its own little faggot to the scaffold of -every condemned man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">68.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Morality and Consequences</span>.—It is not only the spectators of a deed -who frequently judge of its morality or immorality according to its -consequences, but the doer of the deed himself does so. For the motives -and intentions are seldom sufficiently clear and simple, and sometimes -memory itself seems clouded by the consequences of the deed, so that -one ascribes the deed to false motives or looks upon unessential -motives as essential. Success often gives an action the whole honest -glamour of a good conscience; failure casts the shadow of remorse -over the most estimable deed. Hence arises the well-known practice -of the politician, who thinks, "Only grant me success, with that I -bring all honest souls over to my side and make myself honest in my -own eyes." In the same way success must replace a better argument. -Many educated people still believe that the triumph of Christianity -over Greek philosophy is a proof of the greater truthfulness of -the former,—although in this case it is only the coarser and more -powerful that has triumphed over the more spiritual and delicate. -Which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> possesses the greater truth may be seen from the fact that the -awakening sciences have agreed with Epicurus' philosophy on point after -point, but on point after point have rejected Christianity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">69.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love and Justice</span>.—Why do we over-estimate love to the disadvantage -of justice, and say the most beautiful things about it, as if it were -something very much higher than the latter? Is it not visibly more -stupid than justice? Certainly, but precisely for that reason all the -<i>pleasanter</i> for every one. It is blind, and possesses an abundant -cornucopia, out of which it distributes its gifts to all, even if they -do not deserve them, even if they express no thanks for them. It is as -impartial as the rain, which, according to the Bible and experience, -makes not only the unjust, but also occasionally the just wet through -to the skin.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">70.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Execution</span>.—How is it that every execution offends us more than does a -murder? It is the coldness of the judges, the painful preparations, the -conviction that a human being is here being used as a warning to scare -others. For the guilt is not punished, even if it existed—it lies with -educators, parents, surroundings, in ourselves, not in the murderer—I -mean the determining circumstances.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">71.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hope</span>.—Pandora brought the box of ills and opened it. It was the gift -of the gods to men, outwardly a beautiful and seductive gift, and -called the Casket of Happiness. Out of it flew all the evils, living -winged creatures, thence they now circulate and do men injury day and -night. One single evil had not yet escaped from the box, and by the -will of Zeus Pandora closed the lid and it remained within. Now for -ever man has the casket of happiness in his house and thinks he holds a -great treasure; it is at his disposal, he stretches out his hand for it -whenever he desires; for he does not know the box which Pandora brought -was the casket of evil, and he believes the ill which remains within to -be the greatest blessing,—it is hope. Zeus did not wish man, however -much he might be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his life, -but to go on letting himself be tormented again and again. Therefore he -gives man hope,—in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it -prolongs the torments of man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">72.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Degree of Moral Inflammability Unknown</span>.—According to whether we -have or have not had certain disturbing views and impressions—for -instance, an unjustly executed, killed, or martered father; a faithless -wife; a cruel hostile attack—it depends whether our passions reach -fever heat and influence our whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> life or not. No one knows to -what he may be driven by circumstances, pity, or indignation; he -does not know the degree of his own inflammability. Miserable little -circumstances make us miserable; it is generally not the quantity of -experiences, but their quality, on which lower and higher man depends, -in good and evil.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">73.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Martyr in Spite of Himself</span>.—There was a man belonging to a party -who was too nervous and cowardly ever to contradict his comrades; they -made use of him for everything, they demanded everything from him, -because he was more afraid of the bad opinion of his companions than -of death itself; his was a miserable, feeble soul. They recognised -this, and on the ground of these qualities they made a hero of him, and -finally even a martyr. Although the coward inwardly always said No, -with his lips he always said Yes, even on the scaffold, when he was -about to die for the opinions of his party; for beside him stood one of -his old companions, who so tyrannised over him by word and look that -he really suffered death in the most respectable manner, and has ever -since been celebrated as a martyr and a great character.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">74.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I the Every-day Standard</span>.—One will seldom go wrong if one attributes -extreme actions to vanity, average ones to habit, and petty ones to -fear.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">75.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Misunderstanding Concerning Virtue</span>.—Whoever has known immorality -in connection with pleasure, as is the case with a man who has a -pleasure-seeking youth behind him, imagines that virtue must be -connected with absence of pleasure.—Whoever, on the contrary, has been -much plagued by his passions and vices, longs to find in virtue peace -and the soul's happiness. Hence it is possible for two virtuous persons -not to understand each other at all.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">76.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Ascetic</span>.—The ascetic makes a necessity of virtue.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">77.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Transferring Honour from the Person to the Thing</span>.—Deeds of love and -sacrifice for the benefit of one's neighbour are generally honoured, -wherever they are manifested. Thereby we multiply the valuation of -things which are thus loved, or for which we sacrifice ourselves, -although perhaps they are not worth much in themselves. A brave army is -convinced of the cause for which it fights.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">78.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ambition a Substitute For the Moral Sense</span>.—The moral sense must not be -lacking in those natures which have no ambition. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> ambitious manage -without it, with almost the same results. For this reason the sons of -unpretentious, unambitious families, when once they lose the moral -sense, generally degenerate very quickly into complete scamps.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">79.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanity Enriches</span>.—How poor would be the human mind without vanity! -Thus, however, it resembles a well-stocked and constantly replenished -bazaar which attracts buyers of every kind. There they can find almost -everything, obtain almost everything, provided that they bring the -right sort of coin, namely admiration.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">80.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Old Age and Death</span>.—Apart from the commands of religion, the question -may well be asked, Why is it more worthy for an old man who feels his -powers decline, to await his slow exhaustion and extinction than with -full consciousness to set a limit to his life? Suicide in this case is -a perfectly natural, obvious action, which should justly arouse respect -as a triumph of reason, and did arouse it in those times when the heads -of Greek philosophy and the sturdiest patriots used to seek death -through suicide. The seeking, on the contrary, to prolong existence -from day to day, with anxious consultation of doctors and painful mode -of living, without the power of drawing nearer to the actual aim of -life, is far less worthy. Religion is rich in excuses to reply to the -demand for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> suicide, and thus it ingratiates itself with those who wish -to cling to life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">81.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Errors of the Sufferer and the Doer</span>.—When a rich man deprives a poor -man of a possession (for instance, a prince taking the sweetheart of -a plebeian), an error arises in the mind of the poor man; he thinks -that the rich man must be utterly infamous to take away from him the -little that he has. But the rich man does not estimate so highly the -value of a <i>single</i> possession, because he is accustomed to have many; -hence he cannot imagine himself in the poor man's place, and does not -commit nearly so great a wrong as the latter supposes. They each have a -mistaken idea of the other. The injustice of the powerful, which, more -than anything else, rouses indignation in history, is by no means so -great as it appears. Alone the mere inherited consciousness of being a -higher creation, with higher claims, produces a cold temperament, and -leaves the conscience quiet; we all of us feel no injustice when the -difference is very great between ourselves and another creature, and -kill a fly, for instance, without any pricks of conscience. Therefore -it was no sign of badness in Xerxes (whom even all Greeks describe -as superlatively noble) when he took a son away from his father and -had him cut in pieces, because he had expressed a nervous, ominous -distrust of the whole campaign; in this case the individual is put out -of the way like an unpleasant insect; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> is too lowly to be allowed -any longer to cause annoyance to a ruler of the world. Yes, every -cruel man is not so cruel as the ill-treated one imagines the idea of -pain is not the same as its endurance. It is the same thing in the -case of unjust judges, of the journalist who leads public opinion -astray by small dishonesties. In all these cases cause and effect are -surrounded by entirely different groups of feelings and thoughts; yet -one unconsciously takes it for granted that doer and sufferer think and -feel alike, and according to this supposition we measure the guilt of -the one by the pain of the other.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">82.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Skin of the Soul</span>.—As the bones, flesh, entrails, and blood-vessels -are enclosed within a skin, which makes the aspect of man endurable, so -the emotions and passions of the soul are enwrapped with vanity,—it is -the skin of the soul.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">83.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sleep of Virtue</span>.—When virtue has slept, it will arise again all -the fresher.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">84.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Refinement of Shame</span>.—People are not ashamed to think something -foul, but they are ashamed when they think these foul thoughts are -attributed to them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">85.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malice Is Rare</span>.—Most people are far too much occupied with themselves -to be malicious.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">86.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tongue in the Balance</span>.—We praise or blame according as the one or -the other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">87.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">St. Luke Xviii. 14, Improved</span>.—He that humbleth himself wishes to be -exalted.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">88.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Prevention of Suicide</span>.—There is a certain right by which we may -deprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death; -this is mere cruelty.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">89.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanity</span>.—We care for the good opinion of men, firstly because they are -useful to us, and then because we wish to please them (children their -parents, pupils their teachers, and well-meaning people generally their -fellow-men). Only where the good opinion of men is of importance to -some one, apart from the advantage thereof or his wish to please, can -we speak of vanity. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> this case the man wishes to please himself, -but at the expense of his fellow-men, either by misleading them into -holding a false opinion about him, or by aiming at a degree of "good -opinion" which must be painful to every one else (by arousing envy). -The individual usually wishes to corroborate the opinion he holds of -himself by the opinion of others, and to strengthen it in his own -eyes; but the strong habit of authority—a habit as old as man himself -—induces many to support by authority their belief in themselves: that -is to say, they accept it first from others; they trust the judgment -of others more than their own. The interest in himself, the wish to -please himself, attains to such a height in a vain man that he misleads -others into having a false, all too elevated estimation of him, and yet -nevertheless sets store by their authority,—thus causing an error and -yet believing in it. It must be confessed, therefore, that vain people -do not wish to please others so much as themselves, and that they go -so far therein as to neglect their advantage, for they often endeavour -to prejudice their fellow-men unfavourably, inimicably, enviously, -consequently injuriously against themselves, merely in order to have -pleasure in themselves, personal pleasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">90.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Limits of Human Love</span>.—A man who has declared that another is an -idiot and a bad companion, is angry when the latter eventually proves -himself to be otherwise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">91.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Moralité Larmoyante</span>.</i>—What a great deal of pleasure morality gives! -Only think what a sea of pleasant tears has been shed over descriptions -of noble and unselfish deeds! This charm of life would vanish if the -belief in absolute irresponsibility were to obtain supremacy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">92.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of Justice.</span>—Justice (equity) has, its origin amongst powers -which are fairly equal, as Thucydides (in the terrible dialogue between -the Athenian and Melian ambassadors) rightly comprehended: that is to -say, where there is no clearly recognisable supremacy, and where a -conflict would be useless and would injure both sides, there arises the -thought of coming to an understanding and settling the opposing claims; -the character of <i>exchange</i> is the primary character of justice. Each -party satisfies the other, as each obtains what he values more than the -other. Each one receives that which he desires, as his own henceforth, -and whatever is desired is received in return. Justice, therefore, -is recompense and exchange based on the hypothesis of a fairly equal -degree of power,—thus, originally, revenge belongs to the province -of justice, it is an exchange. Also gratitude.—Justice naturally is -based on the point of view of a judicious self-preservation, on the -egoism, therefore, of that reflection, "Why should I injure myself -uselessly and perhaps not attain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> my aim after all?" So much about the -<i>origin</i> of justice. Because man, according to his intellectual custom, -has <i>forgotten</i> the original purpose of so-called just and reasonable -actions, and particularly because for hundreds of years children have -been taught to admire and imitate such actions, the idea has gradually -arisen that such an action is un-egoistic; upon this idea, however, is -based the high estimation in which it is held: which, moreover, like -all valuations, is constantly growing, for something that is valued -highly is striven after, imitated, multiplied, and increases, because -the value of the output of toil and enthusiasm of each individual is -added to the value of the thing itself. How little moral would the -world look without this forgetfulness! A poet might say that God had -placed forgetfulness as door-keeper in the temple of human dignity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">93.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Right of the Weaker</span>.—When any one submits under certain -conditions to a greater power, as a besieged town for instance, the -counter-condition is that one can destroy one's self, burn the town, -and so cause the mighty one a great loss. Therefore there is a kind of -<i>equalisation</i> here, on the basis of which rights may be determined. -The enemy has his advantage in maintaining it. In so far there are -also rights between slaves and masters, that is, precisely so far as -the possession of the slave is useful and important to his master. The -<i>right</i> originally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> extends <i>so far as</i> one <i>appears</i> to be valuable to -the other, essentially unlosable, unconquerable, and so forth. In so -far the weaker one also has rights, but lesser ones. Hence the famous -<i>unusquisque tantum juris habet, quantum potentia valet</i> (or more -exactly, <i>quantum potentia valere creditur</i>).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">94.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Three Phases of Hitherto Existing Morality</span>.—It is the first -sign that the animal has become man when its actions no longer have -regard only to momentary welfare, but to what is enduring, when it -grows <i>useful</i> and <i>practical</i>; there the free rule of reason first -breaks out. A still higher step is reached when he acts according to -the principle of <i>honour</i> by this means he brings himself into order, -submits to common feelings, and that exalts him still higher over -the phase in which he was led only by the idea of usefulness from a -personal point of view; he respects and wishes to be respected, <i>i.e.</i> -he understands usefulness as dependent upon what he thinks of others -and what others think of him. Eventually he acts, on the highest step -of the <i>hitherto</i> existing—morality, according to <i>his</i> standard of -things and men; he himself decides for himself and others what is -honourable, what is useful; he has become the law-giver of opinions, -in accordance with the ever more highly developed idea of what is -useful and honourable. Knowledge enables him to place that which is -most useful, that is to say the general, enduring usefulness, above the -personal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> the honourable recognition of general, enduring validity -above the momentary; he lives and acts as a collective individual.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">95.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Morality of the Mature Individual</span>.—The impersonal has hitherto -been looked upon as the actual distinguishing mark of moral action; and -it has been pointed out that in the beginning it was in consideration -of the common good that all impersonal actions were praised and -distinguished. Is not an important change in these views impending, -now when it is more and more recognised that it is precisely in the -<i>most personal</i> possible considerations that the common good is the -greatest, so that a <i>strictly personal</i> action now best illustrates -the present idea of morality, as utility for the mass? To make a -whole <i>personality</i> out of ourselves, and in all that we do to keep -that personality's <i>highest good</i> in view, carries us further than -those sympathetic emotions and actions for the benefit of others. We -all still suffer, certainly, from the too small consideration of the -personal in us; it is badly developed,—let us admit it; rather has -our mind been forcibly drawn away from it and offered as a sacrifice -to the State, to science, or to those who stand in need of help, as if -it were the bad part which must be sacrificed. We are still willing to -work for our fellow-men, but only so far as we find our own greatest -advantage in this work, no more and no less. It is only a question of -what we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> understand as <i>our advantage;</i> the unripe, undeveloped, crude -individual will understand it in the crudest way.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">96.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Custom and Morality</span>.—To be moral, correct, and virtuous is to be -obedient to an old-established law and custom. Whether we submit -with difficulty or willingly is immaterial, enough that we do so. He -is called "good" who, as if naturally, after long precedent, easily -and willingly, therefore, does what is right, according to whatever -this may be (as, for instance, taking revenge, if to take revenge be -considered as right, as amongst the ancient Greeks). He is called -good because he is good "for something"; but as goodwill, pity, -consideration, moderation, and such like, have come, with the change -in manners, to be looked upon as "good for something," as useful, the -good-natured and helpful have, later on, come to be distinguished -specially as "good." (In the beginning other and more important kinds -of usefulness stood in the foreground.) To be evil is to be "not -moral" (immoral), to be immoral is to be in opposition to tradition, -however sensible or stupid it may be; injury to the community (the -"neighbour" being understood thereby) has, however, been looked upon -by the social laws of all different ages as being eminently the actual -"immorality," so that now at the word "evil" we immediately think of -voluntary injury to one's neighbour. The fundamental antithesis which -has taught man the distinction between moral and immoral, between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> good -and evil, is not the "egoistic" and "un-egoistic," but the being bound -to the tradition, law, and solution thereof. How the tradition has -<i>arisen</i> is immaterial, at all events without regard to good and evil -or any immanent categorical imperative, but above all for the purpose -of preserving a <i>community,</i> a generation, an association, a people; -every superstitious custom that has arisen on account of some falsely -explained accident, creates a tradition, which it is moral to follow; -to separate one's self from it is dangerous, but more dangerous for the -<i>community</i> than for the individual (because the Godhead punishes the -community for every outrage and every violation of its rights, and the -individual only in proportion). Now every tradition grows continually -more venerable, the farther off lies its origin, the more this is -lost sight of; the veneration paid it accumulates from generation to -generation, the tradition at last becomes holy and excites awe; and -thus in any case the morality of piety is a much older morality than -that which requires un-egoistic actions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">97.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasure in Traditional Custom</span>.—An important species of pleasure, -and therewith the source of morality, arises out of habit. Man does -what is habitual to him more easily, better, and therefore more -willingly; he feels a pleasure therein, and knows from experience -that the habitual has been tested, and is therefore useful; a custom -that we can live with is proved to be wholesome and advantageous in -contrast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> to all new and not yet tested experiments. According to -this, morality is the union of the pleasant and the useful; moreover, -it requires no reflection. As soon as man can use compulsion, he uses -it to introduce and enforce his <i>customs</i>; for in his eyes they are -proved as the wisdom of life. In the same way a company of individuals -compels each single one to adopt the same customs. Here the inference -is wrong; because we feel at ease with a morality, or at least -because we are able to carry on existence with it, therefore this -morality is necessary, for it seems to be the <i>only</i> possibility of -feeling at ease; the ease of life seems to grow out of it alone. This -comprehension of the habitual as a necessity of existence is pursued -even to the smallest details of custom,—as insight into genuine -causality is very small with lower peoples and civilisations, they -take precautions with superstitious fear that everything should go in -its same groove; even where custom is difficult, hard, and burdensome, -it is preserved on account of its apparent highest usefulness. It is -not known that the same degree of well-being can also exist with other -customs, and that even higher degrees may be attained. We become aware, -however, that all customs, even the hardest, grow pleasanter and milder -with time, and that the severest way of life may become a habit and -therefore a pleasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">98.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasure and Social Instinct</span>.—Out of his relations with other men, man -obtains a new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> species of <i>pleasure</i> in addition to those pleasurable -sensations which he derives from himself; whereby he greatly increases -the scope of enjoyment. Perhaps he has already taken too many of the -pleasures of this sphere from animals, which visibly feel pleasure -when they play with each other, especially the mother with her young. -Then consider the sexual relations, which make almost every female -interesting to a male with regard to pleasure, and <i>vice versa.</i> The -feeling of pleasure on the basis of human relations generally makes -man better; joy in common, pleasure enjoyed together is increased, it -gives the individual security, makes him good-tempered, and dispels -mistrust and envy, for we feel ourselves at ease and see others at -ease. <i>Similar manifestations of pleasure</i> awaken the idea of the same -sensations, the feeling of being like something; a like effect is -produced by common sufferings, the same bad weather, dangers, enemies. -Upon this foundation is based the oldest alliance, the object of which -is the mutual obviating and averting of a threatening danger for the -benefit of each individual. And thus the social instinct grows out of -pleasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">99.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Innocent Side of So-called Evil Actions</span>.—All "evil" actions are -prompted by the instinct of preservation, or, more exactly, by the -desire for pleasure and the avoidance of pain on the part of the -individual; thus prompted, but not evil. "To cause pain <i>per se</i>" does -not exist,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> except in the brains of philosophers, neither does "to give -pleasure <i>per se</i>" (pity in Schopenhauer's meaning). In the social -condition <i>before</i> the State we kill the creature, be it ape or man, -who tries to take from us the fruit of a tree when we are hungry and -approach the tree, as we should still do with animals in inhospitable -countries. The evil actions which now most rouse our indignation, are -based upon the error that he who causes them has a free will, that he -had the option, therefore, of not doing us this injury. This belief in -option arouses hatred, desire for revenge, spite, and the deterioration -of the whole imagination, while we are much less angry with an animal -because we consider it irresponsible. To do injury, not from the -instinct of preservation, but as <i>requital,</i> is the consequence of a -false judgment and therefore equally innocent. The individual can in -the condition which lies before the State, act sternly and cruelly -towards other creatures for the purpose of <i>terrifying,</i> to establish -his existence firmly by such terrifying proofs of his power. Thus -act the violent, the mighty, the original founders of States, who -subdue the weaker to themselves. They have the right to do so, such -as the State still takes for itself; or rather, there is no right -that can hinder this. The ground for all-morality can only be made -ready when a stronger individual or a collective individual, for -instance society or the State, subdues the single individuals,.draws -them out of their singleness, and forms them into an association.. -<i>Compulsion</i> precedes morality, indeed morality itself is compulsion -for a time, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> which one submits for the avoidance of pain. Later on -it becomes custom,—later still, free obedience, and finally almost -instinct,—then, like everything long accustomed and natural, it is -connected with pleasure—and is henceforth called <i>virtue</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">100.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Shame</span>.—Shame exists everywhere where there is a "mystery"; this, -however, is a religious idea, which was widely extended in the older -times of human civilisation. Everywhere were found bounded domains -to which access was forbidden by divine right, except under certain -conditions ; at first locally, as, for example, certain spots that -ought not to be trodden by the feet of the uninitiated, in the -neighbourhood of which these latter experienced horror and fear. -This feeling was a good deal carried over into other relations, for -instance, the sex relations, which, as a privilege and <i>ἃδoυτον</i> of -riper years, had to be withheld from the knowledge of the young for -their advantage, relations for the protection and sanctification of -which many gods were invented and were set up as guardians in the -nuptial chamber. (In Turkish this room is on this account called harem, -"sanctuary," and is distinguished with the same name, therefore, that -is used for the entrance courts of the mosques.) Thus the kingdom is as -a centre from which radiate power and glory, to the subjects a mystery -full of secrecy and shame, of which many after-effects may still be -felt among nations which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> otherwise do not by any means belong to the -bashful type. Similarly, the whole world of inner conditions, the -so-called "soul," is still a mystery for all who are not philosophers, -after it has been looked upon for endless ages as of divine origin and -as worthy of divine intercourse; according to this it is an <i>ἃδoυτον</i> -and arouses shame.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">101.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Judge Not.</span>—In considering earlier periods, care must be taken not -to fall into unjust abuse. The injustice in slavery, the cruelty in -the suppression of persons and nations, is not to be measured by our -standard. For the instinct of justice was not then so far developed. -Who dares to reproach the Genevese Calvin with the burning of the -physician Servet? It was an action following and resulting from his -convictions, and in the same way the Inquisition had a good right; -only the ruling views were false, and produced a result which seems -hard to us because those views have now grown strange to us. Besides, -what is the burning of a single individual compared with eternal -pains of hell for almost all! And yet this idea was universal at that -time, without essentially injuring by its dreadfulness the conception -of a God. With us, too, political sectarians are hardly and cruelly -treated, but because one is accustomed to believe in the necessity of -the State, the cruelty is not so deeply felt here as it is where we -repudiate the views. Cruelty to animals in children and Italians is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -due to ignorance, <i>i.e.</i> the animal, through the interests of Church -teaching, has been placed too far behind man. Much that is dreadful and -inhuman in history, much that one hardly likes to believe, is mitigated -by the reflection that the one who commands and the one who carries -out are different persons,—the former does not behold the right and -therefore does not experience the strong impression on the imagination; -the latter obeys a superior and therefore feels no responsibility. Most -princes and military heads, through lack of imagination, easily appear -hard and cruel without really being so. <i>Egoism is not evil,</i> because -the idea of the "neighbour"—the word is of Christian origin and does -not represent the truth—is very weak in us; and we feel ourselves -almost as free and irresponsible towards him as towards plants and -stones. We have yet to <i>learn</i> that others suffer, and this can never -be completely learnt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">102.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">"Man Always Acts Rightly."</span>—We do not complain of nature as immoral -because it sends a thunderstorm and makes us wet,—why do we call those -who injure us immoral? Because in the latter case we take for granted -a free will functioning voluntarily; in the former we see necessity. -But this distinction is an error. Thus we do not call even intentional -injury immoral in all circumstances; for instance, we kill a fly -unhesitatingly and intentionally, only because its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> buzzing annoys us; -we punish a criminal intentionally and hurt him in order to protect -ourselves and society. In the first case it is the individual who, in -order to preserve himself, or even to protect himself from worry, does -intentional injury; in the second case it is the State. All morals -allow intentional injury <i>in the case of necessity,</i> that is, when -it is a matter of <i>self-preservation</i>! But these two points of view -suffice to explain all evil actions committed by men against men, we -are desirous of obtaining pleasure or avoiding pain; in any case it is -always a question of self-preservation. Socrates and Plato are right: -whatever man does he always does well, that is, he does that which -seems to him good (useful) according to the degree of his intellect, -the particular standard of his reasonableness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">103.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Harmlessness of Malice.</span>—The aim of malice is <i>not</i> the suffering -of others in itself, but our own enjoyment; for instance, as the -feeling of revenge, or stronger nervous excitement. All teasing, -even, shows the pleasure it gives to exercise our power on others and -bring it to an enjoyable feeling of preponderance. Is it <i>immoral</i> to -taste pleasure at the expense of another's pain? Is malicious joy<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -devilish, as Schopenhauer says? We give ourselves pleasure in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> nature -by breaking off twigs, loosening stones, fighting with wild animals, -and do this in order to become thereby conscious of our strength. Is -the knowledge, therefore, that another suffers through us, the same -thing concerning which we otherwise feel irresponsible, supposed to -make us immoral? But if we did not know this we would not thereby have -the enjoyment of our own superiority, which can only <i>manifest</i> itself -by the suffering of others, for instance in teasing. All pleasure -<i>per se</i> is neither good nor evil; whence should come the decision -that in order to have pleasure ourselves we may not cause displeasure -to others? From the point of view of usefulness alone, that is, out -of consideration for the <i>consequences,</i> for <i>possible</i> displeasure, -when the injured one or the replacing State gives the expectation of -resentment and revenge: this only can have been the original reason -for denying ourselves such actions. <i>Pity</i> aims just as little at -the pleasure of others as malice at the pain of others <i>per se.</i> For -it contains at least two (perhaps many more) elements of a personal -pleasure, and is so far self-gratification; in the first place as the -pleasure of emotion, which is the kind of pity that exists in tragedy, -and then, when it impels to action, as the pleasure of satisfaction -in the exercise of power. If, besides this, a suffering person is -very dear to us, we lift a sorrow from ourselves by the exercise of -sympathetic actions. Except by a few philosophers, pity has always been -placed very low in the scale of moral feelings, and rightly so.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">104.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-defence.</span>—If self-defence is allowed to pass as moral, then almost -all manifestations of the so-called immoral egoism must also stand; -men injure, rob, or kill in order to preserve or defend themselves, -to prevent personal injury; they lie where cunning and dissimulation -are the right means of self-preservation. <i>Intentional injury,</i> when -our existence or safety (preservation of our comfort) is concerned, is -conceded to be moral; the State itself injures, according to this point -of view, when it punishes. In unintentional injury, of course, there -can be nothing immoral, that is ruled by chance. Is there, then, a kind -of intentional injury where our existence or the preservation of our -comfort is <i>not</i> concerned? Is there an injuring out of pure <i>malice,</i> -for instance in cruelty? If one does not know how much an action hurts, -it is no deed of malice; thus the child is not malicious towards the -animal, not evil; he examines and destroys it like a toy. But <i>do</i> we -ever know entirely how an action hurts another? As far as our nervous -system extends we protect ourselves from pain; if it extended farther, -to our fellow-men, namely, we should do no one an injury (except in -such cases as we injure ourselves, where we cut ourselves for the -sake of cure, tire and exert ourselves for the sake of health). We -<i>conclude</i> by analogy that something hurts somebody, and through memory -and the strength of imagination we may suffer from it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> ourselves. But -still what a difference there is between toothache and the pain (pity) -that the sight of toothache calls forth! Therefore, in injury out of -so-called malice the <i>degree</i> of pain produced is always unknown to -us; but inasmuch as there is <i>pleasure</i> in the action (the feeling of -one's own power, one's own strong excitement), the action is committed, -in order to preserve the comfort of the individual, and is regarded, -therefore, from a similar point of view as defence and falsehood in -necessity. No life without pleasure; the struggle for pleasure is the -struggle for life. Whether the individual so fights this fight that -men call him good, or so that they call him evil, is determined by the -measure and the constitution of his <i>intellect.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">105.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Recompensing Justice</span>.—Whoever has completely comprehended the doctrine -of absolute irresponsibility can no longer include the so-called -punishing and recompensing justice in the idea of justice, should this -consist of giving to each man his due. For he who is punished does -not deserve the punishment, he is only used as a means of henceforth -warning away from certain actions; equally so, he who is rewarded -does not merit this reward, he could not act otherwise than he did. -Therefore the reward is meant only as an encouragement to him and -others, to provide a motive for subsequent actions; words of praise are -flung to the runners on the course, not to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> one who has reached -the goal. Neither punishment nor reward is anything that comes to one -as <i>one's own;</i> they are given from motives of usefulness, without one -having a right to claim them. Hence we must say, "The wise man gives -no reward because the deed has been well done," just as we have said, -"The wise man does not punish because evil has been committed, but in -order that evil shall not be committed." If punishment and reward no -longer existed, then the strongest motives which deter men from certain -actions and impel them to certain other actions, would also no longer -exist; the needs of mankind require their continuance; and inasmuch as -punishment and reward, blame and praise, work most sensibly on vanity, -the same need requires the continuance of vanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">106.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">At the Waterfall.</span>—In looking at a water-fall we imagine that there is -freedom of will and fancy in the countless turnings, twistings, and -breakings of the waves; but everything is compulsory, every movement -can be mathematically calculated. So it is also with human actions; -one would have to be able to calculate every single action beforehand -if one were all-knowing; equally so all progress of knowledge, every -error, all malice. The one who acts certainly labours under the -illusion of voluntariness; if the world's wheel were to stand still -for a moment and an all-knowing, calculating reason were there to make -use of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> pause, it could foretell the future of every creature to -the remotest times, and mark out every track upon which that wheel -would continue to roll. The delusion of the acting agent about himself, -the supposition of a free will, belongs to this mechanism which still -remains to be calculated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">107.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Irresponsibility and Innocence.</span>—The complete irresponsibility of -man for his actions and his nature is the bitterest drop which he -who understands must swallow if he was accustomed to see the patent -of nobility of his humanity in responsibility and duty. All his -valuations, distinctions, disinclinations, are thereby deprived of -value and become false,—his deepest feeling for the sufferer and -the hero was based on an error; he may no longer either praise or -blame, for it is absurd to praise and blame nature and necessity. In -the same way as he loves a fine work of art, but does not praise it, -because it can do nothing for itself; in the same way as he regards -plants, so must he regard his own actions and those of mankind. He can -admire strength, beauty, abundance, in themselves; but must find no -merit therein,—the chemical progress and the strife of the elements, -the torments of the sick person who thirsts after recovery, are all -equally as little merits as those struggles of the soul and states of -distress in which we are torn hither and thither by different impulses -until we finally decide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> for the strongest—as we say (but in reality -it is the strongest motive which decides for us). All these motives, -however, whatever fine names we may give them, have all grown out of -the same root, in which we believe the evil poisons to be situated; -between good and evil actions there is no difference of species, but -at most of degree. Good actions are sublimated evil ones; evil actions -are vulgarised and stupefied good ones. The single longing of the -individual for self-gratification (together with the fear of losing it) -satisfies itself in all circumstances: man may act as he can, that is -as he must, be it in deeds of vanity, revenge, pleasure, usefulness, -malice, cunning; be it in deeds of sacrifice, of pity, of knowledge. -The degrees of the power of judgment determine whither any one lets -himself be drawn through this longing; to every society, to every -individual, a scale of possessions is continually present, according to -which he determines his actions and judges those of others. But this -standard changes constantly; many actions are called evil and are only -stupid, because the degree of intelligence which decided for them was -very low. In a certain sense, even, <i>all</i> actions are still stupid; -for the highest degree of human intelligence which can now be attained -will assuredly be yet surpassed, and then, in a retrospect, all our -actions and judgments will appear as limited and hasty as the actions -and judgments of primitive wild peoples now appear limited and hasty to -us. To recognise all this may be deeply painful, but consolation comes -after; such pains are the pangs of birth. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> butterfly wants to break -through its chrysalis: it rends and tears it, and is then blinded and -confused by the unaccustomed light, the kingdom of liberty. In such -people as are <i>capable</i> of such sadness—and how few are!—the first -experiment made is to see whether <i>mankind can change itself</i> from a -<i>moral</i> into a <i>wise</i> mankind. The sun of a new gospel throws its rays -upon the highest point in the soul of each single individual, then -the mists gather thicker than ever, and the brightest light and the -dreariest shadow lie side by side. Everything is necessity—so says the -new knowledge, and this knowledge itself is necessity. Everything is -innocence, and knowledge is the road to insight into this innocence. -Are pleasure, egoism, vanity <i>necessary</i> for the production of the -moral phenomena and their highest result, the sense for truth and -justice in knowledge; were error and the confusion of the imagination -the only means through which mankind could raise itself gradually to -this degree of self-enlightenment and self-liberation—who would dare -to undervalue these means? Who would dare to be sad if he perceived the -goal to which those roads led? Everything in the domain of morality -has evolved, is changeable, unstable, everything is dissolved, it is -true; but <i>everything is also streaming towards one goal.</i> Even if -the inherited habit of erroneous valuation, love and hatred, continue -to reign in us, yet under the influence of growing knowledge it will -become weaker; a new habit, that of comprehension, of not loving, not -hating, of overlooking, is gradually implanting itself in us upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> the -same ground, and in thousands of years will perhaps be powerful enough -to give humanity the strength to produce wise, innocent (consciously -innocent) men, as it now produces unwise, guilt-conscious men,—<i>that -is the necessary preliminary step, not its opposite.</i></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Dr. Paul Rée.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_5" id="Footnote_2_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_5"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Dr. Paul Rée.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_6" id="Footnote_3_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_6"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This is the untranslatable word <i>Schadenfreude,</i> which -means joy at the misfortune of others.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="THIRD_DIVISION" id="THIRD_DIVISION">THIRD DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>THE RELIGIOUS LIFE.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">108.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Double Fight Against Evil</span>.—When misfortune overtakes us we can -either pass over I it so lightly that its cause is removed, or so -that the result which it has on our temperament is altered, through a -changing, therefore, of the evil into a good, the utility of which is -perhaps not visible until later on. Religion and art (also metaphysical -philosophy) work upon the changing of the temperament, partly through -the changing of our judgment on events (for instance, with the help -of the phrase "whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth"), partly through -the awakening of a pleasure in pain, in emotion generally (whence -the tragic art takes its starting-point). The more a man is inclined -to twist and arrange meanings the less he will grasp the causes of -evil and disperse them; the momentary mitigation and influence of -a narcotic, as for example in toothache, suffices him even in more -serious sufferings. The more the dominion of creeds and all arts -dispense with narcotics, the more strictly men attend to the actual -removing of the evil, which is certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> bad for writers of tragedy; -for the material for tragedy is growing scarcer because the domain of -pitiless, inexorable fate is growing ever narrower,—but worse still -for the priests, for they have hitherto lived on the narcotisation of -human woes.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">109.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sorrow Is Knowledge</span>.—How greatly we should like to exchange the -false assertions of the priests, that there is a god who desires good -from us, a guardian and witness of every action, every moment, every -thought, who loves us and seeks our welfare in all misfortune,—how -greatly we would like to exchange these ideas for truths which would be -just as healing, pacifying and beneficial as those errors! But there -are no such truths; at most philosophy can oppose to them metaphysical -appearances (at bottom also untruths). The tragedy consists in the fact -that we cannot <i>believe</i> those dogmas of religion and metaphysics, -if we have strict methods of truth in heart and brain: on the other -hand, mankind has, through development, become so delicate, irritable -and suffering, that it has need of the highest means of healing and -consolation; whence also the danger arises that man would bleed to -death from recognised truth, or, more correctly, from discovered error. -Byron has expressed this in the immortal lines:—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most<br /> -Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,<br /> -The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<p>For such troubles there is no better help than to recall the stately -levity of Horace, at least for the worst hours and eclipses of the -soul, and to say with him:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">... quid æternis minorem</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">consiliis animum fatigas?</span><br /> -cur non sub alta vel platano vel hac<br /> -pinu jacentes.<a name="FNanchor_1_7" id="FNanchor_1_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_7" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>But assuredly frivolity or melancholy of every degree is better than -a romantic retrospection and desertion of the flag, an approach to -Christianity in any form; for according to the present condition of -knowledge it is absolutely impossible to approach it without hopelessly -soiling our <i>intellectual conscience</i> and giving ourselves away to -ourselves and others. Those pains may be unpleasant enough, but we -cannot become leaders and educators of mankind without pain; and woe -to him who would wish to attempt this and no longer have that clear -conscience!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">110.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Truth in Religion</span>.—In the period of rationalism justice was not -done to the importance of religion, of that there is no doubt, but -equally there is no doubt that in the reaction that followed this -rationalism justice was far overstepped; for religions were treated -lovingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> even amorously, and, for instance, a deeper, even the -very deepest, understanding of the world was ascribed to them; which -science has only to strip of its dogmatic garment in order to possess -the "truth" in unmythical form. Religions should, therefore,—this -was the opinion of all opposers of rationalism,—<i>sensu allegorico,</i> -with all consideration for the understanding of the masses, give -utterance to that ancient wisdom which is wisdom itself, inasmuch -as all true science of later times has always led up to it instead -of away from it, so that between the oldest wisdom of mankind and -all later harmonies similarity of discernment and a progress of -knowledge—in case one should wish to speak of such a thing—rests -not upon the nature but upon the way of communicating it. This whole -conception of religion and science is thoroughly erroneous, and none -would still dare to profess it if Schopenhauer's eloquence had not -taken it under its protection; this resonant eloquence which, however, -only reached its hearers a generation later. As surely as from -Schopenhauer's religious-moral interpretations of men and the world -much may be gained for the understanding of the Christian and other -religions, so surely also is he mistaken about the <i>value of religion -for knowledge.</i> Therein he himself was only a too docile pupil of the -scientific teachers of his time, who all worshipped romanticism and had -forsworn the spirit of enlightenment; had he been born in our present -age he could not possibly have talked about the <i>sensus allegoricus</i> -of religion; he would much rather have given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> honour to truth, as he -used to do, with the words, "<i>no religion, direct or indirect, either -as dogma or as allegory, has ever contained a truth.</i>" For each has -been born of fear and necessity, through the byways of reason did it -slip into existence; once, perhaps, when imperilled by science, some -philosophic doctrine has lied itself into its system in order that -it may be found there later, but this is a theological trick of the -time when a religion already doubts itself. These tricks of theology -(which certainly were practised in the early days of Christianity, -as the religion of a scholarly period steeped in philosophy) have -led to that superstition of the <i>sensus allegoricus,</i> but yet more -the habits of the philosophers (especially the half-natures, the -poetical philosophers and the philosophising artists), to treat all the -sensations which they discovered in <i>themselves</i> as the fundamental -nature of man in general, and hence to allow their own religious -feelings an important influence in the building up of their systems. -As philosophers frequently philosophised under the custom of religious -habits, or at least under the anciently inherited power of that -"metaphysical need," they developed doctrinal opinions which really -bore a great resemblance to the Jewish or Christian or Indian religious -views,—a resemblance, namely, such as children usually bear to their -mothers, only that in this case the fathers were not clear about that -motherhood, as happens sometimes,—but in their innocence romanced -about a family likeness between all religion and science. In reality, -between religions and real science there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> exists neither relationship -nor friendship, nor even enmity; they live on different planets. Every -philosophy which shows a religious comet's tail shining in the darkness -of its last prospects makes all the science it contains suspicious; all -this is presumably also religion, even though in the guise of science. -Moreover, if all nations were to agree about certain religious matters, -for instance the existence of a God (which, it may be remarked, is not -the case with regard to this point), this would only be an argument -<i>against</i> those affirmed matters, for instance the existence of a God; -the <i>consensus gentium</i> and <i>hominum</i> in general can only take place in -case of a huge folly. On the other hand, there is no <i>consensus omnium -sapientium,</i> with regard to any single thing, with that exception -mentioned in Goethe's lines:</p> - -<p> -"Alle die Weisesten aller der Zeiten<br /> -Lächeln und winken und stimmen mit ein:<br /> -Thöricht, auf Bess'rung der Thoren zu harren!<br /> -Kinder der Klugheit, o habet die Narren<br /> -Eben zum Narren auch, wie sich's gehört!"<a name="FNanchor_2_8" id="FNanchor_2_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_8" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Spoken without verse and rhyme and applied to our case, the <i>consensus -sapientium</i> consists in this: that the <i>consensus gentium</i> counts as a -folly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">111.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of the Religious Cult</span>.—If we go back to the times in -which the religious life flourished to the greatest extent, we find a -fundamental conviction, which we now no longer share, and whereby the -doors leading to a religious life are closed to us once for all,—it -concerns Nature and intercourse with her. In those times people knew -nothing of natural laws; neither for earth nor for heaven is there a -"must"; a season, the sunshine, the rain may come or may not come. In -short, every idea of natural causality is lacking. When one rows, it -is not the rowing that moves the boat, but rowing is only a magical -ceremony by which one compels a <i>dæmon</i> to move the boat. All maladies, -even death itself, are the result of magical influences. Illness -and death never happen naturally; the whole conception of "natural -sequence" is lacking,—it dawned first amongst the older Greeks, that -is, in a very late phase of humanity, in the conception of <i>Moira,</i> -enthroned above the gods. When a man shoots with a bow, there is still -always present an irrational hand and strength; if the wells suddenly -dry up, men think first of subterranean <i>dæmons</i> and their tricks; it -must be the arrow of a god beneath whose invisible blow a man suddenly -sinks down. In India (says Lubbock) a carpenter is accustomed to offer -sacrifice to his hammer, his hatchet, and the rest of his tools; in -the same way a Brahmin treats the pen with which he writes, a soldier -the weapons he requires in the field of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> battle, a mason his trowel, a -labourer his plough. In the imagination of religious people all nature -is a summary of the actions of conscious and voluntary creatures, -an enormous complex of <i>arbitrariness.</i> No conclusion may be drawn -with regard to everything that is outside of us, that anything will -<i>be</i> so and so, <i>must</i> be so and so; the approximately sure, reliable -are <i>we,</i>—man is the <i>rule,</i> nature is <i>irregularity,</i>—this theory -contains the fundamental conviction which obtains in rude, religiously -productive primitive civilisations. We latter-day men feel just -the contrary,—the richer man now feels himself inwardly, the more -polyphonous is the music and the noise of his soul the more powerfully -the symmetry of nature works upon him; we all recognise with Goethe -the great means in nature for the appeasing of the modern soul; we -listen to the pendulum swing of this greatest of clocks with a longing -for rest, for home and tranquillity, as if we could absorb this -symmetry into ourselves and could only thereby arrive at the enjoyment -of ourselves. Formerly it was otherwise; if we consider the rude, -early condition of nations, or contemplate present-day savages' at -close quarters, we find them most strongly influenced by <i>law</i> and by -<i>tradition</i>: the individual is almost automatically bound to them, and -moves with the uniformity of a pendulum. To him Nature—uncomprehended, -terrible, mysterious Nature—must appear as the <i>sphere of liberty,</i> -of voluntariness, of the higher power, even as a superhuman degree -of existence, as God. In those times and conditions, however,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> every -individual felt that his existence, his happiness, and that of the -family and the State, and the success of all undertakings, depended -on those spontaneities of nature; certain natural events must appear -at the right time, others be absent at the right time. How can one -have any influence on these terrible unknown things, how can one -bind the sphere of liberty? Thus he asks himself, thus he inquires -anxiously;—is there, then, no means of making those powers as regular -through tradition and law as you are yourself? The aim of those who -believe in magic and miracles is to <i>impose a law on nature,</i>—and, -briefly, the religious cult is a result of this aim. The problem which -those people have set themselves is closely related to this: how can -the <i>weaker</i> race dictate laws to the <i>stronger,</i> rule it, and guide -its actions (in relation to the weaker)? One would first remember the -most harmless sort of compulsion, that compulsion which one exercises -when one has gained any one's affection. By imploring and praying, by -submission, by the obligation of regular taxes and gifts, by flattering -glorifications, it is also possible to exercise an influence upon the -powers of nature, inasmuch as one gains the affections; love binds and -becomes bound. Then one can make compacts by which one is mutually -bound to a certain behaviour, where one gives pledges and exchanges -vows. But far more important is a species of more forcible compulsion, -by magic and witchcraft. As with the sorcerer's help man is able to -injure a more powerful enemy and keep him in fear, as the love-charm -works at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> a distance, so the weaker man believes he can influence the -mightier spirits of nature. The principal thing in all witchcraft -is that we must get into our possession something that belongs to -some one, hair, nails, food from their table, even their portrait, -their name. With such apparatus we can then practise sorcery; for the -fundamental rule is, to everything spiritual there belongs something -corporeal; with the help of this we are able to bind the spirit, to -injure it, and destroy it; the corporeal furnishes the handles with -which we can grasp the spiritual. As man controls man, so he controls -some natural spirit or other; for this has also its corporeal part -by which it may be grasped. The tree and, compared with it, the seed -from which it sprang,—this enigmatical contrast seems to prove that -the same spirit embodied itself in both forms, now small, now large. -A stone that begins to roll suddenly is the body in which a spirit -operates; if there is an enormous rock lying on a lonely heath it seems -impossible to conceive human strength sufficient to have brought it -there, consequently the stone must have moved there by itself, that -is, it must be possessed by a spirit. Everything that has a body is -susceptible to witchcraft, therefore also the natural spirits. If a god -is bound to his image we can use the most direct compulsion against him -(through refusal of sacrificial food, scourging, binding in fetters, -and so on). In order to obtain by force the missing favour of their -god the lower classes in China wind cords round the image of the one -who has left them in the lurch,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> pull it down and drag it through the -streets in the dust and the dirt: "You dog of a spirit," they say, "we -gave you a magnificent temple to live in, we gilded you prettily, we -fed you well, we offered you sacrifice, and yet you are so ungrateful." -Similar forcible measures against pictures of the Saints and Virgin -when they refused to do their duty in pestilence or drought, have -been witnessed even during the present century in Catholic countries. -Through all these magic relations to nature, countless ceremonies -have been called into life; and at last, when the confusion has -grown too great, an endeavour has been made to order and systematise -them, in order that the favourable course of the whole progress of -nature, <i>i.e.</i> of the great succession of the seasons, may seem to -be guaranteed by a corresponding course of a system of procedure. -The essence of the religious cult is to determine and confine nature -to human advantage, <i>to impress it with a legality, therefore, which -it did not originally possess</i>; while at the present time we wish to -recognise the legality of nature in order to adapt ourselves to it. -In short, then, the religious cult is based upon the representations -of sorcery between man and man,—and the sorcerer is older than the -priest. But it is likewise based upon other and nobler representations; -it premises the sympathetic relation of man to man, the presence of -goodwill, gratitude, the hearing of pleaders, of treaties between -enemies, the granting of pledges, and the claim to the protection of -property. In very low stages of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> civilisation man does not stand in the -relation of a helpless slave to nature, he is <i>not</i> necessarily its -involuntary, bondsman. In the <i>Greek</i> grade of religion, particularly -in relation to the Olympian gods, there may even be imagined a common -life between two castes, a nobler and more powerful one, and one less -noble; but in their origin both belong to each other somehow, and -are of one kind; they need not be ashamed of each other. That is the -nobility of the Greek religion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">112.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">At the Sight of Certain Antique Sacrificial Implements</span>.—The fact of -how many feelings are lost to us may be seen, for instance, in the -mingling of the <i>droll,</i> even of the <i>obscene,</i> with the religious -feeling. The sensation of the possibility of this mixture vanishes, we -only comprehend historically that it existed in the feasts of Demeter -and Dionysus, in the Christian Easter-plays and Mysteries. But we also -know that which is noble in alliance with burlesque and such like, the -touching mingled with the laughable, which perhaps a later age will not -be able to understand.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">113.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Christianity As Antiquity</span>.—When on a Sunday morning we hear the old -bells ring out, we ask ourselves, "Is it possible! This is done on -account of a Jew crucified two thousand years ago who said he was the -Son of God. The proof of such an assertion is wanting." Certainly in -our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> times the Christian religion is an antiquity that dates from -very early ages, and the fact that its assertions are still believed, -when otherwise all claims are subjected to such strict examination, -is perhaps the oldest part of this heritage. A God who creates a son -from a mortal woman; a sage who requires that man should no longer -work, no longer judge, but should pay attention to the signs of the -approaching end of the world; a justice that accepts an innocent being -as a substitute in sacrifice; one who commands his disciples to drink -his blood; prayers for miraculous intervention; sins committed against -a God and atoned for through a God; the fear of a future to which death -is the portal; the form of the cross in an age which no longer knows -the signification and the shame of the cross,<a name="FNanchor_3_9" id="FNanchor_3_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_9" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> how terrible all this -appears to us, as if risen from the grave of the ancient past! Is it -credible that such things are still believed?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">114.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What Is Un-greek in Christianity</span>.—The Greeks did not regard the -Homeric gods as raised above them like masters, nor themselves as -being under them like servants, as the Jews did. They only saw, as -in a mirror, the most perfect examples of their own caste; an ideal, -therefore, and not an opposite of their own nature. There is a feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -of relationship, a mutual interest arises, a kind of symmachy. Man -thinks highly of himself when he gives himself such gods, and places -himself in a relation like that of the lower nobility towards the -higher; while the Italian nations hold a genuine peasant-faith, with -perpetual fear of evil and mischievous powers and tormenting spirits. -Wherever the Olympian gods retreated into the background, Greek life -was more sombre and more anxious. Christianity, on the contrary, -oppressed man and crushed him utterly, sinking him as if in deep mire; -then into the feeling of absolute depravity it suddenly threw the light -of divine mercy, so that the surprised man, dazzled by forgiveness, -gave a cry of joy and for a moment believed that he bore all heaven -within himself. All psychological feelings of Christianity work upon -this unhealthy excess of sentiment, and upon the deep corruption of -head and heart it necessitates; it desires to destroy, break, stupefy, -confuse,—only one thing it does not desire, namely <i>moderation,</i> and -therefore it is in the deepest sense barbaric, Asiatic, ignoble and -un-Greek.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">115.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Be Religious With Advantage</span>.—There are sober and industrious people -on whom religion is embroidered like a hem of higher humanity; these -do well to remain religious, it beautifies them. All people who do -not understand some kind of trade in weapons—tongue and pen included -as weapons—become servile; for such the Christian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> religion is very -useful, for then servility assumes the appearance of Christian virtues -and is surprisingly beautified. People to whom their daily life appears -too empty and monotonous easily grow religious; this is comprehensible -and excusable, only they have no right to demand religious sentiments -from those whose daily life is not empty and monotonous.<a name="FNanchor_4_10" id="FNanchor_4_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_10" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">116.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Commonplace Christian.</span>—If Christianity were right, with its -theories of an avenging God, of general sinfulness, of redemption, and -the danger of eternal damnation, it would be a sign of weak intellect -and lack of character <i>not</i> to become a priest, apostle or hermit, -and to work only with fear and trembling for one's own salvation; it -would be senseless thus to neglect eternal benefits for temporary -comfort. Taking it for granted that there <i>is belief,</i> the commonplace -Christian is a miserable figure, a man that really cannot add two and -two together, and who, moreover, just because of his mental incapacity -for responsibility, did not deserve to be so severely punished as -Christianity has decreed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">117.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of the Wisdom of Christianity</span>.—It is a clever stroke on the part -of Christianity to teach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> the utter unworthiness, sinfulness, and -despicableness of mankind so loudly that the disdain of their -fellow-men is no longer possible. "He may sin as much as he likes, he -is not essentially different from me,—it is I who am unworthy and -despicable in every way," says the Christian to himself. But even -this feeling has lost its sharpest sting, because the Christian no -longer believes in his individual despicableness; he is bad as men are -generally, and comforts himself a little with the axiom, "We are all of -one kind."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">118.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Change of Front</span>.—As soon as a religion triumphs it has for its enemies -all those who would have been its first disciples.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">119.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fate of Christianity</span>.—Christianity arose for the purpose of -lightening the heart; but now it must first make the heart heavy in -order afterwards to lighten it. Consequently it will perish.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">120.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Proof of Pleasure</span>.—The agreeable opinion is accepted as -true,—this is the proof of the pleasure (or, as the Church says, the -proof of the strength), of which all religions are so proud when they -ought to be ashamed of it. If Faith did not make blessed it would not -be believed in; of how little value must it be, then!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">121.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Dangerous Game</span>.—Whoever now allows scope to his religious feelings -must also let them increase, he cannot do otherwise. His nature then -gradually changes; it favours whatever is connected with and near to -the religious element, the whole extent of judgment and feeling becomes -clouded, overcast with religious shadows. Sensation cannot stand still; -one must therefore take care.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">122.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Blind Disciples</span>.—So long as one knows well the strength and -weakness of one's doctrine, one's art, one's religion, its power -is still small. The disciple and apostle who has no eyes for the -weaknesses of the doctrine, the religion, and so forth, dazzled by the -aspect of the master and by his reverence for him, has on that account -usually more power than the master himself. Without blind disciples the -influence of a man and his work has never yet become great. To help a -doctrine to victory often means only so to mix it with stupidity that -the weight of the latter carries off also the victory for the former.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">123.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Church Disestablishment</span>.—There is not enough religion in the world -even to destroy religions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">124.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sinlessness of Man</span>.—If it is understood how "sin came into the -world," namely through errors of reason by which men held each other, -even the single individual held himself, to be much blacker and much -worse than was actually the case, the whole sensation will be much -lightened, and man and the world will appear in a blaze of innocence -which it will do one good to contemplate. In the midst of nature man -is always the child <i>per se.</i> This child sometimes has a heavy and -terrifying dream, but when it opens its eyes it always finds itself -back again in Paradise.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">125.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Irreligiousness of Artists</span>.—Homer is so much at home amongst -his gods, and is so familiar with them as a poet, that he must have -been deeply irreligious; that which the popular faith gave him—a -meagre, rude, partly terrible superstition—he treated as freely as -the sculptor does his clay, with the same unconcern, therefore, which -Æschylus and Aristophanes possessed, and by which in later times the -great artists of the Renaissance distinguished themselves, as also did -Shakespeare and Goethe.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">126.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art and Power of False Interpretations</span>.—All the visions, terrors, -torpors,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> and ecstasies of saints are well-known forms of disease, -which are only, by reason of deep-rooted religious and psychological -errors, differently <i>explained</i> by him, namely not as diseases. Thus, -perhaps, the <i>Daimonion</i> of Socrates was only an affection of the -ear, which he, in accordance with his ruling moral mode of thought, -<i>expounded</i> differently from what would be the case now. It is the same -thing with the madness and ravings of the prophets and soothsayers; it -is always the degree of knowledge, fantasy, effort, morality in the -head and heart of the <i>interpreters</i> which has <i>made</i> so much of it. -For the greatest achievements of the people who are called geniuses and -saints it is necessary that they should secure interpreters by force, -who <i>misunderstand</i> them for the good of mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">127.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Veneration of Insanity</span>.—Because it was remarked that excitement -frequently made the mind clearer and produced happy inspirations it was -believed that the happiest inspirations and suggestions were called -forth by the greatest excitement; and so the insane were revered as -wise and oracular. This is based on a false conclusion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">128.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Promises of Science</span>.—The aim of modern science is: as little -pain as possible, as long a life as possible,—a kind of eternal -blessedness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> therefore; but certainly a very modest one as compared -with the promises of religions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">129.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Forbidden Generosity</span>.—There is not sufficient love and goodness in the -world to permit us to give some of it away to imaginary beings.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">130.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Continuance of the Religious Cult in the Feelings</span>.—The Roman -Catholic Church, and before that all antique cults, dominated the -entire range of means by which man was put into unaccustomed moods -and rendered incapable of the cold calculation of judgment or the -clear thinking of reason. A church quivering with deep tones; the -dull, regular, arresting appeals of a priestly throng, unconsciously -communicates its tension to the congregation and makes it listen almost -fearfully, as if a miracle were in preparation; the influence of the -architecture, which, as the dwelling of a Godhead, extends into the -uncertain and makes its apparition to be feared in all its sombre -spaces,—who would wish to bring such things back to mankind if the -necessary suppositions are no longer believed? But the <i>results</i> of all -this are not lost, nevertheless; the inner world of noble, emotional, -deeply contrite dispositions, full of presentiments, blessed with hope, -is inborn in mankind mainly through this cult; what exists of it now in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> soul was then cultivated on a large scale as it germinated, grew -up and blossomed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">131.</p> - -<p>THE PAINFUL CONSEQUENCES OF RELIGION.—However much we may think we -have weaned ourselves from religion, it has nevertheless not been done -so thoroughly as to deprive us of pleasure in encountering religious -sensations and moods in music, for instance; and if a philosophy shows -us the justification of metaphysical hopes and the deep peace of -soul to be thence acquired, and speaks, for instance, of the "whole, -certain gospel in the gaze of Raphael's Madonnas," we receive such -statements and expositions particularly warmly; here the philosopher -finds it easier to prove; that which he desires to give corresponds -to a heart that desires to receive. Hence it may be observed how the -less thoughtful free spirits really only take offence at the dogmas, -but are well acquainted with the charm of religious sensations; they -are sorry to lose hold of the latter for the sake of the former. -Scientific philosophy must be very careful not to smuggle in errors on -the ground of that need,—a need which has grown up and is consequently -temporary,—even logicians speak of "presentiments" of truth in -ethics and in art (for instance, of the suspicion that "the nature -of things is one"), which should be forbidden to them Between the -carefully established truths and such "presaged" things there remains -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> unbridgable chasm that those are due to intellect and these to -requirement Hunger does not prove that food <i>exists</i> to satisfy it, but -that it desires food. To "presage" does not mean the acknowledgment of -the existence of a thing in any one degree, but its possibility, in so -far as it is desired or feared; "presage" does not advance one step -into the land of certainty. We believe involuntarily that the portions -of a philosophy which are tinged with religion are better proved than -others; but actually it is the contrary, but we have the inward desire -that it <i>may</i> be so, that that which makes blessed, therefore, may be -also the true. This desire misleads us to accept bad reasons for good -ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">132.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of the Christian Need of Redemption</span>.—With careful reflection it -must be possible to obtain an explanation free from mythology of -that process in the soul of a Christian which is called the need of -redemption, consequently a purely psychological explanation. Up to the -present, the psychological explanations of religious conditions and -processes have certainly been held in some disrepute, inasmuch as a -theology which called itself free carried on its unprofitable practice -in this domain; for here from the beginning (as the mind of its -founder, Schleiermacher, gives us reason to suppose) the preservation -of the Christian religion and the continuance of Christian theology -was kept in view; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> theology which was to find a new anchorage in -the psychological analyses of religious "facts," and above all a new -occupation. Unconcerned about such predecessors we hazard the following -interpretation of the phenomenon in question. Man is conscious of -certain actions which stand far down in the customary rank of actions; -he even discovers in himself a tendency towards similar actions, a -tendency which appears to him almost as unchangeable as his whole -nature. How willingly would he try himself in that other species of -actions which in the general valuation are recognised as the loftiest -and highest, how gladly would he feel himself to be full of the good -consciousness which should follow an unselfish mode of thought! But -unfortunately he stops short at this wish, and the discontent at not -being able to satisfy it is added to all the other discontents which -his lot in life or the consequences of those above-mentioned evil -actions have aroused in him; so that a deep ill-humour is the result, -with the search for a physician who could remove this and all its -causes. This condition would not be felt so bitterly if man would only -compare himself frankly with other men,—then he would have no reason -for being dissatisfied with himself to a particular extent, he would -only bear his share of the common burden of human dissatisfaction and -imperfection. But he compares himself with a being who is said to be -capable only of those actions which are called un-egoistic, and to -live in the perpetual consciousness of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> unselfish mode of thought, -<i>i.e.</i> with God; it is because he gazes into this clear mirror that his -image appears to him so dark, so unusually warped. Then he is alarmed -by the thought of that same creature, in so far as it floats before his -imagination as a retributive justice; in all possible small and great -events he thinks he recognises its anger and menaces, that he even -feels its scourge-strokes as judge and executioner. Who will help him -in this danger, which, by the prospect of an immeasurable duration of -punishment, exceeds in horror all the other terrors of the idea?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">133.</p> - -<p>Before we examine the further consequences of this mental state, let -us acknowledge that it is not through his "guilt" and "sin" that man -has got into this condition, but through a series of errors of reason; -that it was the fault of the mirror if his image appeared so dark and -hateful to him, and that that mirror was <i>his</i> work, the very imperfect -work of human imagination and power of judgment. In the first place, -a nature that is only capable of purely un-egoistic actions is more -fabulous than the phœnix; it cannot even be clearly imagined, just -because, when closely examined, the whole idea "un-egoistic action" -vanishes into air. No man <i>ever</i> did a thing which was done only -for others and without any personal motive; how should he be <i>able</i> -to do anything which had no relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> to himself, and therefore -without inward obligation (which must always have its foundation in -a personal need)? How could the <i>ego</i> act without <i>ego</i> A God who, -on the contrary, is <i>all</i> love, as such a one is often represented, -would not be capable of a single un-egoistic action, whereby one is -reminded of a saying of Lichtenberg's which is certainly taken from -a lower sphere: "We cannot possibly <i>feel</i> for others, as the saying -is; we feel only for ourselves. This sounds hard, but it is not so -really if it be rightly understood. We do not love father or mother -or wife or child, but the pleasant sensations they cause us;" or, as -Rochefoucauld says: "<i>Si on croit aimer sa maîtresse pour l'amour -d'elle, on est bien trompé.</i>" To know the reason why actions of love -are valued more than others, not on account of their nature, namely, -but of their <i>usefulness,</i> we should compare the examinations already -mentioned, <i>On the Origin of Moral Sentiments.</i> But should a man desire -to be entirely like that God of Love, to do and wish everything for -others and nothing for himself, the latter is impossible for the reason -that he must do <i>very much</i> for himself to be able to do something -for the love of others. Then it is taken for granted that the other -is sufficiently egoistic to accept that sacrifice again and again, -that living for him,—so that the people of love and sacrifice have an -interest in the continuance of those who are loveless and incapable -of sacrifice, and, in order to exist, the highest morality would be -obliged positively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> to <i>compel</i> the existence of un-morality (whereby -it would certainly annihilate itself). Further: the conception of a -God disturbs and humbles so long as it is believed in; but as to how -it arose there can no longer be any doubt in the present state of the -science of comparative ethnology; and with a comprehension of this -origin all belief falls to the ground. The Christian who compares his -nature with God's is like Don Quixote, who under-valued his own bravery -because his head was full of the marvellous deeds of the heroes of -the chivalric; romances,—the standard of measurement in both cases -belongs to the domain of fable. But if the idea of God is removed, so -is also the feeling of "sin" as a trespass against divine laws, as a -stain in a creature vowed to God. Then, perhaps, there still remains -that dejection which is intergrown and connected with the fear of the -punishment of worldly justice or of the scorn of men; the dejection of -the pricks of conscience, the sharpest thorn in the consciousness of -sin, is always removed if we recognise that though by our own deed we -have sinned against human descent, human laws and ordinances, still -that we have not imperilled the "eternal salvation of the Soul" and its -relation to the Godhead. And if man succeeds in gaining philosophic -conviction of the absolute necessity of all actions and their entire -irresponsibility, and absorbing this into his flesh and blood, even -those remains of the pricks of conscience vanish.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">134.</p> - -<p>Now if the Christian, as we have said, has fallen into the way of -self-contempt in consequence of certain errors through a false, -unscientific interpretation of his actions and sensations, he must -notice with great surprise how that state of contempt, the pricks of -conscience and displeasure generally, does not endure, how sometimes -there come hours when all this is wafted away from his soul and he -feels himself once more free and courageous. In truth, the pleasure in -himself, the comfort of his own strength, together with the necessary -weakening through time of every deep emotion, has usually been -victorious; man loves himself once again, he feels it,—but precisely -this new love, this self-esteem, seems to him incredible, he can only -see in it the wholly undeserved descent of a stream of mercy from on -high. If he formerly believed that in every event he could recognise -warnings, menaces, punishments, and every kind of manifestation of -divine anger, he now finds divine goodness in all his experiences, -—this event appears to him to be full of love, that one a helpful -hint, a third, and, indeed, his whole happy mood, a proof that God is -merciful. As formerly, in his state of pain, he interpreted his actions -falsely, so now he misinterprets his experiences; his mood of comfort -he believes to be the working of a power operating outside of himself, -the love with which he really loves himself seems to him to be divine -love; that which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> calls mercy, and the prologue to redemption, is -actually self-forgiveness, self-redemption.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">135.</p> - -<p>Therefore: A certain false psychology, a certain kind of imaginative -interpretation of motives and experiences, is the necessary preliminary -for one to become a Christian and to feel the need of redemption. When -this error of reason and imagination is recognised, one ceases to be a -Christian.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">136.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of Christian Asceticism and Holiness</span>.—As greatly as isolated thinkers -have endeavoured to depict as a miracle the rare manifestations of -morality, which are generally called asceticism and holiness, miracles -which it would be almost an outrage and sacrilege to explain by the -light of common sense, as strong also is the inclination towards -this outrage. A mighty impulse of nature has at all times led to a -protest against those manifestations; science, in so far as it is -an imitation of nature, at least allows itself to rise against the -supposed inexplicableness and unapproachableness of these objections. -So far it has certainly not succeeded: those appearances are still -unexplained, to the great joy of the above-mentioned worshippers of the -morally marvellous. For, speaking generally, the unexplained <i>must</i> -be absolutely inexplicable, the inexplicable absolutely unnatural, -supernatural, wonderful,—thus runs the demand in the souls of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> all -religious and metaphysical people (also of artists, if they should -happen to be thinkers at the same time); whilst the scientist sees -in this demand the "evil principle" in itself. The general, first -probability upon which one lights in the contemplation of holiness -and asceticism is this, that their nature is a <i>complicated</i> one, -for almost everywhere, within the physical world as well as in the -moral, the apparently marvellous has been successfully traced back to -the complicated, the many-conditioned. Let us venture, therefore, to -isolate separate impulses from the soul of saints and ascetics, and -finally to imagine them as intergrown.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">137.</p> - -<p>There is a <i>defiance of self,</i> to the sublimest manifestation of which -belong many forms of asceticism. Certain individuals have such great -need of exercising their power and love of ruling that, in default of -other objects, or because they have never succeeded otherwise, they -finally ex-cogitate the idea of tyrannising over certain parts of their -own nature, portions or degrees of themselves. Thus many a thinker -confesses to views which evidently do not serve either to increase -or improve his reputation; many a one deliberately calls down the -scorn of others when by keeping silence he could easily have remained -respected; others contradict former opinions and do not hesitate to -be called inconsistent—on the contrary, they strive after this, and -behave like reckless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> riders who like a horse best when it has grown -wild, unmanageable, and covered with sweat. Thus man climbs dangerous -paths up the highest mountains in order that he may laugh to scorn his -own fear and his trembling knees; thus the philosopher owns to views -on asceticism, humility, holiness, in the brightness of which his own -picture shows to the worst possible disadvantage. This crushing of -one's self, this scorn of one's own nature, this <i>spernere se sperm,</i> -of which religion has made so much, is really a very high degree of -vanity. The whole moral of the Sermon on the Mount belongs here; -man takes a genuine delight in doing violence to himself by these -exaggerated claims, and afterwards idolising these tyrannical demands -of his soul. In every ascetic morality man worships one part of himself -as a God, and is obliged, therefore, to diabolise the other parts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">138.</p> - -<p>Man is not equally moral at all hours, this is well known. If his -morality is judged to be the capability for great self-sacrificing -resolutions and self-denial (which, when continuous and grown habitual, -are called holiness), he is most moral in the <i>passions;</i> the higher -emotion provides him with entirely new motives, of which he, sober -and cold as usual, perhaps does not even believe himself capable. How -does this happen? Probably because of the proximity of everything -great and highly exciting; if man is once wrought up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> to a state of -extraordinary suspense, he is as capable of carrying out a terrible -revenge as of a terrible crushing of his need for revenge. Under the -influence of powerful emotion, he desires in any case the great, the -powerful, the immense; and if he happens to notice that the sacrifice -of himself satisfies him as well as, or better than, the sacrifice -of others, he chooses that. Actually, therefore, he only cares about -discharging his emotion; in order to ease his tension he seizes the -enemy's spears and buries them in his breast. That there was something -great in self-denial and not in revenge had to be taught to mankind by -long habit; a Godhead that sacrificed itself was the strongest, most -effective symbol of this kind of greatness. As the conquest of the most -difficult enemy, the sudden mastering of an affection—thus this denial -<i>appears</i>; and so far it passes for the summit of morality. In reality -it is a question of the confusion of one idea with another, while the -temperament maintains an equal height, an equal level. Temperate men -who are resting from their passions no longer understand the morality -of those moments; but the general admiration of those who had the same -experiences upholds them; pride is their consolation when affection -and the understanding of their deed vanish. Therefore, at bottom even -those actions of self-denial are not moral, inasmuch as they are not -done strictly with regard to others; rather the other only provides -the highly-strung temperament with an opportunity of relieving itself -through that denial.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">139.</p> - -<p>In many respects the ascetic seeks to make life easy for himself, -usually by complete subordination to a strange will or a comprehensive -law and ritual; something like the way a Brahmin leaves nothing -whatever to his own decision but refers every moment to holy precepts. -This submission is a powerful means of attaining self-mastery: man -is occupied and is therefore not bored, and yet has no incitement to -self-will or passion; after a completed deed there is no feeling of -responsibility and with it no tortures of remorse. We have renounced -our own will once and for ever, and this is easier than only renouncing -it occasionally; as it is also easier to give up a desire entirely than -to keep it within bounds. When we remember the present relation of -man to the State, we find that, even here, unconditional obedience is -more convenient than conditional. The saint, therefore, makes his life -easier by absolute renunciation of his personality, and we are mistaken -if in that phenomenon we admire the loftiest heroism of morality. -In any case it is more difficult to carry one's personality through -without vacillation and unclearness than to liberate one's self from it -in the above-mentioned manner; moreover, it requires far more spirit -and consideration.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">140.</p> - -<p>After having found in many of the less easily explicable actions -manifestations of that pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> in <i>emotion per se,</i> I should like -to recognise also in self-contempt, which is one of the signs of -holiness, and likewise in the deeds of self-torture (through hunger and -scourging, mutilation of limbs, feigning of madness) a means by which -those natures fight against the general weariness of their life-will -(their nerves); they employ the most painful irritants and cruelties -in order to emerge for a time, at all events, from that dulness and -boredom into which they so frequently sink through their great mental -indolence and that submission to a strange will already described.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">141.</p> - -<p>The commonest means which the ascetic and saint employs to render -life still endurable and amusing consists in occasional warfare with -alternate victory and defeat. For this he requires an opponent, and -finds it in the so-called "inward enemy." He principally makes use -of his inclination to vanity, love of honour and rule, and of his -sensual desires, that he may be permitted to regard his life as a -perpetual battle and himself as a battlefield upon which good and evil -spirits strive with alternating success. It is well known that sensual -imagination is moderated, indeed almost dispelled, by regular sexual -intercourse, whereas, on the contrary, it is rendered unfettered and -wild by abstinence or irregularity. The imagination of many Christian -saints was filthy to an extraordinary degree; by virtue of those -theories that these desires were actual demons raging within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> them -they did not feel themselves to be too responsible; to this feeling -we owe the very instructive frankness of their self-confessions. It -was to their interest that this strife should always be maintained in -one degree or another, because, as we have already said, their empty -life was thereby entertained. But in order that the strife might -seem sufficiently important and arouse the enduring sympathy and -admiration of non-saints, it was necessary that sensuality should be -ever more reviled and branded, the danger of eternal damnation was so -tightly bound up with these things that it is highly probable that for -whole centuries Christians generated children with a bad conscience, -wherewith humanity has certainly suffered a great injury. And yet here -truth is all topsy-turvy, which is particularly unsuitable for truth. -Certainly Christianity had said that every man is conceived and born -in sin, and in the insupportable superlative-Christianity of Calderon -this thought again appears, tied up and twisted, as the most distorted -paradox there is, in the well-known lines—</p> - -<p> -"The greatest sin of man<br /> -Is that he was ever born."<br /> -</p> - -<p>In all pessimistic religions the act of generation was looked upon as -evil in itself. This is by no means the verdict of all mankind, not -even of all pessimists. For instance, Empedocles saw in all erotic -things nothing shameful, diabolical, or, sinful; but rather, in the -great plain of disaster he saw only one hopeful and redeeming figure, -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> of Aphrodite; she appeared to him as a guarantee that the strife -should not endure eternally, but that the sceptre should one day be -given over to a gentler <i>dæmon.</i> The actual Christian pessimists had, -as has been said, an interest in the dominance of a diverse opinion; -for the solitude and spiritual wilderness of their lives they required -an ever living enemy, and a generally recognised enemy, through whose -fighting and overcoming they could constantly represent themselves to -the non-saints as incomprehensible, half—supernatural beings. But when -at last this enemy took to flight for ever in consequence of their -mode of life and their impaired health, they immediately understood -how to populate their interior with new dæmons. The rising and falling -of the scales of pride and humility sustained their brooding minds as -well as the alternations of desire and peace of soul. At that time -psychology served not only to cast suspicion upon everything human, but -to oppress, to scourge, to crucify; people <i>wished</i> to find themselves -as bad and wicked as possible, they <i>sought</i> anxiety for the salvation -of their souls, despair of their own strength. Everything natural with -which man has connected the idea of evil and sin (as, for instance, -he is still accustomed to do with regard to the erotic) troubles and -clouds the imagination, causes a frightened glance, makes man quarrel -with himself and uncertain and distrustful of himself. Even his dreams -have the flavour of a restless conscience. And yet in the reality -of things this suffering from what is natural is entirely without -foundation, it is only the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> consequence of opinions <i>about</i> things. It -is easily seen how men grow worse by considering the inevitably-natural -as bad, and afterwards always feeling themselves made thus. It is the -trump-card of religion and metaphysics, which wish to have man evil and -sinful by nature, to cast suspicion on nature and thus really to <i>make</i> -him bad, for he learns to feel himself evil since he cannot divest -himself of the clothing of nature. After living for long a natural -life, he gradually comes to feel himself weighed down by such a burden -of sin that supernatural powers are necessary to lift this burden, and -therewith arises the so-called need of redemption, which corresponds to -no real but only to an imaginary sinfulness. If we survey the separate -moral demands of the earliest times of Christianity it will everywhere -be found that requirements are exaggerated in order that man <i>cannot</i> -satisfy them; the intention is not that he should become more moral, -but that he should feel himself as <i>sinful as possible.</i> If man had not -found this feeling <i>agreeable</i>—why would he have thought out such an -idea and stuck to it so long? As in the antique world an immeasurable -power of intellect and inventiveness was expended in multiplying the -pleasure of life by festive cults, so also in the age of Christianity -an immeasurable amount of intellect has been sacrificed to another -endeavour,—man must by all means be made to feel himself sinful and -thereby be excited, <i>enlivened, en-souled.</i> To excite, enliven, en-soul -at all costs—is not that the watchword of a relaxed, over-ripe, -over-cultured age? The range<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> of all natural sensations had been gone -over a hundred times, the soul had grown weary, whereupon the saint -and the ascetic invented a new species of stimulants for life. They -presented themselves before the public eye, not exactly as an example -for the many, but as a terrible and yet ravishing spectacle, which took -place on that border-land between world and over-world, wherein at that -time all people believed they saw now rays of heavenly light and now -unholy tongues of flame glowing in the depths. The saint's eye, fixed -upon the terrible meaning of this short earthly life, upon the nearness -of the last decision concerning endless new spans of existence, this -burning eye in a half-wasted body made men of the old world tremble to -their very depths; to gaze, to turn shudderingly away, to feel anew the -attraction of the spectacle and to give way to it, to drink deep of it -till the soul quivered with fire and ague,—that was the last <i>pleasure -that antiquity invented</i> after it had grown blunted even at the sight -of beast-baitings and human combats.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">142.</p> - -<p>Now to sum up. That condition of soul in which the saint or embryo -saint rejoiced, was composed of elements which we all know well, -only that under the influence of other than religious conceptions -they exhibit themselves in other colours and are then accustomed to -encounter man's blame as fully as, with that decoration of religion -and the ultimate meaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> of existence, they may reckon on receiving -admiration and even worship,—might reckon, at least, in former ages. -Sometimes the saint practises that defiance of himself which is a -near relative of domination at any cost and gives a feeling of power -even to the most lonely; sometimes his swollen sensibility leaps from -the desire to let his passions have full play into the desire to -overthrow them like wild horses under the mighty pressure of a proud -spirit; sometimes he desires a complete cessation of all disturbing, -tormenting, irritating sensations, a waking sleep, a lasting rest in -the lap of a dull, animal, and plant-like indolence; sometimes he seeks -strife and arouses it within himself, because boredom has shown him its -yawning countenance. He scourges his self-adoration with self-contempt -and cruelty, he rejoices in the wild tumult of his desires and the -sharp pain of sin, even in the idea of being lost; he understands how -to lay a trap for his emotions, for instance even for his keen love -of ruling, so that he sinks into the most utter abasement and his -tormented soul is thrown out of joint by this contrast; and finally, -if he longs for visions, conversations with the dead or with divine -beings, it is at bottom a rare kind of delight that he covets, perhaps -that delight in which all others are united. Novalis, an authority on -questions of holiness through experience and instinct, tells the whole -secret with naïve joy: "It is strange enough that the association of -lust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> draw men's attention to -their close relationship and common tendency."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">143.</p> - -<p>That which gives the saint his historical value is not the thing he -<i>is,</i> but the thing he <i>represents</i> in the eyes of the unsaintly. It -was through the fact that errors were made about him, that the state -of his soul was <i>falsely interpreted,</i> that men separated themselves -from him as much as possible, as from something incomparable and -strangely superhuman, that he acquired the extraordinary power which -he exercised over the imagination of whole nations and whole ages. He -did not know himself; he himself interpreted the writing of his moods, -inclinations, and actions according to an art of interpretation which -was as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual interpretation -of the Bible. The distorted and diseased in his nature, with its -combination of intellectual poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and -over-excited nerves, remained hidden from his own sight as well as from -that of his spectators. He was not a particularly good man, and still -less was he a particularly wise one; but he <i>represented</i> something -that exceeded the human standard in goodness and wisdom. The belief in -him supported the belief in the divine and miraculous, in a religious -meaning of all existence, in an impending day of judgment. In the -evening glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> the Christian -nations, the shadowy form of the saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew -to such a height that even in our own age, which no longer believes in -God, there are still thinkers who believe in the saint.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">144.</p> - -<p>It need not be said that to this description of the saint which has -been made from an average of the whole species, there may be opposed -many a description which could give a more agreeable impression. -Certain exceptions stand out from among this species, it may be through -great mildness and philanthropy, it may be through the magic of unusual -energy; others are attractive in the highest degree, because certain -wild ravings have poured streams of light on their whole being, as is -the case, for instance, with the famous founder of Christianity, who -thought he was the Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless—so -that through this idea—which we must not judge too hardly because the -whole antique world swarms with sons of God—he reached that same goal, -that feeling of complete sinlessness, complete irresponsibility, which -every one can now acquire by means of science. Neither have I mentioned -the Indian saints, who stand midway between the Christian saint and the -Greek philosopher, and in so far represent no pure type. Knowledge, -science—such as existed then—the uplifting above other men through -logical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> discipline and training of thought, were as much fostered by -the Buddhists as distinguishing signs of holiness as the same qualities -in the Christian world are repressed and branded as signs of unholiness.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_7" id="Footnote_1_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_7"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Why harass with eternal designs a mind too weak to compass -them? Why do we not, as we lie beneath a lofty plane-tree or this pine -[drink while we may]? HOR., <i>Odes</i> III. ii. 11-14.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_8" id="Footnote_2_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_8"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> -"All greatest sages of all latest ages<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will chuckle and slily agree,</span><br /> -'Tis folly to wait till a fool's empty pate<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Has learnt to be knowing and free:</span><br /> -So children of wisdom, make use of the fools<br /> -And use them whenever you can as your tools."—J.M.K.<br /> -</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_9" id="Footnote_3_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_9"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> It may be remembered that the cross was the gallows of the -ancient world.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_10" id="Footnote_4_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_10"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> This may give us one of the reasons for the religiosity -still happily prevailing in England and the United States.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a><br /><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FOURTH_DIVISION" id="FOURTH_DIVISION">FOURTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">145.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Perfect Should Not Have Grown</span>.—With regard to everything that is -perfect we are accustomed to omit the question as to how perfection has -been acquired, and we only rejoice in the present as if it had sprung -out of the ground by magic. Probably with regard to this matter we are -still under the effects of an ancient mythological feeling. It still -<i>almost</i> seems to us (in such a Greek temple, for instance, as that of -Pæstum) as if one morning a god in sport had built his dwelling of such -enormous masses, at other times it seems as if his spirit had suddenly -entered into a stone and now desired to speak through it. The artist -knows that his work is only fully effective if it arouses the belief -in an improvisation, in a marvellous instantaneousness of origin; and -thus he assists this illusion and introduces into art those elements -of inspired unrest, of blindly groping disorder, of listening dreaming -at the beginning of creation, as a means of deception, in order so to -influence the soul of the spectator or hearer that it may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> believe in -the sudden appearance of the perfect. It is the business of the science -of art to contradict this illusion most decidedly, and to show up the -mistakes and pampering of the intellect, by means of which it falls -into the artist's trap.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">146.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artist's Sense of Truth</span>.—With regard to recognition of truths, the -artist has a weaker morality than the thinker; he will on no account -let himself be deprived of brilliant and profound interpretations -of life, and defends himself against temperate and simple methods -and results. He is apparently fighting for the higher worthiness -and meaning of mankind; in reality he will not renounce the <i>most -effective</i> suppositions for his art, the fantastical, mythical, -uncertain, extreme, the sense of the symbolical, the over-valuation -of personality, the belief that genius is something miraculous,—he -considers, therefore, the continuance of his art of creation as more -important than the scientific devotion to truth in every shape, however -simple this may appear.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">147.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Art As Raiser of the Dead</span>.—Art also fulfils the task of preservation -and even of brightening up extinguished and faded memories; when it -accomplishes this task it weaves a rope round the ages and causes -their spirits to return. It is, certainly, only a phantom-life that -results<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> therefrom, as out of graves, or like the return in dreams of -our beloved dead, but for some moments, at least, the old sensation -lives again and the heart beats to an almost forgotten time. Hence, -for the sake of the general usefulness of art, the artist himself must -be excused if he does not stand in the front rank of the enlightenment -and progressive civilisation of humanity; all his life long he has -remained a child or a youth, and has stood still at the point where he -was overcome by his artistic impulse; the feelings of the first years -of life, however, are acknowledged to be nearer to those of earlier -times than to those of the present century. Unconsciously it becomes -his mission to make mankind more childlike; this is his glory and his -limitation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">148.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Poets As the Lighteners of Life</span>.—Poets, inasmuch as they desire to -lighten the life of man, either divert his gaze from the wearisome -present, or assist the present to acquire new colours by means of a -life which they cause to shine out of the past. To be able to do this, -they must in many respects themselves be beings who are turned towards -the past, so that they can be used as bridges to far distant times -and ideas, to dying or dead religions and cultures. Actually they -are always and of necessity <i>epigoni.</i> There are, however, certain -drawbacks to their means of lightening life,—they appease and heal -only temporarily,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> only for the moment; they even prevent men from -labouring towards a genuine improvement in their conditions, inasmuch -as they remove and apply palliatives to precisely that passion of -discontent that induces to action.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">149.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Slow Arrow of Beauty</span>.—The noblest kind of beauty is that which -does not transport us suddenly, which does not make stormy and -intoxicating impressions (such a kind easily arouses disgust), but -that which slowly filter into our minds, which we take away with us -almost unnoticed, and which we encounter again in our dreams; but -which, however, after having long lain modestly on our hearts, takes -entire possession of us, fills our eyes with tears and our hearts with -longing. What is it that we long for at the sight of beauty? We long to -be beautiful, we fancy it must bring much happiness with it. But that -is a mistake.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">150.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Animation of Art</span>.—Art raises its head where creeds relax. It takes -over many feelings and moods engendered by religion, lays them to its -heart, and itself becomes deeper, more full of soul, so that it is -capable of transmitting exultation and enthusiasm, which it previously -was not able to do. The abundance of religious feelings which have -grown into a stream are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> always breaking forth again and desire to -conquer new kingdoms, but the growing enlightenment has shaken the -dogmas of religion and inspired a deep mistrust,—thus the feeling, -thrust by enlightenment out of the religious sphere, throws itself upon -art, in a few cases into political life, even straight into science. -Everywhere where human endeavour wears a loftier, gloomier aspect, it -may be assumed that the fear of spirits, incense, and church-shadows -have remained attached to it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">151.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Rhythm Beautifies</span>.—Rhythm casts a veil over reality; it causes -various artificialities of speech and obscurities of thought; by the -shadow it throws upon thought it sometimes conceals it, and sometimes -brings it into prominence. As shadow is necessary to beauty, so the -"dull" is necessary to lucidity. Art makes the aspect of life endurable -by throwing lover it the veil of obscure thought.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">152.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of the Ugly Soul</span>.—Art is confined within too narrow limits if -it be required that only the orderly, respectable, well-behaved soul -should be allowed to express itself therein. As in the plastic arts, so -also in music and poetry: there is an art of the ugly soul side by side -with the art of the beautiful soul; and the mightiest effects of art, -the crushing of souls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have -perhaps been best achieved precisely by that art.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">153.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Art Makes Heavy the Heart of the Thinker</span>.—How strong metaphysical -need is and how difficult nature renders our departure from it may be -seen from the fact that even in the free spirit, when he has cast off -everything metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily produce -a resounding of the long silent, even broken, metaphysical string,—it -may be, for instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony -he feels himself floating above the earth in a starry dome with the -dream of <i>immortality</i> in his heart; all the stars seem to shine round -him, and the earth to sink farther and farther away.—If he becomes -conscious of this state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs -for the man who will lead back to him his lost darling, be it called -religion or metaphysics. In such moments his intellectual character is -put to the test.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">154.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Playing With Life</span>.—The lightness and frivolity of the Homeric -imagination was necessary to calm and occasionally to raise the -immoderately passionate temperament and acute intellect of the Greeks. -If their intellect speaks, how harsh and cruel does life then appear! -They do not deceive themselves, but they intentionally weave lies -round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look upon life as -a game; earnestness was too well-known to them as pain (the gods so -gladly hear the misery of mankind made the theme of song), and they -knew that through art alone misery might be turned into pleasure. As -a punishment for this insight, however, they were so plagued with the -love of romancing that it was difficult for them in everyday life to -keep themselves free from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations -have such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent withal. Probably -this occasionally drove the neighbouring nations to desperation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">155.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Belief in Inspiration</span>.—It is to the interest of the artist that -there should be a belief in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations; -as if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the fundamental thought of -a philosophy shone down from heaven like a ray of grace. In reality -the imagination of the good artist or thinker constantly produces -good, mediocre, and bad, but his <i>judgment,</i> most clear and practised, -rejects and chooses and joins together, just as we now learn from -Beethoven's notebooks that he gradually composed the most beautiful -melodies, and in a manner selected them, from many different attempts. -He who makes less severe distinctions, and willingly abandons himself -to imitative memories, may under certain circumstances become a great -improvisatore; but artistic improvisation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> ranks low in comparison with -serious and laboriously chosen artistic thoughts. All great men were -great workers, unwearied not only in invention but also in rejection, -reviewing, transforming, and arranging.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">156.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Inspiration Again</span>.—If the productive power has been suspended for a -length of time, and has been hindered in its outflow by some obstacle, -there comes at last such a sudden out-pouring, as if an immediate -inspiration were taking place without previous inward working, -consequently a miracle. This constitutes the familiar deception, in -the continuance of which, as we have said, the interest of all artists -is rather too much concerned. The capital has only <i>accumulated,</i> it -has not suddenly fallen down from heaven. Moreover, such apparent -inspirations are seen elsewhere, for instance in the realm of goodness, -of virtue and of vice.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">157.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Suffering of Genius and Its Value</span>.—The artistic genius desires -to give pleasure, but if his mind is on a very high plane he does not -easily find any one to share his pleasure; he offers entertainment -but nobody accepts it. This gives him, in certain circumstances, a -comically touching pathos; for he has really no right to force pleasure -on men. He pipes, but none will dance: can that be tragic? Perhaps.—As -compensation for this deprivation, however, he finds more pleasure in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> -creating than the rest of mankind experiences in all other species -of activity. His sufferings are considered as exaggerated, because -the sound of his complaints is louder and his tongue more eloquent; -and yet <i>sometimes</i> his sufferings are really very great; but only -because his ambition and his envy are so great. The learned genius, -like Kepler and Spinoza, is usually not so covetous and does not make -such an exhibition of his really greater sufferings and deprivations. -He can reckon with greater certainty on future fame and can afford to -do without the present, whilst an artist who does this always plays a -desperate game that makes his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in -one and the same individual are combined the genius of power and of -knowledge and the moral genius, there is added to the above-mentioned -pains that species of pain which must be regarded as the most -curious exception in the world; those extra- and super-personal -sensations which are experienced on behalf of a nation, of humanity, -of all civilisation, all suffering existence, which acquire their -value through the connection with particularly difficult and remote -perceptions (pity in itself is worth but little). But what standard, -what proof is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost imperative to -be mistrustful of all who <i>talk</i> of feeling sensations of this kind?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">158.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Destiny of Greatness</span>.—Every great phenomenon is followed by -degeneration, especially<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> in the world of art. The example of the great -tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or exaggeration; all -great gifts have the fatality of crushing many weaker forces and germs, -and of laying waste all nature around them. The happiest arrangement in -the development of an art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one -another within bounds; in this strife it generally happens that light -and air are also granted to the weaker and more delicate natures.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">159.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Art Dangerous For the Artist</span>.—When art takes strong hold of an -individual it draws him back to the contemplation of those times when -art flourished best, and it has then a retrograde effect. The artist -grows more and more to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes -in gods and dæmons, he spiritualises all nature, hates science, is -changeable in his moods like the ancients, and longs for an overthrow -of all existing conditions which are not favourable to art, and does -this with the impetuosity and unreasonableness of a child. Now, in -himself, the artist is already a backward nature, because he halts at a -game that belongs properly to youth and childhood; to this is added the -fact that he is educated back into former times. Thus there gradually -arises a fierce antagonism between him and his contemporaries, and -a sad ending; according to the accounts of the ancients, Homer and -Æschylus spent their last years, and died, in melancholy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">160.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Created Individuals</span>.—When it is said that the dramatist (and the -artist above all) <i>creates</i> real characters, it is a fine deception and -exaggeration, in the existence and propagation of which art celebrates -one of its unconscious but at the same time abundant triumphs. As a -matter of fact, we do not understand much about a real, living man, -and we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to him this and -that character; this <i>very imperfect</i> attitude of ours towards man -is represented by the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in this -sense "creates") outlines as <i>superficial</i> as our knowledge of man is -superficial. There is a great deal of delusion about these created -characters of artists; they are by no means living productions of -nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too thin, they will not -bear a close inspection. And when it is said that the character of -the ordinary living being contradicts itself frequently, and that -the one created by the dramatist is the original model conceived by -nature, this is quite wrong. A genuine man is something absolutely -<i>necessary</i> (even in those so-called contradictions), but we do not -always recognise this necessity. The imaginary man, the phantasm, -signifies something necessary, but only to those who understand a -real man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so that a few -strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great deal of light and shade -and half-light about them, amply satisfy their notions. They are, -therefore, ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> man, -because with real men they are accustomed to regard a phantasm, an -outline, an intentional abbreviation as the whole. That the painter -and the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain imagination and -delusion; whoever says this is in subjection to the eye, for this only -sees the' surface, the epidermis of the human body,—the inward body, -however, is equally a part of the idea. Plastic art wishes to make -character visible on the surface; histrionic art employs speech for -the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds. Art starts from the -natural <i>ignorance</i> of man about his interior condition (in body and -character); it is not meant for philosophers or natural scientists.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">161.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Over-valuation of Self in the Belief in Artists and -Philosophers</span>.—We are all prone to think that the excellence of a -work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves and touches us. -But there <i>our own excellence</i> in judgment and sensibility must have -been proved first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who -had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini, who made a greater -effect than the orator that appeared after Demosthenes introduced the -Asiatic style and gave it a predominance which lasted throughout two -centuries? This predominance during whole centuries is not a proof of -the excellence and enduring validity of a style; therefore we must -not be too certain in our good opinion of any artist,—this is not -only belief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in the -infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment or sensation, or even -both, may be too coarse or too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are -the blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a religion proofs -of its truth; just as little as the happiness which an insane person -derives from his fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this -idea.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">162.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Cult of Genius For the Sake of Vanity</span>.—Because we think well of -ourselves, but nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable of the -conception of one of Raphael's pictures or of a scene such as those of -one of Shakespeare's dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty for -doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a very rare case, or, -if we are religiously inclined, a grace from above. Thus the cult of -genius fosters our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we think -of it as very far removed from us, as a <i>miraculum,</i> that it does not -wound us (even Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare a -star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are reminded of the line "die -Sterne, die begehrt man nicht".<a name="FNanchor_1_11" id="FNanchor_1_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_11" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>) But, apart from those suggestions -of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so radically -different from the activity of a mechanical inventor, of an astronomer -or historian or strategist. All these forms of activity are explicable -if we realise men whose minds are active in one special direction, who -make use of everything as material, who always eagerly study their -own inward life and that of others, who find types and incitements -everywhere, who never weary in the employment of their means. Genius -does nothing but learn how to lay stones, then to build, always to -seek for material and always to work upon it. Every human activity is -marvellously complicated, and not only that of genius, but it is no -"miracle." Now whence comes the belief that genius is found only in -artists, orators, and philosophers, that they alone have "intuition" -(by which we credit them with a kind of magic glass by means of which -they see straight into one's "being")? It is clear that men only speak -of genius where the workings of a great intellect are most agreeable -to them and they have no desire to feel envious. To call any one -"divine" is as much as saying "here we have no occasion for rivalry." -Thus it is that everything completed and perfect is stared at, and -everything incomplete is undervalued. Now nobody can see how the work -of an artist has <i>developed</i>; that is its advantage, for everything of -which the development is seen is looked on coldly The perfected art of -representation precludes all thought of its development, it tyrannises -as present perfection. For this reason artists of representation are -especially held to be possess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> of genius, but not scientific men. In -reality, however, the former valuation and the latter under-valuation -are only puerilities of reason.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">163.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Earnestness of Handicraft</span>.—Do not talk of gifts, of inborn -talents! We could mention great men of all kinds who were but little -gifted. But they <i>obtained</i> greatness, became "geniuses" (as they are -called), through qualities of the lack of which nobody who is conscious -of them likes to speak. They all had that thorough earnestness for work -which learns first how to form the different parts perfectly before it -ventures to make a great whole; they gave themselves time for this, -because they took more pleasure in doing small, accessory things well -than in the effect of a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for -becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the carrying out of the -recipe presupposes qualities which we are in the habit of overlooking -when we say, "I have not sufficient talent." Make a hundred or more -sketches of novel-plots, none more than two pages long, but of such -clearness that every word in them is necessary; write down anecdotes -every day until you learn to find the most pregnant, most effective -form; never weary of collecting and delineating human types and -characters; above all, narrate things as often as possible and listen -to narrations with a sharp eye and ear for the effect upon other people -present; travel like a landscape painter and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> designer of costumes; -take from different sciences everything that is artistically effective, -if it be well represented; finally, meditate on the motives for human -actions, scorn not even the smallest point of instruction on this -subject, and collect similar matters by day and night. Spend some ten -years in these various exercises: then the creations of your study may -be allowed to see the light of day. But what do most people do, on the -contrary? They do not begin with the part, but with the whole. Perhaps -they make one good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards their -work grows worse and worse, for good, natural reasons. But sometimes, -when intellect and character are lacking for the formation of such an -artistic career, fate and necessity take the place of these qualities -and lead the future master step by step through all the phases of his -craft.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">164.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger and the Gain in the Cult of Genius</span>.—The belief in great, -superior, fertile minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently, -connected with that wholly or partly religious superstition that -those spirits are of superhuman origin and possess certain marvellous -faculties, by means of which they obtained their knowledge in ways -quite different from the rest of mankind. They are credited with -having an immediate insight into the nature of the world, through -a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as it were, and it is -believed that, without the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> trouble and severity of science, by virtue -of this marvellous prophetic sight, they could impart something final -and decisive about mankind and the world. So long as there are still -believers in miracles in the world of knowledge it may perhaps be -admitted that the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom, -inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great minds they obtain the -best discipline and schooling for their own minds during the period of -development. On the other hand, it may at least be questioned whether -the superstition of genius, of its privileges and special faculties, -is useful for a genius himself when it implants itself in him. In any -case it is a dangerous sign when man shudders at his own self, be it -that famous Cæsarian shudder or the shudder of genius which applies to -this case, when the incense of sacrifice, which by rights is offered -to a God alone, penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that he -begins to waver and to look upon himself as something superhuman. The -slow consequences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the exceptional -rights, the belief that mere intercourse with him confers a favour, -and frantic rage at any attempt to compare him with others or even -to place him below them and to bring into prominence whatever is -unsuccessful in his work. Through the fact that he ceases to criticise -himself one pinion after another falls out of his plumage,—that -superstition undermines the foundation of his strength and even makes -him a hypocrite after his power has failed him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> For great minds it -is, therefore, perhaps better when they come to an understanding about -their strength and its source, when they comprehend what purely human -qualities are mingled in them, what a combination they are of fortunate -conditions: thus once it was continual energy, a decided application -to individual aims, great personal courage, and then the good fortune -of an education, which at an early period provided the best teachers, -examples, and methods. Assuredly, if its aim is to make the greatest -possible <i>effect,</i> abstruseness has always done much for itself and -that gift of partial insanity; for at all times that power has been -admired and envied by means of which men were deprived of will and -imbued with the fancy that they were preceded by supernatural leaders. -Truly, men are exalted and inspired by the belief that some one among -them is endowed with supernatural powers, and in this respect insanity, -as Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings to mankind. In a -few rare cases this form of insanity may also have been the means -by which an all-round exuberant nature was kept within bounds; in -individual life the imaginings of frenzy frequently exert the virtue of -remedies which are poisons in themselves; but in every "genius" that -believes in his own divinity the poison shows itself at last in the -same proportion as the "genius" grows old; we need but recollect the -example of Napoleon, for it was most assuredly through his faith in -himself and his star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> grew -to that mighty unity which distinguished him from all modern men, until -at last, however, this faith developed into an almost insane fatalism, -robbed him of his quickness of comprehension and penetration, and was -the cause of his downfall.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">165.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Genius and Nullity</span>.—It is precisely the <i>original</i> artists, those who -create out of their own heads, who in certain circumstances can bring -forth complete <i>emptiness</i> and husk, whilst the more dependent natures, -the so-called talented ones, are full of memories of all manner of -goodness, and even in a state of weakness produce something tolerable. -But if the original ones are abandoned by themselves, memory renders -them no assistance; they become empty.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">166.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Public</span>.—The people really demands nothing more from tragedy than -to be deeply affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally; the -artist, on the contrary, who sees the new tragedy, takes pleasure in -the clever technical inventions and tricks, in the management and -distribution of the material, in the novel arrangement of old motives -and old ideas. His attitude is the æsthetic attitude towards a work of -art, that of the creator; the one first described, with regard solely -to the material, is that of he people. Of the individual who stands -between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> the two nothing need be said: he is neither "people" nor -artist, and does not know what he wants—therefore his pleasure is also -clouded and insignificant.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">167.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artistic Education of the Public</span>.—If the same <i>motif</i> is not -employed in a hundred ways by different masters, the public never -learns to get beyond their interest in the subject; but at last, when -it is well acquainted with the <i>motif</i> through countless different -treatments, and no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or -excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy the various shades -and delicate new inventions in its treatment.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">168.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artist and His Followers Must Keep in Step</span>.—The progress from one -grade of style to another must be so slow that not only the artists but -also the auditors and spectators can follow it and know exactly what is -going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear that great chasm between -the artist, who creates his work upon a height apart, and the public, -who cannot rise up to that height and finally sinks discontentedly -deeper. For when the artist no longer raises his public it rapidly -sinks downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more dangerous in -proportion to the height to which genius has carried it, like the -eagle, out of whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up into the -clouds falls to its destruction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">169.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Source of the Comic Element</span>.—If we consider that for many -thousands of years man was an animal that was susceptible in the -highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden and unexpected had -to find him ready for battle, perhaps even ready for death; that even -later, in social relations, all security was based on the expected, -on custom in thought and action, we need not be surprised that at -everything sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if it occurs without -danger or injury, man becomes exuberant and passes over into the very -opposite of fear—the terrified, trembling, crouching being shoots -upward, stretches itself: man laughs. This transition from momentary -fear into short-lived exhilaration is called the <i>Comic.</i> On the other -hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes quickly from great enduring -exuberance into great fear; but as amongst mortals great and lasting -exuberance is much rarer than the cause for fear, there is far more -comedy than tragedy in the world; we laugh much offener than we are -agitated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">170.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artist's Ambition</span>.—The Greek artists, the tragedians for instance, -composed in order to conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined -without rivalry,—the good Hesiodian Eris, Ambition, gave wings to -their genius. This ambition further demanded that their work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> should -achieve the greatest excellence <i>in their own eyes,</i> as they understood -excellence, <i>without any regard</i> for the reigning taste and the -general opinion about excellence in a work of art; and thus it was -long before Æschylus and Euripides achieved any success, until at -last they <i>educated</i> judges of art, who valued their work according -to the standards which they themselves appointed. Hence they strove -for victory over rivals according to their own valuation, they really -wished to <i>be</i> more excellent; they demanded assent from without to -this self-valuation, the confirmation of this verdict. To achieve -honour means in this case "to make one's self superior to others, and -to desire that this should be recognised publicly." Should the former -condition be wanting, and the latter nevertheless desired, it is then -called <i>vanity.</i> Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then it -is named <i>pride</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">171.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What Is Needful to a Work of Art</span>.—Those who talk so much about the -needful factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are artists they -do so <i>in majorem artis gloriam,</i> if they are laymen, from ignorance. -The form of a work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts and is, -therefore, their mode of talking, is always somewhat uncertain, like -all kinds of speech. The sculptor can add or omit many little traits, -as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in music, a performer or -conductor. These many little traits and finishing touches afford him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -pleasure one day and none the next, they exist more for the sake of the -artist than the art; for he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats -and playthings to prevent him from becoming morose with the severity -and self-restraint which the representation of the dominant idea -demands from him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">172.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Cause the Master to Be Forgotten</span>.—The pianoforte player who -executes the work of a master will have played best if he has made his -audience forget the master, and if it seemed as if he were relating -a story from his own life or just passing through some experience. -Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one will abhor the -garrulity with which he talks about his own life. Therefore he must -know how to influence his hearer's imagination favourably towards -himself. Hereby are explained all the weaknesses and follies of "the -virtuoso."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">173.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Corriger La Fortune</span>.</i>—There are unfortunate accidents in the lives -of great artists, which compel the painter, for instance, to sketch -out his most important picture only as a passing thought, or such as -obliged Beethoven to leave behind him only the insufficient pianoforte -score of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat). In these cases -the artist of a later day must endeavour to fill out the life of the -great man,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>of all orchestral effects, would call into life that -symphony which has fallen into the piano-trance.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">174.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Reducing</span>.—Many things, events, or persons, cannot bear treatment on -a small scale. The Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-knack; -great size is necessary to it. But more seldom still does anything -that is naturally small bear enlargement; for which reason biographers -succeed far oftener in representing a great man as small than a small -one as great.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">175.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sensuousness in Present-day Art.</span>—Artists nowadays frequently -miscalculate when they count on the sensuous effect of their works, for -their spectators or hearers have no longer a fully sensuous nature, -and, quite contrary to the artist's intention, his work produces in -them a "holiness" of feeling which is closely related to boredom. Their -sensuousness begins, perhaps, just where that of the artist ceases; -they meet, therefore, only at one point at the most.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">176.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Shakespeare As a Moralist</span>.—Shakespeare meditated much on the passions, -and on account of his temperament had probably a close acquaintance -with many of them (dramatists are in general rather wicked men). He -could, however<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put his -observations thereon into the mouths of impassioned figures, which -is contrary to nature, certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in -thought that they cause all others to seem poor in comparison and -readily arouse a general aversion to them. Schiller's reflections -(which are almost always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are -just theatrical Reflections, and as such are very effective; whereas -Shakespeare's reflections do honour to his model, Montaigne, and -contain quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on that account -are too remote and refined for the eyes of the theatrical public, and -are consequently ineffective.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">177.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Securing a Good Hearing</span>.—It is not sufficient to know how to play -well; one must also know how to secure a good hearing. A violin in the -hand of the greatest master gives only a little squeak when the place -where it is heard is too large; the master may then be mistaken for any -bungler.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">178.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Incomplete As the Effective.</span>—Just as figures in relief make such -a strong impression on the imagination because they seem in the act -of emerging from the wall and only stopped by some sudden hindrance; -so the relief-like, incomplete representation of a thought, or a -whole philosophy, is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -amplification,—more is left for the investigation of the onlooker, he -is incited to the further study of that which stands out before him in -such strong light and shade; he is prompted to think out the subject, -and even to overcome the hindrance which hitherto prevented it from -emerging clearly.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">179.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Against the Eccentric</span>.—When art arrays itself in the most shabby -material it is most easily recognised as art.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">180.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Collective Intellect</span>.—A good author possesses not only his own -intellect, but also that of his friends.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">181.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Different Kinds of Mistakes</span>.—The misfortune of acute and clear authors -is that people consider them as shallow and therefore do not devote any -effort to them; and the good fortune of obscure writers is that the -reader makes an effort to understand them and places the delight in his -own zeal to their credit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">182.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relation to Science</span>.—None of the people have any real interest in -a science, who only begin to be enthusiastic about it when they -themselves lave made discoveries in it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">183.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Key</span>.—The single thought on which an eminent man sets a great -value, arousing the derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a -key to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is nothing <i>more</i> than a -piece of old iron.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">184.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Untranslatable</span>.—It is neither the best nor the worst parts of a book -which are untranslatable.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">185.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Authors' Paradoxes</span>.—The so-called paradoxes of an author to which a -reader objects are often not in the author's book at all, but in the -reader's head.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">186.</p> - -<p>WIT.—The wittiest authors produce a scarcely noticeable smile.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">187.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Antithesis</span>.—Antithesis is the narrow gate through which error is -fondest of sneaking to the truth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">188.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thinkers As Stylists</span>.—Most thinkers write badly, because they -communicate not only their thoughts, but also the thinking of them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">189.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thoughts in Poetry</span>.—The poet conveys his thoughts ceremoniously in the -vehicle of rhythm, usually because they are not able to go on foot.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">190.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sin Against the Reader's Intellect</span>.—When an author renounces his -talent in order merely to put himself on a level with the reader, he -commits the only deadly sin which the latter will never forgive, should -he notice anything of it. One may say everything that is bad about a -person, but in the manner <i>in which</i> it is said one must know how to -revive his vanity anew.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">191.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Limits of Uprightness</span>.—Even the most upright author lets fall a -word too much when he wishes to round off a period.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">192.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Best Author</span>.—The best author will be he who is ashamed to become -one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">193.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Draconian Law Against Authors</span>.—One should regard authors as criminals -who only obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,—that would be -a remedy for books becoming too rife.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">194.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fools of Modern Culture</span>.—The fools of mediæval courts correspond -to our <i>feuilleton</i> writers; they are the same kind of men, -semi-rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes there only for -the purpose of lessening the pathos of the outlook with fancies and -chatter, and of drowning with their clamour the far too deep and solemn -chimes of great events; they were formerly in the service of princes -and nobles, now they are in the service of parties (since a large -portion of the old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people with -their prince still survives in party-feeling and party-discipline). -Modern literary men, however, are generally very similar to the -<i>feuilleton</i> writers, they are the "fools of modern culture," whom -one judges more leniently when one does not regard them as fully -responsible beings. To look upon writing as a regular profession should -justly be regarded as a form of madness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">195.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">After the Example of the Greeks</span>.—It is a great hindrance to knowledge -at present that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling, all -words have become vague and inflated. The higher stage of culture, -which is under the sway (though not under the tyranny) of knowledge, -requires great sobriety of feeling and thorough concentration of -words—on which points the Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -example to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing mark of all modern -writings, and even when they are simply written the expressions therein -are still <i>felt</i> as <i>too</i> eccentric. Careful reflection, conciseness, -coldness, plainness, even carried intentionally to the farthest -limits,—in a word, suppression of feeling and taciturnity,—these -are the only remedies. For the rest, this cold manner of writing and -feeling is now very attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is -a new danger therein. For intense cold is as good a stimulus as a high -degree of warmth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">196.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Good Narrators, Bad Explainers</span>.—In good narrators there is often -found an admirable psychological sureness and logicalness, as far as -these qualities can be observed in the actions of their personages, -in positively ludicrous contrast to their inexperienced psychological -reasoning, so that their culture appears to be as extraordinarily high -one moment as it seems regrettably defective the next. It happens far -too frequently that they give an evidently false explanation of their -own heroes and their actions,—of this there is no doubt, however -improbable the thing may appear. It is quite likely that the greatest -pianoforte player has thought but little about the technical conditions -and the special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tractability of -each finger (dactylic ethics), and makes big mistakes whenever he -speaks of such things.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">197.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Writings of Acquaintances and Their Readers</span>.—We read the writings -of our acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double sense, inasmuch -as our perception constantly whispers, "That is something of himself, -a remembrance of his inward being, his experiences, his talents," and -at the same time another kind of perception endeavours to estimate the -profit of the work in itself, what valuation it merits apart from its -author, how far it will enrich knowledge. These two manners of reading -and estimating interfere with each other, as may naturally be supposed. -And a conversation with a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge -when both think only of the matter under consideration and forget that -they are friends.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">198.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rhythmical Sacrifice</span>.—Good writers alter the rhythm of many a period -merely because they do not credit the general reader with the ability -to comprehend the measure followed by the period in its first version; -thus they make it easier for the reader, by giving the preference to -the better known rhythms.. This regard for the rhythmical incapacity -of the modern reader has already called forth many a sigh, for much -has been sacrificed to it. Does not the same thing happen to good -musicians?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">199.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Incomplete As an Artistic Stimulus</span>.—The incomplete is often -more effective than perfection, and this is the case with eulogies. -To effect their purpose a stimulating incompleteness is necessary, -as an irrational element, which calls up a sea before the hearer's -imagination, and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, <i>i.e.</i> the -limits of the object of praise. If the well-known merits of a person -are referred to and described at length and in detail, it always gives -rise to the suspicion that these are his only merits. The perfect -eulogist takes his stand above the person praised, he appears to -<i>overlook</i> him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening effect.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">200.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Precautions in Writing and Teaching</span>.—Whoever has once written and has -been seized with the passion for writing learns from almost all that he -does and experiences that which is literally communicable. He thinks -no longer of himself, but of the author and his public; he desires -insight into things; but not for his own use. He who teaches is mostly -incapable of doing anything for his own good: he is always thinking of -the good of his scholars, and all knowledge delights him only in so -far as he is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard himself as a -medium of knowledge, and above all as a means thereto, so that he has -lost all serious consideration for himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">201.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Necessity For Bad Authors</span>.—There will always be a need of bad -authors; for they meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped, immature -age—these have their requirements as well as mature readers. If human -life were of greater length, the number of mature individuals would be -greater than that of the immature, or at least equally great; but, as -it is, by far the greater number die too young: <i>i.e.</i> there are always -many more undeveloped intellects with bad taste. These demand, with the -greater impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their needs, and they -<i>insist</i> on having bad authors.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">202.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Near and Too Far</span>.—The reader and the author very often do not -understand each other, because the author knows his theme too well and -finds it almost slow, so that he omits the examples, of which he knows -hundreds; the reader, however, is interested in the subject, and is -liable to consider it as badly proved if examples are lacking.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">203.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Vanished Preparation For Art</span>.—Of everything that was practised in -public schools, the thing of greatest value was the exercise in Latin -style,—this was an exercise in art, whilst all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> other occupations -aimed only at the acquirement of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put -German composition before it, for there is no typical German style -developed by public oratory; but if there is a desire to advance -practice in thought by means of German composition, then it is -certainly better for the time being to pay no attention to style, to -separate the practice in thought, therefore, from the practice in -reproduction. The latter should confine itself to the various modes -of presenting a given subject, and should not concern itself with the -independent finding of a subject. The mere presentment of given subject -was the task of the Latin style, for which the old teachers possessed a -long vanished delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to write well -in a modern language had to thank this practice for the acquirement -(now we are obliged to go to school to the older French writers). But -yet more: he obtained an idea of the loftiness and difficulty of form, -and was prepared for art in the only right way: by practice.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">204.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darkness and Over-brightness Side by Side</span>.—Authors who, in general, -do not understand how to express their thoughts clearly are fond of -choosing, in detail, the strongest, most exaggerated distinctions and -superlatives,—thereby is produced an effect of light, which is like -torchlight in intricate forest paths.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">205.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Literary Painting</span>.—An important object will be best described if the -colours for the painting are taken out of the object itself, as a -chemist does, and then employed like an artist, so that the drawing -develops from the outlines and transitions of the colours. Thus the -painting acquires something of the entrancing natural element which -gives such importance to the object itself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">206.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Books Which Teach How to Dance</span>.—There are authors who, by representing -the impossible as possible, and by talking of morality and cleverness -as if both were merely moods and humours assumed at will, produce -a feeling of exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and were -compelled to dance from sheer, inward delight.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">207.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unfinished Thoughts.</span>—Just as not only manhood, but also youth and -childhood have a value <i>per se,</i> and are not to be looked upon merely -as passages and bridges, so also unfinished thoughts have their value. -For this reason we must not torment a poet with subtle explanations, -but must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his horizon, as if the way -to further thoughts were still open. We stand on the threshold; we wait -as for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well of profundity -were about to be discovered. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> poet anticipates something of the -thinker's pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, an makes us -covetous, so that we give chase to it; but it flutters past our head -and exhibits the loveliest butterfly-wings,—and yet it escapes us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">208.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Book Grown Almost Into a Human Being</span>.—Every author is surprised -anew at the way in which his book, as soon as he has sent it out, -continues to live a life of its own; it seems to him as if one part -of an insect had been cut off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he -forgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above the view expressed -therein, perhaps even he understands it no longer, and has lost that -impulse upon which he soared at the time he conceived the book; -meanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames life, pleases, horrifies, -inspires new works, becomes the soul of designs and actions,—in -short, it lives like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and yet -is no human being. The happiest fate is that of the author who, as an -old man, is able to say that all there was in him of life-inspiring, -strengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and feelings still -lives on in his writings, and that he himself now only represents the -gray ashes, whilst the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And -if we consider that every human action, not only a book, is in some -way or other the cause of other actions, decisions, and thoughts; that -everything that happens is inseparably connected with everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -that is going to happen, we recognise the real <i>immortality,</i> that of -movement,—that which has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in -the general union of all existence, like an insect within a piece of -amber.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">209.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Joy in Old Age</span>.—The thinker, as likewise the artist, who has put his -best self into his works, feels an almost malicious joy when he sees -how mind and body are being slowly damaged and destroyed by time, as if -from a dark corner he were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing -all the time that it was empty and his treasures in safety.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">210.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Quiet Fruitfulness</span>.—The born aristocrats of the mind are not in too -much of a hurry; their creations appear and fall from the tree on some -quiet autumn evening, without being rashly desired, instigated, or -pushed aside by new matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar, -and betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a man <i>is</i> something, it -is not really necessary for him to do anything—and yet he does a great -deal. There is a human species higher even than wie "productive" man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">211.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Achilles and Homer</span>.—It is always like the case of Achilles and -Homer,—the one <i>has</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> the experiences and sensations, the other -<i>describes</i> them. A genuine author only puts into words the feelings -and adventures of others, he is an artist, and divines much from the -little he has experienced. Artists are by no means creatures of great -passion; but they frequently <i>represent</i> themselves as such with the -unconscious feeling that their depicted passion will be better believed -in if their own life gives credence to their experience in these -affairs. They need only let themselves go, not control themselves, and -give free play to their anger and their desires, and every one will -immediately cry out, "How passionate he is!" But the deeply stirring -passion that consumes and often destroys the individual is another -matter: those who have really experienced it do not describe it in -dramas, harmonies or romances. Artists are frequently <i>unbridled</i> -individuals, in so far as they are not artists, but that is a different -thing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">212.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Old Doubts About the Effect of Art</span>.—Should pity and fear really be -unburdened through tragedy, as Aristotle would have it, so that the -hearers return home colder and quieter? Should ghost-stories really -make us less fearful and superstitious? In the case of certain physical -processes, in the satisfaction of love, for instance, it is true -that with the fulfilment of a need there follows an alleviation and -temporary decrease in the impulse. But fear and pity are not in this -sense the needs of particular organs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> which require to be relieved. -And in time every instinct is even <i>strengthened</i> by practice in -its satisfaction, in spite of that periodical mitigation. It might -be possible that in each single case pity and fear would be soothed -and relieved by tragedy; nevertheless, they might, on the whole, be -increased by tragic influences, and Plato would be right in saying that -tragedy makes us altogether more timid and susceptible. The tragic poet -himself would then of necessity acquire a gloomy and fearful view of -the world, and a yielding, irritable, tearful soul; it would also agree -with Plato's view if the tragic poets, and likewise the entire part of -the community that derived particular pleasure from them, degenerated -into ever greater licentiousness and intemperance. But what right, -indeed, has our age to give an answer to that great question of Plato's -as to the moral influence of art? If we even had art,—where have we an -influence, <i>any kind</i> of an art-influence?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">213.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasure in Nonsense</span>.—How can we take pleasure in nonsense? But -wherever there is laughter in the world this is the case: it may even -be said that almost everywhere where there is happiness, there is -found pleasure in nonsense. The transformation of experience into its -opposite, of the suitable into the unsuitable, the obligatory into the -optional (but in such a manner that this process produces no injury -and is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> imagined in jest), is a pleasure; for it temporarily -liberates us from the yoke of the obligatory, suitable and experienced, -in which we usually find our pitiless masters; we play and laugh when -the expected (which generally causes fear and expectancy) happens -without bringing any injury. It is the pleasure felt by slaves in the -Saturnalian feasts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">214.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Ennobling of Reality</span>.—Through the fact that in the aphrodisiac -impulse men discerned a godhead and with adoring gratitude felt it -working within themselves, this emotion has in the course of time -become imbued with higher conceptions, and has thereby been materially -ennobled. Thus certain nations, by virtue of this art of idealisation, -have created great aids to culture out of diseases,—the Greeks, -for instance, who in earlier centuries suffered from great nervous -epidemics (like epilepsy and St. Vitus' Dance), and developed out of -them the splendid type of the Bacchante. The Greeks, however, enjoyed -an astonishingly high degree of health—their secret was, to revere -even disease as a god, if it only possessed <i>power</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">215.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Music</span>.—Music by and for itself is not so portentous for our inward -nature, so deeply moving, that it ought to be looked upon as the -<i>direct</i> language of the feelings; but its ancient union with poetry -has infused so much symbolism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> into rhythmical movement, into loudness -and softness of tone, that we now <i>imagine</i> it speaks directly <i>to</i> and -comes <i>from</i> the inward nature. Dramatic music is only possible when -the art of harmony has acquired an immense range of symbolical means, -through song, opera, and a hundred attempts at description by sound. -"Absolute music" is either form <i>per se,</i> in 'the rude condition of -music, when playing in time and with various degrees of strength gives -pleasure, or the symbolism of form which speaks to the understanding -even without poetry, after the two arts were joined finally together -after long development and the musical form had been woven about with -threads of meaning and feeling. People who are backward in musical -development can appreciate a piece of harmony merely as execution, -whilst those who are advanced will comprehend it symbolically. No music -is deep and full of meaning in itself, it does not speak of "will," of -the "thing-in-itself"; that could be imagined by the intellect only in -an age which had conquered for musical symbolism the entire range of -inner life. It was the intellect itself that first <i>gave</i> this meaning -to sound, just as it also gave meaning to the relation between lines -and masses in architecture, but which in itself is quite foreign to -mechanical laws.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">216.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gesture and Speech</span>.—Older than speech is the imitation of gestures, -which is carried on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> unconsciously and which, in the general repression -of the language of gesture and trained control of the muscles, is -still so great that we cannot look at a face moved by emotion without -feeling an agitation of our own face (it may be remarked that feigned -yawning excites real yawning in any one who sees it). The imitated -gesture leads the one who imitates back to the sensation it expressed -in the face or body of the one imitated. Thus men learned to understand -one another, thus the child still learns to understand the mother. -Generally speaking, painful sensations may also have been expressed -by gestures, and the pain which caused them (for instance, tearing -the hair, beating the breast, forcible distortion and straining of -the muscles of the face). On the other hand, gestures of joy were -themselves joyful and lent themselves easily to the communication of -the understanding; (laughter, as the expression of the feeling when -being tickled, serves also for the expression of other pleasurable -sensations). As soon as men understood each other by gestures, -there could be established a <i>symbolism</i> of gestures; I mean, an -understanding could be arrived at respecting the language of accents, -so that first <i>accent</i> and gesture (to which it was symbolically added) -were produced, and later on the accent alone. In former times there -happened very frequently that which now happens in the development of -music, especially of dramatic music,—while music, without explanatory -dance and pantomime (language of gesture), is at first only empty -sound, but by long familiarity with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> combination of music and -movement the ear becomes schooled into instant interpretation of the -figures of sound, and finally attains a height of quick understanding, -where it has no longer any need of visible movement and <i>understands</i> -the sound-poet without it. It is then called absolute music, that -is music in which, without further help, everything is symbolically -understood.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">217.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Spiritualising of Higher Art</span>.—By virtue of extraordinary -intellectual exercise through the art-development of the new music, our -ears have been growing more intellectual. For this reason we can now -endure a much greater volume of sound, much more "noise," because we -are far better practised in listening for the <i>sense</i> in it than were -our ancestors. As a matter of fact, all our senses have been somewhat -blunted, because they immediately look for the sense; that is, they -ask what "it means" and not what "it is,"—such a blunting betrays -itself, for instance, in the absolute dominion of the temperature of -sounds; for ears which still make the finer distinctions, between -<i>eis</i> and <i>des,</i> for instance, are now amongst the exceptions. In -this respect our ear has grown coarser. And then the ugly side of the -world, the one originally hostile to the senses, has been conquered -for music; its power has been immensely widened, especially in the -expression of the noble, the terrible, and the mysterious: our music -now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> gives utterance to things which had formerly no tongue. In the -same way certain painters have rendered the eye more intellectual, and -have gone far beyond that which was formerly called pleasure in colour -and form. Here, too, that side of the world originally considered as -ugly has been conquered by the artistic intellect. What results from -all this? The more capable of thought that eye and ear become, the -more they approach the limit where they become senseless, the seat of -pleasure is moved into the brain, the organs of the senses themselves -become dulled and weak, the symbolical takes more and more the place -of the actual,—and thus we arrive at barbarism in this way as surely -as in any other. In the meantime we may say: the world is uglier than -ever, but it <i>represents</i> a more beautiful world than has ever existed. -But the more the amber-scent of meaning is dispersed and evaporated, -the rarer become those who perceive it, and the remainder halt at -what is ugly and endeavour to enjoy it direct, an aim, however, which -they never succeed in attaining. Thus, in Germany there is a twofold -direction of musical development, here a throng of ten thousand with -ever higher, finer demands, ever listening more and more for the "it -means," and there the immense countless mass which yearly grows more -incapable of understanding what is important even in the form of -sensual ugliness, and which therefore turns ever more willingly to what -in music is ugly and foul in itself, that is, to the basely sensual.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">218.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Stone Is More of a Stone Than Formerly</span>.—As a general rule we no -longer understand architecture, at least by no means in the same way -as we understand music. We have outgrown the symbolism of lines and -figures, just as we are no longer accustomed to the sound-effects of -rhetoric, and have not absorbed this kind of mother's milk of culture -since our first moment of life. Everything in a Greek or Christian -building originally had a meaning, and referred to a higher order of -things; this feeling of inexhaustible meaning enveloped the edifice -like a mystic veil. Beauty was only a secondary consideration in -the system, without in any way materially injuring the fundamental -sentiment of the mysteriously-exalted, the divinely and magically -consecrated; at the most, beauty <i>tempered horror</i>—but this horror was -everywhere presupposed. What is the beauty of a building now? The same -thing as the beautiful face of a stupid woman, a kind of mask.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">219.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Religious Source of the Newer Music</span>.—Soulful music arose out of -the Catholicism re-established after the Council of Trent, through -Palestrina, who endowed the newly-awakened, earnest, and deeply -moved spirit with sound; later on, in Bach, it appeared also in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -Protestantism, as far as this had been deepened by the Pietists and -released from its originally dogmatic character. The supposition -and necessary preparation for both origins is the familiarity with -music, which existed during and before the Renaissance, namely that -learned occupation with music, which was really scientific pleasure -in the masterpieces of harmony and voice-training. On the other hand, -the opera must have preceded it, wherein the layman made his protest -against a music that had grown too learned and cold, and endeavoured -to re-endow Polyhymnia with a soul. Without the change to that deeply -religious sentiment, without the dying away of the inwardly moved -temperament, music would have remained learned or operatic; the -spirit of the counter-reformation is the spirit of modern music (for -that pietism in Bach's music is also a kind of counter-reformation). -So deeply are we indebted to the religious life. Music was the -counter-reformation in the field of art; to this belongs also the -later painting of the Caracci and Caravaggi, perhaps also the baroque -style, in <i>any</i> case more than the architecture of the Renaissance -or of antiquity. And we might still ask: if our newer music could -move stones, would it build them up into antique architecture? I very -much doubt it. For that which predominates in this music, affections, -pleasure in exalted, highly-strained sentiments, the desire to be alive -at any cost, the quick change of feeling, the strong relief-effects of -light and shade, the combination of the ecstatic and the naïve,—all -this has already reigned in the plastic arts and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> created new laws -of style:—but it was neither in the time of antiquity nor of the -Renaissance.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">220.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Beyond in Art</span>.—It is not without deep pain that we acknowledge -the fact that in their loftiest soarings, artists of all ages have -exalted and divinely transfigured precisely those ideas which we now -recognise as false; they are the glorifiers of humanity's religious -and philosophical errors, and they could not have been this without -belief in the absolute truth of these errors. But if the belief in such -truth diminishes at all, if the rainbow colours at the farthest ends of -human knowledge and imagination fade, then this kind of art can never -re-flourish, for, like the <i>Divina Commedia,</i> Raphael's paintings, -Michelangelo's frescoes, and Gothic cathedrals, they indicate not only -a cosmic but also a metaphysical meaning in the work of art. Out of all -this will grow a touching legend that such an art and such an artistic -faith once existed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">221.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Revolution in Poetry.</span>—The strict limit which the French dramatists -marked out with regard to unity of action, time and place, construction -of style, verse and sentence, selection of words and ideas, was -a school as important as that of counterpoint and fugue in the -development of modern music or that of the Gorgianic figures in Greek -oratory. Such a restriction may appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> absurd; nevertheless there is -no means of getting out of naturalism except by confining ourselves -at first to the strongest (perhaps most arbitrary) means. Thus we -gradually learn to walk gracefully on the narrow paths that bridge -giddy abysses, and acquire great suppleness of movement as a result, -as the history of music proves to our living eyes. Here we see how, -step by step, the fetters get looser, until at last they may appear to -be altogether thrown off; this <i>appearance</i> is the highest achievement -of a necessary development in art. In the art of modern poetry there -existed no such fortunate, gradual emerging from self-imposed fetters. -Lessing held up to scorn in Germany the French form, the only modern -form of art, and pointed to Shakespeare; and thus the steadiness of -that unfettering was lost and a spring was made into naturalism—that -is, back into the beginnings of art. From this Goethe endeavoured to -save himself, by always trying to limit himself anew in different ways; -but even the most gifted only succeeds by continuously experimenting, -if the thread of development has once been broken. It is to the -unconsciously revered, if also repudiated, model of French tragedy -that Schiller owes his comparative sureness of form, and he remained -fairly independent of Lessing (whose dramatic attempts he is well -known to have rejected). But after Voltaire the French themselves -suddenly lacked the great talents which would have led the development -of tragedy out of constraint to that apparent freedom; later on -they followed the German example and made a spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> into a sort of -Rousseau-like state of nature and experiments. It is only necessary -to read Voltaire's "Mahomet" from time to time in order to perceive -clearly what European culture has lost through that breaking down of -tradition. Once for all, Voltaire was the last of the great dramatists -who with Greek proportion controlled his manifold soul, equal even to -the greatest storms of tragedy,—he was able to do what no German -could, because the French nature is much nearer akin to the Greek than -is the German; he was also the last great writer who in the wielding -of prose possessed the Greek ear, Greek artistic conscientiousness, -and Greek simplicity and grace; he was, also, one of the last men able -to combine in himself the greatest freedom of mind and an absolutely -unrevolutionary way of thinking without being inconsistent and -cowardly. Since that time the modern spirit, with its restlessness and -its hatred of moderation and restrictions, has obtained the mastery on -all sides, let loose at first by the fever of revolution, and then once -more putting a bridle on itself when it became filled with fear and -horror at itself,—but it was the bridle of rigid logic, no longer that -of artistic moderation. It is true that through that unfettering for a -time we are able to enjoy the poetry of all nations, everything that -has sprung up in hidden places, original, wild, wonderfully beautiful -and gigantically irregular, from folk-songs up to the "great barbarian" -Shakespeare; we taste the joys of local colour and costume, hitherto -unknown to all artistic nations; we make liberal use of the "barbaric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -advantages" of our time, which Goethe accentuated against Schiller in -order to place the formlessness of his <i>Faust</i> in the most favourable -light. But for how much longer? The encroaching flood of poetry of all -styles and all nations <i>must</i> gradually sweep away that magic garden -upon which a quiet and hidden growth would still have been possible; -all poets <i>must</i> become experimenting imitators, daring copyists, -however great their primary strength may be. Eventually, the public, -which has lost the habit of seeing the actual artistic fact in the -<i>controlling</i> of depicting power, in the organising mastery over all -art-means, <i>must</i> come ever more and more to value power for power's -sake, colour for colour's sake, idea for idea's sake, inspiration for -inspiration's sake; accordingly it will not enjoy the elements and -conditions of the work of art, unless <i>isolated,</i> and finally will -make the very natural demand that the artist <i>must</i> deliver it to them -isolated. True, the "senseless" fetters of Franco-Greek art have been -thrown off, but unconsciously we have grown accustomed to consider all -fetters, all restrictions as senseless;—and so art moves towards its -liberation, but, in so doing, it touches—which is certainly highly -edifying—upon all the phases of its beginning, its childhood, its -incompleteness, its sometime boldness and excesses,—in perishing -it interprets its origin and growth. One of the great ones, whose -instinct may be relied on and whose theory lacked nothing but thirty -years <i>more</i> of practice, Lord Byron, once said: that with regard to -poetry in general, the more he thought about it the more convinced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -he was that one and all we are entirely on a wrong track, that we are -following an inwardly false revolutionary system, and that either our -own generation or the next will yet arrive at this same conviction. -It is the same Lord Byron who said that he "looked upon Shakespeare -as the very worst model, although the most extraordinary poet." And -does not Goethe's mature artistic insight in the second half of his -life say practically the same thing?—that insight by means of which -he made such a bound in advance of whole generations that, generally -speaking, it may be said that Goethe's influence has not yet begun, -that his time has still to come. Just because his nature held him fast -for a long time in the path of the poetical revolution, just because -he drank to the dregs of whatsoever new sources, views and expedients -had been indirectly discovered through that breaking down of tradition, -of all that had been unearthed from under the ruins of art, his later -transformation and conversion carries so much weight; it shows that -he felt the deepest longing to win back the traditions of art, and to -give in fancy the ancient perfection and completeness to the abandoned -ruins and colonnades of the temple, with the imagination of the eye at -least, should the strength of the arm be found too weak to build where -such tremendous powers were needed even to destroy. Thus he lived in -art as in the remembrance of the true art, his poetry had become an -aid to remembrance, to the understanding of old and long-departed ages -of art. With respect to the strength of the new age, his demands could -not be satisfied; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> the pain this occasioned was amply balanced by -the joy that they have <i>been</i> satisfied once, and that we ourselves can -still participate in this satisfaction. Not individuals, but more or -less ideal masks; no reality, but an allegorical generality; topical -characters, local colours toned down and rendered mythical almost to -the point of invisibility; contemporary feeling and the problems of -contemporary society reduced to the simplest forms, stripped of their -attractive, interesting pathological qualities, made <i>ineffective</i> in -every other but the artistic sense; no new materials and characters, -but the old, long-accustomed ones in constant new animation and -transformation; that is art, as Goethe <i>understood</i> it later, as the -Greeks and even the French <i>practised</i> it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">222.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What Remains of Art</span>.—It is true that art has a much greater value in -the case of certain metaphysical hypotheses, for instance when the -belief obtains that the character is unchangeable and that the essence -of the world manifests itself continually in all character and action; -thus the artist's work becomes the symbol of the <i>eternally constant,</i> -while according to our views the artist can only endow his picture with -temporary value, because man on the whole has developed and is mutable, -and even the individual man has nothing fixed and constant. The same -thing holds good with another metaphysical hypothesis: assuming that -our visible world were only a delusion, as metaphysicians declare, -then art would come very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> near to the real world, for there would then -be far too much similarity between the world of appearance and the -dream-world of the artist; and the remaining difference would place -the meaning of art higher even than the meaning of nature, because -art would represent the same forms, the types and models of nature. -But those suppositions are false; and what position does art retain -after this acknowledgment? Above all, for centuries it has taught us -to look upon life in every shape with interest and pleasure and to -carry our feelings so far that at last we exclaim, "Whatever it may -be, life is good." This teaching of art, to take pleasure in existence -and to regard human life as a piece of nature, without too vigorous -movement, as an object of regular development,—this teaching has grown -into us; it reappears as an all-powerful need of knowledge. We could -renounce art, but we should not therewith forfeit the ability it has -taught us,—just as we have given up religion, but not the exalting and -intensifying of temperament acquired through religion. As the plastic -arts and music are the standards of that wealth of feeling really -acquired and obtained through religion, so also, after a disappearance -of art, the intensity and multiplicity of the joys of life which it had -implanted in us would still demand satisfaction. The scientific man is -the further development of the artistic man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">223.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The After-glow of Art</span>.—Just as in old age we remember our youth and -celebrate festivals<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> of memory, so in a short time mankind will stand -towards art: its relation will be that of a <i>touching memory</i> of the -joys of youth. Never, perhaps, in former ages was art dealt with so -seriously and thoughtfully as now when it appears to be surrounded -by the magic influence of death. We call to mind that Greek city in -southern Italy, which once a year still celebrates its Greek feasts, -amidst tears and mourning, that foreign barbarism triumphs ever more -and more over the customs its people brought with them into the land; -and never has Hellenism been so much appreciated, nowhere has this -golden nectar been drunk with so great delight, as amongst these fast -disappearing Hellenes. The artist will soon come to be regarded as a -splendid relic, and to him, as to a wonderful stranger on whose power -and beauty depended the happiness of former ages, there will be paid -such honour as is not often enjoyed by one of our race. The best in us -is perhaps inherited from the sentiments of former times, to which it -is hardly possible for us now to return by direct ways; the sun has -already disappeared, but the heavens of our life are still glowing and -illumined by it, although we can behold it no longer.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_11" id="Footnote_1_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_11"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The allusion is to Goethe's lines: -</p> -<p> -<i>Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,</i><br /> -<i>Man freut sich ihrer Pracht.</i><br /> -</p><p> -We do not want the stars themselves,<br /> -Their brilliancy delights our hearts.—J.M.K.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FIFTH_DIVISION" id="FIFTH_DIVISION">FIFTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">224.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ennoblement Through Degeneration</span>.—History teaches that a race of -people is best preserved where the greater number hold one common -spirit in consequence of the similarity of their accustomed and -indisputable principles: in consequence, therefore, of their common -faith. Thus strength is afforded by good and thorough customs, thus -is learnt the subjection of the individual, and strenuousness of -character becomes a birth gift and afterwards is fostered as a habit. -The danger to these communities founded on individuals of strong and -similar character is that gradually increasing stupidity through -transmission, which follows all stability like its shadow. It is on -the more unrestricted, more uncertain and morally weaker individuals -that depends the <i>intellectual progress</i> of such communities, it is -they who attempt all that is new and manifold. Numbers of these perish -on account of their weakness, without having achieved any specially -visible effect; but generally, particularly when they have descendants, -they flare up and from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> time to time inflict a wound on the stable -element of the community. Precisely in this sore and weakened place the -community is <i>inoculated</i> with something new; but its general strength -must be great enough to absorb and assimilate this new thing into its -blood. Deviating natures are of the utmost importance wherever there -is to be progress. Every wholesale progress must be preceded by a -partial weakening. The strongest natures <i>retain</i> the type, the weaker -ones help it to <i>develop.</i> Something similar happens in the case of -individuals;'a deterioration, a mutilation, even a vice and, above all, -a physical or moral loss is seldom without its advantage. For instance, -a sickly man in the midst of a warlike and restless race will perhaps -have more chance of being alone and thereby growing quieter and wiser, -the one-eyed man will possess a stronger eye, the blind man will have a -deeper inward sight and will certainly have a keener sense of hearing. -In so far it appears to me that the famous Struggle for Existence is -not the only point of view from which an explanation can be given of -the progress or strengthening of an individual or a race. Rather must -two different things converge: firstly, the multiplying of stable -strength through mental binding in faith and common feeling; secondly, -the possibility of attaining to higher aims, through the fact that -there are deviating natures and, in consequence, partial weakening and -wounding of the stable strength; it is precisely the weaker nature, as -the more delicate and free, that makes all progress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> at all possible. -A people that is crumbling and weak in any one part, but as a whole -still strong and healthy, is able to absorb the infection of what is -new and incorporate it to its advantage. The task of education in a -single individual is this: to plant him so firmly and surely that, as -a whole, he can no longer be diverted from his path. Then, however, -the educator must wound him, or else make use of the wounds which fate -inflicts, and when pain and need have thus arisen, something new and -noble can be inoculated into the wounded places. With regard to the -State, Machiavelli says that, "the form of Government is of very small -importance, although halfeducated people think otherwise. The great aim -of State-craft should be duration, which out-weighs all else, inasmuch -as it is more valuable than liberty." It is only with securely founded -and guaranteed duration that continual development and ennobling -inoculation are at all possible. As a rule, however, authority, the -dangerous companion of all duration, will rise in opposition to this.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">225.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Free-thinker a Relative Term.</span>—We call that man a free-thinker who -thinks otherwise than is expected of him in consideration of his -origin, surroundings, position, and office, or by reason of the -prevailing contemporary views. He is the exception, fettered minds are -the rule; these latter reproach him, saying that his free principles -either have their origin in a desire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> to be remarkable or else cause -free actions to inferred,—that is to say, actions which are not -compatible with fettered morality. Sometimes it is also said that -the cause of such and such free principles may be traced to mental -perversity and extravagance; but only malice speaks thus, nor does -it believe what it says, but wishes thereby to do an injury, for the -free-thinker; usually bears the proof of his greater goodness and -keenness of intellect written in his face so plainly that the fettered -spirits understand it well enough. But the two other derivations -of free-thought are honestly intended; as a matter of fact, many -free-thinkers are created in one or other of these ways. For this -reason, however, the tenets to which they attain in this manner might -be truer and more reliable than those of the fettered spirits. In the -knowledge of truth, what really matters is the <i>possession</i> of it, -not the impulse under which it was sought, the way in which it was -found. If the free-thinkers are right then the fettered spirits are -wrong, and it is a matter of indifference whether the former have -reached truth through immorality or the latter hitherto retained hold -of untruths through morality. Moreover, it is not essential to the -free-thinker that he should hold more correct views, but that he should -have liberated himself from what was customary, be it successfully or -disastrously. As a rule, however, he will have truth, or at least the -spirit of truth-investigation, on his side; he demands reasons, the -others demand faith.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">226.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of Faith.</span>—The fettered spirit does not take up his position -from conviction, but from habit; he is a Christian, for instance, not -because he had a comprehension of different creeds and could take -his choice; he is an Englishman, not because he decided for England, -but he found Christianity and England ready-made and accepted them -without any reason, just as one who is born in a wine-country becomes -a wine-drinker. Later on, perhaps, as he was a Christian and an -Englishman, he discovered a few reasons in favour of his habit; these -reasons may be upset, but he is not therefore upset in his whole -position. For instance, let a fettered spirit be obliged to bring -forward his reasons against bigamy and then it will be seen whether his -holy zeal in favour of monogamy is based upon reason or upon custom. -The adoption of guiding principles without reasons is called <i>faith.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">227.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conclusions Drawn from the Consequences and Traced Back to Reason and -Un-reason.</span>—All states and orders of society, professions, matrimony, -education, law: all these find strength and duration only in the faith -which the fettered spirits repose in them,—that is, in the absence of -reasons, or at least in the averting of inquiries as to reasons. The -restricted spirits do not willingly acknowledge this, and feel that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> -it is a <i>pudendum.</i> Christianity, however, which was very simple in -its intellectual ideas, remarked nothing of this <i>pudendum,</i> required -faith and nothing but faith, and passionately repulsed the demand -for reasons; it pointed to the success of faith: "You will soon feel -the advantages of faith," it suggested, "and through faith shall ye -be saved." As an actual fact, the State pursues the same course, and -every father brings up his son in the same way: "Only believe this," -he says, "and you will soon feel the good it does." This implies, -however, that the truth of an opinion is proved by its personal -usefulness; the wholesomeness of a doctrine must be a guarantee for -its intellectual surety and solidity. It is exactly as if an accused -person in a court of law were to say, "My counsel speaks the whole -truth, for only see what is the result of his speech: I shall be -acquitted." Because the fettered spirits retain their principles on -account of their usefulness, they suppose that the free spirit also -seeks his own advantage in his views and only holds that to be true -which is profitable to him. But as he appears to find profitable just -the contrary of that which his compatriots or equals find profitable, -these latter assume that his principles are dangerous to them; they say -or feel, "He must not be right, for he is injurious to us."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">228.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Strong, Good Character.</span>—The restriction of views, which habit has -made instinct,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> leads to what is called strength of character. When -any one acts from few but always from the same motives, his actions -acquire great energy; if these actions accord with the principles of -the fettered spirits they are recognised, and they produce, moreover, -in those who perform them the sensation of a good conscience. Few -motives, energetic action, and a good conscience compose what is called -strength of character. The man of strong character lacks a knowledge -of the many possibilities and directions of action; his intellect is -fettered and restricted, because in a given case it shows him, perhaps, -only two possibilities; between these two he must now of necessity -choose, in accordance with his whole nature, and he does this easily -and quickly because he has not to choose between fifty possibilities. -The educating surroundings aim at fettering every individual, by always -placing before him the smallest number of possibilities. The individual -is always treated by his educators as if he were, indeed, something -new, but should become a <i>duplicate.</i> If he makes his first appearance -as something unknown, unprecedented, he must be turned into something -known and precedented. In a child, the familiar manifestation of -restriction is called a good character; in placing itself on the side -of the fettered spirits the child first discloses its awakening common -feeling; with this foundation of common sentiment, he will eventually -become useful to his State or rank.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">229.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Standards and Values of the Fettered Spirits.</span>—There are four -species of things concerning which the restricted spirits say they -are in the right. Firstly: all things that last are right; secondly: -all things that are not burdens to us are right; thirdly: all things -that are advantageous for us are right; fourthly: all things for which -we have made sacrifices are right. The last sentence, for instance, -explains why a war that was begun in opposition to popular feeling -is carried on with enthusiasm directly a sacrifice has been made for -it. The free spirits, who bring their case before the forum of the -fettered spirits, must prove that free spirits always existed, that -free-spiritism is therefore enduring, that it will not become a burden, -and, finally, that on the whole they are an advantage to the fettered -spirits. It is because they cannot convince the restricted spirits on -this last point that they profit nothing by having proved the first and -second propositions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">230.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Esprit Fort.</span></i>—Compared with him who has tradition on his side and -requires no reasons for his actions, the free spirit is always weak, -especially in action; for he is acquainted with too many motives and -points of view, and has, therefore, an uncertain and unpractised hand. -What means exist of making him <i>strong in spite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> of this,</i> so that he -will, at least, manage to survive, and will not perish ineffectually? -What is the source of the strong spirit (<i>esprit fort</i>)! This is -especially the question as to the production of genius. Whence comes -the energy, the unbending strength, the endurance with which the one, -in opposition to accepted ideas, endeavours to obtain an entirely -individual knowledge of the world?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">231.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Rise of Genius.</span>—The ingenuity with which a prisoner seeks the -means of freedom, the most cold-blooded and patient employment of every -smallest advantage, can teach us of what tools Nature sometimes makes -use in order to produce Genius,—a word which I beg will be understood -without any mythological and religious flavour; she, Nature, begins it -in a dungeon and excites to the utmost its desire to free itself. Or -to give another picture: some one who has completely <i>lost his way</i> -in a wood, but who with unusual energy strives to reach the open in -one direction or another, will sometimes discover a new path which -nobody knew previously, thus arise geniuses, who are credited with -originality. It has already been said that mutilation, crippling, -or the loss of some important organ, is frequently the cause of the -unusual development of another organ, because this one has to fulfil -its own and also another function. This explains the source of many a -brilliant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> talent. These general remarks on the origin of genius may be -applied to the special case, the origin of the perfect free spirit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">232.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conjecture As to the Origin of Free-spiritism</span>.—Just as the glaciers -increase when in equatorial regions the sun shines upon the seas -with greater force than hitherto, so may a very strong and spreading -free-spiritism be a proof that somewhere or other the force of feeling -has grown extraordinarily.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">233.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Voice of History.</span>—In general, history <i>appears</i> to teach the -following about the production of genius: it ill-treats and torments -mankind—calls to the passions of envy, hatred, and rivalry—drives -them to desperation, people against people, throughout whole centuries! -Then, perhaps, like a stray spark from the terrible energy thereby -aroused, there flames up suddenly the light of genius; the will, like -a horse maddened by the rider's spur, thereupon breaks out and leaps -over into another domain. He who could attain to a comprehension of the -production of genius, and desires to carry out practically the manner -in which Nature usually goes to work, would have to be just as evil and -regardless as Nature itself. But perhaps we have not heard rightly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">234.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of the Middle of the Road</span>.—It is possible that the -production of genius is reserved to a limited period of mankind's -history. For we must not expect from the future everything that -very defined conditions were able to produce; for instance, not the -astounding effects of religious feeling. This has had its day, and -much that is very? good can never grow again, because it could grow -out of that alone. There will never again be a horizon of life and -culture that is bounded by religion. Perhaps even the type of the -saint is only possible with that certain narrowness of intellect, -which apparently has completely disappeared. And thus the greatest -height of intelligence has perhaps been reserved for a single age; -it appeared—and appears, for we are still in that age—when an -extraordinary, long-accumulated energy of will concentrates itself, -as an exceptional case, upon <i>intellectual</i> aims. That height will no -longer exist when this wildness and energy cease to be cultivated. -Mankind probably approaches nearer to its actual aim in the middle of -its road, in the middle time of its existence than at the end. It may -be that powers with which, for instance, art is a condition, die out -altogether; the pleasure in lying, in the undefined, the symbolical, -in intoxication, in ecstasy might fall into disrepute. For certainly, -when life is ordered in the perfect State, the present will provide -no more motive for poetry, and it would only be those persons who had -remained behind who would ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> for poetical unreality. These, then, -would assuredly look longingly backwards to the times of the imperfect -State, of half-barbaric society, to <i>our</i> times.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">235.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Genius and the Ideal State in Conflict.</span>—The Socialists demand a -comfortable life for the greatest possible number. If the lasting house -of this life of comfort, the perfect State, had really been attained, -then this life of comfort would have destroyed the ground out of which -grow the great intellect and the mighty individual generally, 11 mean -powerful energy. Were this State reached, mankind would have grown too -weary to be still capable of producing genius. Must we not hence wish -that life should retain its forcible character, and that wild forces -and energies should continue, to be called forth afresh? But warm and -sympathetic hearts desire precisely the <i>removal</i> of that wild and -forcible character, and the warmest hearts we can imagine desire it -the most passionately of all, whilst all the time its passion derived -its fire, its warmth, its very existence precisely from that wild -and forcible character; the warmest heart, therefore, desires the -removal of its own foundation, the destruction of itself,—that is, -it desires something illogical, it is not intelligent. The highest -intelligence and the warmest heart cannot exist together in one -person, and the wise man who passes judgment upon life looks beyond -goodness and only regards it as something which is not without value -in the general summing-up of life. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> wise man must <i>oppose</i> those -digressive wishes of unintelligent goodness, because he has an interest -in the continuance of his type and in the eventual appearance of the -highest intellect; at least, he will not advance the founding of the -"perfect State," inasmuch as there is only room in it for wearied -individuals. Christ, on the contrary, he whom we may consider to have -had the warmest heart, advanced the process of making man stupid, -placed himself on the side of the intellectually poor, and retarded -the production of the greatest intellect, and this was consistent. -His opposite, the man of perfect wisdom,—this may be safely -prophesied—will just as necessarily hinder the production of a Christ. -The State is a wise arrangement for the protection of one individual -against another; if its ennobling is exaggerated the individual will at -last be weakened by it, even effaced, —thus the original purpose of -the State will be most completely frustrated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">236.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Zones of Culture.</span>—It may be figuratively said that the ages of -culture correspond to the zones of the various climates, only that they -lie one behind another and not beside each other like the geographical -zones. In comparison with the temperate zone of culture, which it -is our object to enter, the past, speaking generally, gives the -impression of a <i>tropical</i> climate. Violent contrasts, sudden changes -between day and night, heat and colour-splendour, the reverence of -all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> that was sudden, mysterious, terrible, the rapidity with which -storms broke: everywhere that lavish abundance of the provisions of -nature; and opposed to this, in our culture, a clear but by no means -bright sky, pure but fairly unchanging air, sharpness, even cold at -times; thus the two zones are contrasts to each other. When we see -how in that former zone the most raging passions are suppressed and -broken down with mysterious force by metaphysical representations, -we feel as if wild tigers were being crushed before our very eyes in -the coils of mighty serpents; our mental climate lacks such episodes, -our imagination is temperate, even in dreams there does not happen -to us what former peoples saw waking. But should we not rejoice at -this change, even granted that artists are essentially spoiled by the -disappearance of the tropical culture and find us non-artists a little -too timid? In so far artists are certainly right to deny "progress," -for indeed it is doubtful whether the last three thousand years show an -advance in the arts. In the same way, a metaphysical philosopher like -Schopenhauer would have no cause to acknowledge progress with a regard -to metaphysical philosophy and religion if he glanced back over the -last four thousand years. For us, however, the <i>existence</i> even of the -temperate zones of culture is progress.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">237.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Renaissance and Reformation.</span>—The Italian Renaissance contained within -itself all the positive forces to which we owe modern culture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> Such -were the liberation of thought, the disregard of authorities, the -triumph of education over the darkness of tradition, enthusiasm for -science and the scientific past of mankind, the unfettering of the -Individual, an ardour for truthfulness and a dislike of delusion -and mere effect (which ardour blazed forth in an entire company of -artistic characters, who with the greatest moral purity required from -themselves perfection in their works, and nothing but perfection); -yes, the Renaissance had positive forces, which have, <i>as yet,</i> never -become so mighty again in our modern culture. It was the Golden Age -of the last thousand years, in spite of all its blemishes and vices. -On the other hand, the German Reformation stands out as an energetic -protest of antiquated spirits, who were by no means tired of mediæval -views of life, and who received the signs of its dissolution, the -extraordinary flatness and alienation of the religious life, with -deep dejection instead of with the rejoicing that would have been -seemly. With their northern strength and stiff-neckedness they threw -mankind back again, brought about the counter-reformation, that is, -a Catholic Christianity of self-defence, with all the violences of a -state of siege, and delayed for two or three centuries the complete -awakening and mastery of the sciences; just as they probably made for -ever impossible the complete inter-growth of the antique and the modern -spirit. The great task of the Renaissance could not be brought to a -termination, this was prevented by the protest of the contemporary -backward German spirit (which, for its salvation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> had had sufficient -sense in the Middle Ages to cross the Alps again and again). It was -the chance of an extraordinary constellation of politics that Luther -was preserved, and that his protest; gained strength, for the Emperor -protected him in order to employ him as a weapon against the Pope, and -in the same way he was secretly favoured by the Pope in order to use -the Protestant princes as a counter-weight against the Emperor. Without -this curious counter-play of intentions, Luther would have been burnt -like Huss,—and the morning sun of enlightenment would probably have -risen somewhat earlier, and with a splendour more beauteous than we can -now imagine.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">238.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Justice Against the Becoming God.</span>— When the entire history of culture -unfolds itself to our gaze, as a confusion of evil and noble, of true -and false ideas, and we feel almost seasick at the sight of these -tumultuous waves, we then under stand what comfort resides in the -conception of a <i>becoming God.</i> This Deity is unveiled ever more and -more throughout the changes and fortunes of mankind; it is not all -blind mechanism, a senseless and aimless confusion of forces. The -deification of the process of being is a metaphysical outlook, seen as -from a lighthouse overlooking the sea of history, in which a far-too -historical generation of scholars found their comfort. This must not -arouse anger, however erroneous the view may be. Only those who, like -Schopenhauer, deny development<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> also feel none of the misery of this -historical wave, and therefore, because they know nothing of that -becoming God and the need of His supposition, they should in justice -withhold their scorn.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">239.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fruits According to Their Seasons.</span>—Every better future that -is desired for mankind is necessarily in many respects also a worse -future, for it is foolishness to suppose that a new, higher grade of -humanity will combine in itself all the good points of former grades, -and must produce, for instance, the highest form of art. Rather has -every season its own advantages and charms, which exclude those of -the other seasons. That which has grown out of religion and in its -neighbourhood cannot grow again if this has been destroyed; at the -most, straggling and belated off-shoots may lead to deception on that -point, like the occasional outbreaks of remembrance of the old art, a -condition that probably betrays the feeling of loss and deprivation, -but which is no proof of the power from which a new art might be born.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">240.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Increasing Severity of the World.</span>—The higher culture an -individual attains, the less field there is left for mockery and scorn. -Voltaire thanked Heaven from his heart for the invention of marriage -and the Church, by which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> it had so well provided for our cheer. But he -and his time, and before him the sixteenth century, had exhausted their -ridicule on this theme; everything that is now made fun of on this -theme is out of date, and above all too cheap to tempt a purchaser. -Causes are now inquired after; ours is an age of seriousness. Who -cares now to discern, laughingly, the difference between reality and -pretentious sham, between that which man <i>is</i> and that which he wishes -to represent; the feeling of this contrast has quite a different effect -if we seek reasons. The more thoroughly any one understands life, -the less he will mock, though finally, perhaps, he will mock at the -"thoroughness of his understanding."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">241.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Genius of Culture.</span>—If any one wished to imagine a genius of -culture, what would it be like? It handles as its tools falsehood, -force, and thoughtless selfishness so surely that I could only be -called an evil, demoniacal being but its aims, which are occasionally -transparent, are great and good. It is a centaur, half-beast, half-man, -and, in addition, has angel's wings upon its head.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">242.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Miracle-education.</span>—Interest in Education will acquire great -strength only from the moment when belief in a God and His care is -renounced, just as the art of healing you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> only flourish when the -belief in miracle-cures ceased. So far, however, there is universal -belief in the miracle-education; out of the greatest disorder and -confusion of aims and unfavourableness of conditions, the most -fertile and mighty men have been seen to grow; could this happen -naturally? Soon these cases will be more closely looked into, more -carefully examined; but miracles will never be discovered. In similar -circumstances countless persons perish constantly; the few saved have, -therefore, usually grown stronger, because they endured these bad -conditions by virtue of an inexhaustible inborn strength, and this -strength they had also exercised and increased by fighting against -these circumstances; thus the miracle is explained. An education that -no longer believes in miracles must pay attention to three things: -first, how much energy is inherited? secondly, by what means can -new energy be aroused? thirdly, how can the individual be adapted -to so many and manifold claims of culture without being disquieted -and destroying his personality,—in short, how can the individual be -initiated into the counterpoint of private and public culture, how can -he lead the melody and at the same time Accompany it?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">243.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Future of the Physician.</span>—There is now no profession which would -admit of such an enhancement as that of the physician; that is, after -the spiritual physicians the so-called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> pastors, are no longer allowed -to practise their conjuring tricks to public applause, and a cultured -person gets out of their way. The highest mental development of a -physician has not yet been reached, even if he understands the best -and newest methods, is practised in them, and knows how to draw those -rapid conclusions from effects to causes for which the diagnostics are -celebrated; besides this, he must possess a gift of eloquence that -adapts itself to every individual and draws his heart out of his body; -a manliness, the sight of which alone drives away all despondency (the -canker of all sick people), the tact and suppleness of a diplomatist -in negotiations between such as have need of joy for their recovery -and such as, for reasons of health, must (and can) give joy; the -acuteness of a detective and an attorney to divine the secrets of -a soul without betraying them,—in short, a good physician now has -need of all the artifices and artistic privileges of every other -professional class. Thus equipped, he is then ready to be a benefactor -to the whole of society, by increasing good works, mental joys and -fertility, by preventing evil thoughts, projects and villainies (the -evil source of which is so often the belly), by the restoration of a -mental and physical aristocracy (as a maker and hinderer of marriages), -by judiciously checking all so-called soul-torments and pricks of -conscience. Thus from a "medicine man" he becomes a saviour, and -yet need work no miracle, neither is he obliged to let himself be -crucified.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">244.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Neighbourhood of Insanity.</span>—The sum of sensations, knowledge -and experiences, the whole burden of culture, therefore, has become -so great that an overstraining of nerves and powers of thought is a -common danger, indeed the cultivated classes of European countries -are throughout neurotic, and almost every one of their great families -is on the verge of insanity in one of their branches. True, health -is now sought in every possible way; but in the main a diminution of -that tension of feeling, of that oppressive burden of culture, is -needful, which, even though it might be bought at a heavy sacrifice, -would at least give us room for the great hope of a <i>new Renaissance.</i> -To Christianity, to the philosophers, poets, and musicians we owe an -abundance of deeply emotional sensations; in order that these may not -get beyond our control we must invoke the spirit of science, which -on the whole makes us somewhat colder and more sceptical, and in -particular cools the faith in final and absolute truths; it is chiefly -through Christianity that it has grown so wild.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">245.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Bell-founding of Culture.</span>—Culture has been made like a bell, -within a covering of coarser, commoner material, falsehood, violence, -the boundless extension of every individual "I,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> of every separate -people—this was the covering. Is it time to take it off? Has the -liquid set, have the good and useful impulses, the habits of the nobler -nature become so certain and so general that they no longer require to -lean on metaphysics and the errors of religion, no longer have need of -hardnesses and violence as powerful bonds between man and man, people -and people? No sign from any God can any longer help us to answer this -question; our own insight must decide. The earthly rule of man must be -taken in hand by man himself, his "omniscience" must watch over the -further fate of culture with a sharp eye.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">246.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Cyclopes of Culture.</span>—Whoever has seen those furrowed basins which -once contained glaciers, will hardly deem it possible that a time -will come when the same spot will be a valley of woods and meadows -and streams. It is the same in the history of mankind; the wildest -forces break the way, destructively at first, but their activity was -nevertheless necessary in order that later on a milder civilisation -might build up its house These terrible energies—that which is called -Evil—are the cyclopic architects and road-makers of humanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">247.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Circulation of Humanity.</span>—It is possible that all humanity is only -a phase of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> development of a certain species of animal of limited -duration. Man may have grown out of the ape and will return to the -ape again,<a name="FNanchor_1_12" id="FNanchor_1_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_12" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> without anybody taking an interest in the ending of -this curious comedy. Just as with the decline of Roman civilisation -and its most important cause, the spread of Christianity, there was a -general uglification of man within the Roman Empire, so, through the -eventual decline of general culture, there might result a far greater -uglification and finally an animalising of man till he reached the ape. -But just because we are able to face this prospect, we shall perhaps be -able to avert such an end.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">248.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Consoling Speech of a Desperate Advance.</span>—Our age gives the -impression of an intermediate condition; the old ways of regarding the -world, the old cultures still partially exist, the new are not yet -sure and customary and hence are without decision and consistency. It -appears as if everything would become chaotic, as if the old were being -lost, the new worthless and ever becoming weaker. But this is what the -soldier feels who is learning to march; for a time he is more uncertain -and awkward, because his muscles are moved sometimes according to the -old system and sometimes according to the new, and neither gains a' -decisive victory. We waver,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> but it is necessary not to lose courage -and give up what we have newly gained. Moreover, we <i>cannot</i> go back -to the old, we <i>have</i> burnt our boats; there remains nothing but to -be brave whatever happen.—<i>March ahead,</i> only get forward! Perhaps -our behaviour looks like <i>progress</i>; but if not, then the words -of Frederick the Great may also be applied to us, and indeed as a -consolation: "<i>Ah, mon cher Sulzer, vous ne connaissez pas assez cette -race maudite, à laquelle nous appartenons.</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">249.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Suffering from Past Culture.</span>—Whoever has solved the problem of culture -suffers from a feeling similar to that of one who has inherited -unjustly-gotten riches, or of a prince who reigns thanks to the -violence of his ancestors. He thinks of their origin with grief and is -often ashamed, often irritable. The whole sum of strength, joy, vigour, -which he devotes to his possessions, is often balanced by a deep -weariness, he cannot forget their origin. He looks despondingly at the -future; he knows well that his successors will suffer from the past as -he does.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">250.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Manners</span>.—Good manners disappear in proportion as the influence of -a Court and an exclusive aristocracy lessens; this decrease can be -plainly observed from decade to decade by those who have an eye -for public behaviour, which grows visibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> more vulgar. No one any -longer knows how to court and flatter intelligently; hence arises the -ludicrous fact that in cases where we <i>must</i> render actual homage -(to a great statesman or artist, for instance), the words of deepest -feeling, of simple, peasant-like honesty, have to be borrowed, owing to -the embarrassment resulting from the lack of grace and wit. Thus the -public ceremonious meeting of men appears ever more clumsy, but more -full of feeling and honesty without really being so. But must there -always be a decline in manners? It appears to me, rather, that manners -take a deep curve and that we are approaching their lowest point. When -society has become sure of its intentions and principles, so that they -have a moulding effect (the manners we have learnt from former moulding -conditions are now inherited and always more weakly learnt), there will -then be company manners, gestures and social expressions, which must -appear as necessary and simply natural because they are intentions -and principles. The better division of time and work, the gymnastic -exercise transformed into the accompaniment of all beautiful leisure, -increased and severer meditation, which brings wisdom and suppleness -even to the body, will bring all this in its train. Here, indeed, we -might think with a smile of our scholars, and consider whether, as a -matter of fact, they who wish to be regarded as the forerunners of that -new culture are distinguished by their better manners? This is hardly -the case; although their spirit may be willing enough their flesh is -weak. The past of culture is still too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> powerful in their muscles, they -still stand in a fettered position, and are half worldly priests and -half dependent educators of the upper classes, and besides this they -have been rendered crippled and lifeless by the pedantry of science and -by antiquated, spiritless methods. In any case, therefore, they are -physically, and often three-fourths mentally, still the courtiers of an -old, even antiquated culture, and as such are themselves antiquated; -the new spirit that occasionally inhabits these old dwellings often -serves only to make them more uncertain and frightened. In them there -dwell the ghosts of the past as well as the ghosts of the future; -what wonder if they do not wear the best expression or show the most -pleasing behaviour?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">251.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Future of Science.</span>—To him who works and seeks in her, Science -gives much pleasure,—to him who <i>learns</i> her facts, very little. But -as all important truths of science must gradually become commonplace -and everyday matters, even this small amount of pleasure ceases, just -as we have long ceased to take pleasure in learning the admirable -multiplication table. Now if Science goes on giving less pleasure in -herself, and always takes more pleasure in throwing suspicion on the -consolations of metaphysics, religion and art, that greatest of all -sources of pleasure, to which mankind owes almost its whole humanity, -becomes impoverished. Therefore a higher culture must give man a -double brain, two brain-chambers, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> to speak, one to feel science -and the other to feel non-science, which can lie side by side, without -confusion, divisible, exclusive; this is a necessity of health. In one -part lies the source of strength, in the other lies the regulator; -it must be heated with illusions, onesidednesses, passions; and the -malicious and dangerous consequences of over-heating must be averted -by the help of conscious Science. If this necessity of the higher -culture is not satisfied, the further course of human development can -almost certainly be foretold: the interest in what is true ceases as it -guarantees less pleasure; illusion, error, and imagination reconquer -step by step the ancient territory, because they are united to -pleasure; the ruin of science: the relapse into barbarism is the next -result; mankind must begin to weave its web afresh after having, like -Penelope, destroyed it during the night. But who will assure us that it -will always find the necessary strength for this?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">252.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Pleasure in Discernment.</span>—Why is discernment, that essence of the -searcher and the philosopher, connected with pleasure? Firstly, and -above all, because thereby we become conscious of our strength, for -the same reason that gymnastic exercises, even without spectators, are -enjoyable. Secondly, because in the course of knowledge we surpass -older ideas and their representatives, and become, or believe ourselves -to be, conquerors. Thirdly, because even a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> little new knowledge -exalts us above <i>every one,</i> and makes us feel we are the only ones -who know the subject aright. These are the three most important -reasons of the pleasure, but there are many others, according to the -nature of the discerner. A not inconsiderable index of such is given, -where no one would look for it, in a passage of my parenetic work -on Schopenhauer,<a name="FNanchor_2_13" id="FNanchor_2_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_13" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> with the arrangement of which every experienced -servant of knowledge may be satisfied, even though he might wish to -dispense with the ironical touch that seems to pervade those pages. -For if it be true that for the making of a scholar "a number of very -human impulses and desires must be thrown together," that the scholar -is indeed a very noble but not a pure metal, and "consists of a -confused blending of very different impulses and attractions," the -same thing may be said equally of the making and nature of the artist, -the philosopher and the moral genius—and whatever glorified great -names there may be in that list. <i>Everything</i> human deserves ironical -consideration with respect to its <i>origin,</i>—therefore irony is so -<i>superfluous</i> in the world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">253.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fidelity As a Proof of Validity.</span>—It is a perfect sign of a sound -theory if during <i>forty years</i> its originator does not mistrust it; but -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> maintain that there has never yet been a philosopher who has not -eventually deprecated the philosophy of his youth. Perhaps, however, -he has not spoken publicly of this change of opinion, for reasons of -ambition, or, what is more probable in noble natures, out of delicate -consideration for his adherents.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">254.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Increase of What Is Interesting.</span>—In the course of higher education -everything becomes interesting to man, he knows how to find the -instructive side of a thing quickly and to put his finger on the place -where it can fill up a gap in his ideas, or where it may verify a -thought. Through this boredom disappears more and more, and so does -excessive excitability of temperament. Finally he moves among men like -a botanist among plants, and looks upon himself as a phenomenon, which -only greatly excites his discerning instinct.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">255.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Superstition of the Simultaneous.</span>—Simultaneous things hold -together, it is said. A relative dies far away, and at the same time -we dream about him,—Consequently! But countless relatives die and we -do not dream about them. It is like shipwrecked people who make vows; -afterwards, in the temples, we do not see the votive tablets of those -who perished. A man dies, an owl hoots, a clock stops, all at one hour -of the night,—must there not be some connection? Such an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> intimacy -with nature as this supposition implies is flattering to mankind. This -species of superstition is found again in a refined form in historians -and delineators of culture, who usually have a kind of hydrophobic -horror of all that senseless mixture, in which individual and national -life is so rich.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">256.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Action and Not Knowledge Exercised by Science.</span>—The value of strictly -pursuing science for a time does not lie precisely in its results, -for these, in proportion to the ocean of what is worth knowing, are -but an infinitesimally small drop. But it gives an additional energy, -decisiveness, and toughness of endurance; it teaches how to attain an -<i>aim suitably.</i> In so far it is very valuable, with a view to all that -is done later on, to have once been a scientific man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">257.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Youthful Charm of Science.</span>—The search for truth still retains -the charm of being in strong contrast to gray and now tiresome error; -but this charm is gradually disappearing. It is true we still live in -the youthful age of science and are accustomed to follow truth as a -lovely girl; but how will it be when one day she becomes an elderly, -ill-tempered looking woman? In almost all sciences the fundamental -knowledge is either found in earliest times or is still being sought; -what a different attraction this exerts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> compared to that time when -everything essential has been found and there only remains for the -seeker a scanty gleaning (which sensation may be learnt in several -historical disciplines).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">258.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Statue of Humanity.</span>—The genius of culture fares as did Cellini -when his statue of Perseus was being cast; the molten mass threatened -to run short, but it <i>had</i> to suffice, so he flung in his plates and -dishes, and whatever else his hands fell upon. In the same way genius -flings in errors, vices, hopes, ravings, and other things of baser as -well as of nobler metal, for the statue of humanity must emerge and be -finished; what does it matter if commoner material is used here and -there?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">259.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Male Culture.</span>—The Greek culture of the classic age is a male -culture. As far as women are concerned, Pericles expresses everything -in the funeral speech: "They are best when they are as little spoken -of as possible amongst men." The erotic relation of men to youths -was the necessary and sole preparation, to a degree unattainable to -our comprehension, of all manly education (pretty much as for a long -time all higher education of women was only attainable through love -and marriage). All idealism of the strength of the Greek nature threw -itself into that relation, and it is probable that never since have -young men been treated so attentively, so lovingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> so entirely with -a view to their welfare (<i>virtus</i>) as in the fifth and sixth centuries -B.C.—according to the beautiful saying of Hölderlin: "<i>denn liebend -giebt der Sterbliche vom Besten."</i><a name="FNanchor_3_14" id="FNanchor_3_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_14" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> The higher the light in which -this relation was regarded, the lower sank intercourse with woman; -nothing else was taken into consideration than the production of -children and lust; there was no intellectual intercourse, not even real -love-making. If it be further remembered that women were even excluded -from contests and spectacles of every description, there only remain -the religious cults as their sole higher occupation. For although in -the tragedies Electra and Antigone were represented, this was only -<i>tolerated</i> in art, but not liked in real life,—just as now we cannot -endure anything pathetic in <i>life</i> but like it in art. The women had no -other mission than to produce beautiful, strong bodies, in which the -father's character lived on as unbrokenly as possible, and therewith -to counteract the increasing nerve-tension of such a highly developed -culture. This kept the Greek culture young for a relatively long time; -for in the Greek mothers the Greek genius always returned to nature.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">260.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Prejudice in Favour of Greatness.</span>—It is clear that men overvalue -everything great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> and prominent. This arises from the conscious or -unconscious idea that they deem it very useful when one person throws -all his strength into one thing and makes himself into a monstrous -organ. Assuredly, an <i>equal</i> development of all his powers is more -useful and happier for man; for every talent is a vampire which sucks -blood and strength from other powers, and an exaggerated production can -drive the most gifted almost to madness. Within the circle of the arts, -too, extreme natures excite far too much attention; but a much lower -culture is necessary to be captivated by them. Men submit from habit to -everything that seeks power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">261.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tyrants of the Mind.</span>—It is only where the ray of myth falls that -the life of the Greeks shines; otherwise it is gloomy. The Greek -philosophers are now robbing themselves of this myth; is it not as if -they wished to quit the sunshine for shadow and gloom? Yet no plant -avoids the light; and, as a matter of fact, those philosophers were -only seeking a <i>brighter</i> sun; the myth—was not pure enough, not -shining enough for them. They found this light in their knowledge, -in that which each of them called his "truth." But in those times -knowledge shone with a greater glory; it was still young and knew but -little of all the difficulties and dangers of its path; it could still -hope to reach in one single bound the central point of all being, -and from thence to solve the riddle of the world. These philosophers -had a firm belief in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> themselves and their "truth," and with it they -overthrew all their neighbours and predecessors; each one was a -warlike, violent <i>tyrant.</i> The happiness in believing themselves the -possessors of truth was perhaps never greater in the world, but neither -were the hardness, the arrogance, and the tyranny and evil of such a -belief. They were tyrants, they were that, therefore, which every Greek -wanted to be, and which every one was if he <i>was able.</i> Perhaps Solon -alone is an exception; he tells in his poems how he disdained personal -tyranny. But he did it for love of his works, of his law-giving; -and to be a law-giver is a sublimated form of tyranny. Parmenides -also made laws. Pythagoras and Empedocles probably did the same; -Anaximander founded a city. Plato was the incarnate wish to become -the greatest philosophic law-giver and founder of States; he appears -to have suffered terribly over the non-fulfilment of his nature, and -towards his end his soul was filled with the bitterest gall. The more -the Greek philosophers lost in power the more they suffered inwardly -from this bitterness and malice; when the various sects fought for -their truths in the street, then first were the souls of these wooers -of truth completely clogged through envy and spleen; the tyrannical -element then raged like poison within their bodies. These many petty -tyrants would have liked to devour each other; there survived not a -single spark of love and very little joy in their own knowledge. The -saying that tyrants are generally murdered and that their descendants -are short-lived, is true also of the tyrants of the mind. Their history -is short and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> violent, and their after-effects break off suddenly. It -may be said of almost all great Hellenes that they appear to have come -too late: it was thus with Æschylus, with Pindar, with Demosthenes, -with Thucydides: one generation—and then it is passed for ever. That -is the stormy and dismal element in Greek history. We now, it is true, -admire the gospel of the tortoises. To think historically is almost the -same thing now as if in all ages history had been made according to the -theory "The smallest possible amount in the longest possible time!" Oh! -how quickly Greek history runs on! Since then life has never been so -extravagant—so unbounded. I cannot persuade myself that the history of -the Greeks followed that natural course for which it is so celebrated. -They were much too variously gifted to be <i>gradual</i> the orderly manner -of the tortoise when running a race with Achilles, and that is called -natural development. The Geeks went rapidly forward, but equally -rapidly downwards; the movement of the whole machine is so intensified -that a single stone thrown amid its wheels was sufficient to break it. -Such a stone, for instance, was Socrates; the hitherto so wonderfully -regular, although certainly too rapid, development of the philosophical -science was destroyed in one night. It is no idle question whether -Plato, had he remained free from the Socratic charm, would not have -discovered a still higher type of the philosophic man, which type -is for ever lost to us. We look into the ages before him as into a -sculptor's workshop of such types. The fifth and sixth centuries B.C. -seemed to promise something more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> and higher even than they produced; -they stopped short at promising and announcing. And yet there is hardly -a greater loss than the loss of a type, of a new, hitherto undiscovered -highest <i>possibility of the philosophic life:</i>—Even of the older -type the greater number are badly transmitted; it seems to me that -all philosophers, from Thales to Democritus, are remarkably difficult -to recognise, but whoever succeeds in imitating these figures walks -amongst specimens of the mightiest and purest type. This ability is -certainly rare, it was even absent in those later Greeks, who occupied -themselves with the knowledge of the older philosophy; Aristotle, -especially, hardly seems to have had eyes in his head when he stands -before these great ones. And thus it appears as if these splendid -philosophers had lived in vain, or as if they had only been intended -to prepare the quarrelsome and talkative followers of the Socratic -schools. As I have said, here is a gap, a break in development; some -great misfortune must have happened, and the only statue which might -have revealed the meaning and purpose of that great artistic training -was either broken or unsuccessful; what actually happened has remained -for ever a secret of the workshop.</p> - -<p>That which happened amongst the Greeks—namely, that every great -thinker who believed himself to be in possession of the absolute truth -became a tyrant, so that even the mental history of the Greeks acquired -that violent, hasty and dangerous character shown by their political -history,—this type of event was not therewith exhausted, much that is -similar has happened even in more modern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> times, although gradually -becoming rarer and now but seldom showing the pure, naïve conscience -of the Greek philosophers. For on the whole, opposition doctrines and -scepticism now speak too powerfully, too loudly. The period of mental -tyranny is past. It is true that in the spheres of higher culture there -must always be a supremacy, but henceforth this supremacy lies in the -hands of the <i>oligarchs of the mind.</i> In spite of local and political -separation they form a cohesive society, whose members <i>recognise and -acknowledge</i> each other, whatever public opinion and the verdicts of -review and newspaper writers who influence the masses may circulate in -favour of or against them. Mental superiority, which formerly divided -and embittered, nowadays generally <i>unites;</i> how could the separate -individuals assert themselves and swim through life on their own -course, against all currents, if they did not see others like them -living here and there under similar conditions, and grasped their hands -in the struggle as much against the ochlocratic character of the half -mind and half culture as against the occasional attempts to establish -a tyranny with the help of the masses? Oligarchs are necessary to each -other, they are each other's best joy, they understand their signs, but -each is nevertheless free, he fights and conquers in <i>his</i> >place and -perishes rather than submit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">262.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Homer</span>.—The greatest fact in Greek culture remains this, that Homer -became so early Pan-Hellenic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> All mental and human freedom to which -the Greeks attained is traceable to this fact. At the same time -it has actually been fatal to Greek culture, for Homer levelled, -inasmuch as he centralised, and dissolved the more serious instincts -of independence. From time to time there arose from the depths of -Hellenism an opposition to Homer: but he always remained victorious. -All great mental powers have an oppressing effect as well as a -liberating one; but it certainly makes a difference whether it is Homer -or the Bible or Science that tyrannises over mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">263.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Talents</span>.—In such a highly developed humanity as the present, each -individual naturally has access to many talents. Each has an <i>inborn -talent,</i> but only in a few is that degree of toughness, endurance, and -energy born and trained that he really becomes a talent, <i>becomes</i> what -he <i>is,</i> that is, that he discharges it in works and actions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">264.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Witty Person Either Overvalued Or Undervalued.</span>—Unscientific but -talented people value every mark of intelligence, whether it be on -a true or a false track; above all, they want the person with whom -they have intercourse to entertain them with his wit, to spur them -on, to inflame them, to carry them away in seriousness and play, and -in any case to be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> powerful amulet to protect them against boredom. -Scientific natures, on the other hand, know that the gift of possessing -all manner of notions should be strictly controlled by the scientific -spirit: it is not that which shines, deludes and excites, but the often -insignificant truth that is the fruit which he knows how to shake down -from the tree of knowledge. Like Aristotle, he is not permitted to make -any distinction between the "bores" and the "wits," his <i>dæmon</i> leads -him through the desert as well as through tropical vegetation, in order -that he may only take pleasure in the really actual, tangible, true. In -insignificant scholars this produces a general disdain and suspicion of -cleverness, and, on the other hand, clever people frequently have an -aversion to science, as have, for instance, almost all artists.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">265.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sense in School.</span>—School has no task more important than to teach -strict thought, cautious judgment, and logical conclusions, hence -it must pay no attention to what hinders these operations, such as -religion, for instance. It can count on the fact that human vagueness, -custom, and need will later on unstring the bow of all-too-severe -thought. But so long as its influence lasts it should enforce that -which is the essential and distinguishing point in man: "Sense and -Science, the <i>very highest</i> power of man"—as Goethe judges. The great -natural philosopher, Von Baer, thinks that the superiority of all -Europeans, when compared to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> Asiatics, lies in the trained capability -of giving reasons for that which they believe, of which the latter are -utterly incapable. Europe went to the school of logical and critical -thought, Asia still fails to know how to distinguish between truth -and fiction, and is not Conscious whether its convictions spring from -individual observation and systematic thought or from imagination. -Sense in the school has made Europe what it is; in the Middle Ages -it was on the road to become once more a part and dependent of -Asia,—forfeiting, therefore, the scientific mind which it owed to the -Greeks.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">266.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Undervalued Effect of Public School Teaching.</span>—The value of a -public school is seldom sought in those things which are really learnt -there and are carried away never to be lost, but in those things which -are learnt and which the pupil only acquires against his will, in order -to get rid of them again as soon as possible. Every educated person -acknowledges that the reading of the classics, as now practised, is -monstrous proceeding carried on before you people are ripe enough for -it by teachers who with every word, often by their appearance alone, -throw a mildew on a good author. But therein lies the value, generally -unrecognised, of these teachers who speak <i>the abstract language of the -higher culture,</i> which, though dry and difficult to understand, is yet -a sort of higher gymnastics of the brain; and there is value in the -constant recurrence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> in their language of ideas, artistic expressions, -methods and allusions which the young people hardly ever hear in the -conversations of their relatives and in the street. Even if the pupils -only <i>hear,</i> their intellect is involuntarily trained to a scientific -mode of regarding things. It is not possible to emerge from this -discipline entirely untouched by its abstract character, and to remain -a simple child of nature.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">267.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">LEARNING MANY LANGUAGES.</span>—The learning of many languages fills the -memory with words instead of with facts and thoughts, and this is a -vessel which, with every person, can only contain a certain limited -amount of contents. Therefore the learning of many languages is -injurious, inasmuch as it arouses a belief in possessing dexterity and, -as a matter of fact, it lends a kind of delusive importance to social -intercourse. It is also indirectly injurious in that it opposes the -acquirement of solid knowledge and the intention to win the respect of -men in an honest way. Finally, it is the axe which is laid to the root -of a delicate sense of language in our mother-tongue, which thereby -is incurably injured and destroyed. The two nations which produced -the greatest stylists, the Greeks and the French, learned no foreign -languages. But as human intercourse must always grow more cosmopolitan, -and as, for instance, a good merchant in London must now be able to -read and write eight languages, the learning of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> many tongues has -certainly become a necessary evil; but which, when finally carried to -an extreme, will compel mankind to find a remedy, and in some far-off -future there will be a new language, used at first as a language of -commerce, then as a language of intellectual intercourse generally, -then for all, as surely as some time or other there will be aviation. -Why else should philology have studied the laws of languages for a -whole century, and have estimated the necessary, the valuable, and the -successful portion of each separate language?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">268.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The War History of the Individual.</span>—In a single human life that -passes through many styles of culture we find that struggle condense -which would otherwise have been played out between two generations, -between father and son; the closeness of the relationship <i>sharpens</i> -this struggle, because each party ruthlessly drags in the familiar -inward nature of the other party; and thus this struggle in the single -individual becomes most <i>embittered \</i> here every new phase disregards -the earlier ones with cruel injustice and misunderstanding of their -means and aims.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">269.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Quarter of an Hour Earlier.</span>—A mark is found occasionally whose views -are beyond his time, but only to such an extent that he anticipates the -common views of the next decade. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> possesses public opinion before it -is public; that is, he has fallen into the arms of a view that deserves -to be trivial a quarter of an hour sooner than other people. But his -fame is usually far noisier than the fame of those who are really great -and prominent.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">270.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of Reading.</span>—Every strong tendency is one-sided; it approaches -the aim of the straight line and, like this, is exclusive, that is, -it does not touch many other aims, as do weak parties and natures -in their wave-like rolling to-and-fro; it must also be forgiven to -philologists that they are one-sided. The restoration and keeping pure -of texts, besides their explanation, carried on in common for hundreds -of years, has finally enabled the right methods to be found; the whole -of the Middle Ages was absolutely incapable of a strictly philological -explanation, that is, of the simple desire to comprehend what an -author says—it <i>was</i> an achievement, finding these methods, let it -not be undervalued! Through this all science first acquired continuity -and steadiness, so that the art of reading rightly, which is called -philology, attained its summit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">271.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of Reasoning.</span>—The greatest advance that men have made lies -in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> acquisition of the art to <i>reason rightly.</i> It is not so -very natural, as Schopenhauer supposes when he says, "All are capable -of reasoning but few of judging," it is learnt late and has not yet -attained supremacy. False conclusion are the rule in older ages; and -the mythologies of all peoples, their magic and their superstition, -their religious cult and their law are the inexhaustible sources of -proof of this theory.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">272.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Phases of Individual Culture.</span>—Th strength and weakness of mental -productiveness depend far less on inherited talents than on the -accompanying amount of <i>elasticity.</i> Most educated young people of -thirty turn round at this solstice of their lives and are afterwards -disinclined for new mental turnings. Therefore, for the salvation -of a constantly increasing culture, a new generation is immediately -necessary, which will not do very much either, for in order to come up -with the father's culture the son must exhaust almost all the inherited -energy which the father himself possessed at that stage of life when -his son was born; with the little addition he gets further on (for as -here the road is being traversed for the second time progress is—a -little quicker; in order to learn that which the father knew, the son -does not consume quite so much strength). Men of great elasticity, like -Goethe, for instance, get through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> almost more than four generations in -succession would be capable of; but then they advance too quickly, so -that the rest of mankind only comes up with them in the next century, -and even then perhaps not completely, because the exclusiveness of -culture and the consecutiveness of development have been weakened by -the frequent interruptions. Men catch up more quickly with the ordinary -phases of intellectual culture which has been acquired in the course -of history. Nowadays they begin to acquire culture as religiously -inclined children, and perhaps about their tenth year these sentiments -attain to their highest point, and are then changed into weakened forms -(pantheism), whilst they draw near to science; they entirely pass -by God, immortality, and such-like things, but are overcome by the -witchcraft of a metaphysical philosophy. Eventually they find even this -unworthy of belief; art, on the contrary, seems to vouchsafe more and -more, so that for a time metaphysics is metamorphosed and continues to -exist either as a transition to art or as an artistically transfiguring -temperament. But the scientific sense grows more imperious and conducts -man to natural sciences and history, and particularly to the severest -methods of knowledge, whilst art has always a milder and less exacting -meaning. All this usually happens within the first thirty years of a -man's life. It is the recapitulation of a <i>pensum,</i> for which humanity -had laboured perhaps thirty thousand years.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">273.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Retrograded, Not Left Behind.</span>—Whoever, in the present day, still -derives his development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives -for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics and art, has -assuredly gone back a considerable distance and begins his race with -other modern men under unfavourable conditions; he apparently loses -time and space. But because he stays in those domains where ardour and -energy are liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic stream -out of an inexhaustible source, he goes forward all the more quickly as -soon as he has freed himself at the right moment from those dominators; -his feet are winged, his breast has learned quieter, longer, and more -enduring breathing. He has only retreated in order to have sufficient -room to leap; thus something terrible and threatening may lie in this -retrograde movement.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">274.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Portion of Our Ego As an Artistic Object.</span>—It is a sign of -superior culture consciously to retain and present a true picture of -certain phases of development which commoner men live through almost -thoughtlessly and then efface from the tablets of their souls: this is -a higher species of the painter's art which only the few understand. -For this it is necessary to isolate those phases artificially. -Historical studies form the qualification for this painting, for they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -constantly incite us in regard to a portion of history, a people, -or a human life, to imagine for ourselves a quite distinct horizon -of thoughts, a certain strength of feelings, the prominence of this -or the obscurity of that. Herein consists the historic sense, that -out of given instances we can quickly reconstruct such systems of -thoughts and feelings, just as we can mentally reconstruct a temple -out of a few pillars and remains of walls accidentally left standing. -The next result is that we understand our fellow-men as belonging to -distinct systems and representatives of different cultures—that is, as -necessary, but as changeable; and, again, that we can separate portions -of our own development and put them down independently.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">275.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Cynics and Epicureans.</span>—The cynic recognises the connection between -the multiplied and stronger pains of the more highly cultivated man -and the abundance of requirements; he comprehends, therefore, that -the multitude of opinions about what is beautiful, suitable, seemly -and pleasing, must also produce very rich sources of enjoyment, but -also of displeasure. In accordance with this view he educates himself -backwards, by giving up many of these opinions and withdrawing from -certain demands of culture; he thereby gains a feeling of freedom -and strength; and gradually, when habit has made his manner of life -endurable, his sensations of displeasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> are, as a matter of fact, -rarer and weaker than those of cultivated people, and approach those of -the domestic animal; moreover, he experiences everything with the charm -of contrast, and—he can also scold to his heart's content; so that -thereby he again rises high above the sensation-range of the animal. -The Epicurean has the same point of view as the cynic; there is usually -only a difference of temperament between them. Then the Epicurean makes -use of his higher culture to render himself independent of prevailing -opinions, he raises himself above them, whilst the cynic only remains -negative. He walks, as it were, in wind-protected, well-sheltered, -half-dark paths, whilst over him, in the wind, the tops of the trees -rustle and show him how violently agitated is the world out there. The -cynic, on the contrary, goes, as it were, naked into the rushing of the -wind and hardens himself to the point of insensibility.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">276.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Microcosm and Macrocosm of Culture.</span>—The best discoveries about -culture man makes within himself when he finds two heterogeneous powers -ruling therein. Supposing some one were living as much in love for -the plastic arts or for music as he was carried away by the spirit of -science, and that he were to regard it as impossible for him to end -this contradiction by the destruction of one and complete liberation of -the other power, there would therefore remain nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> for him to do -but to erect around himself such a large edifice of culture that those -two powers might both dwell within it, although at different ends, -whilst between them there dwelt reconciling, intermediary powers, with -predominant strength to quell, in case of need, the rising conflict. -But such an edifice of culture in the single individual will bear a -great resemblance to the culture of entire periods, and will afford -consecutive analogical teaching concerning it. For wherever the great -architecture of culture manifested itself it was its mission to compel -opposing powers to agree, by means of an overwhelming accumulation of -other less unbearable powers, without thereby oppressing and fettering -them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">277.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Happiness and Culture.</span>—We are moved at the sight of our childhood's -surroundings,—the arbour, the church with its graves, the pond and -the wood,—all this we see again with pain. We are seized with pity -for ourselves; for what have we not passed through since then! And -everything here is so silent, so eternal, only we are so changed, so -moved; we even find a few human beings, on whom Time has sharpened his -teeth no more than on an oak tree,—peasants, fishermen, woodmen—they -are unchanged. Emotion and self-pity at the sight of lower culture is -the sign of higher culture; from which the conclusion may be drawn that -happiness has certainly not been increased by it. Whoever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> wishes to -reap happiness and comfort in life should always avoid higher culture.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">278.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Simile of the Dance.</span>—It must now be regarded as a decisive sign of -great culture if some one possesses sufficient strength and flexibility -to be as pure and strict in discernment as, in other moments, to be -capable of giving poetry, religion, and metaphysics a hundred paces' -start and then feeling their force and beauty. Such a position amid -two such different demands is very difficult, for science urges the -absolute supremacy of its methods, and if this insistence is not -yielded to, there arises the other danger of a weak wavering between -different impulses. Meanwhile, to cast a glance, in simile at least, on -a solution of this difficulty, it may be remembered that <i>dancing</i> is -not the same as a dull reeling to and fro between different impulses. -High culture will resemble a bold dance,—wherefore, as has been said, -there is need of much strength and suppleness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">279.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of the Relieving of Life.</span>—A primary way of lightening life is the -idealisation of all its occurrences; and with the help of painting we -should make it quite clear to ourselves what idealising means. The -painter requires that the spectator should not observe too closely or -too sharply, he forces him back to a certain distance from whence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> -to make his observations; he is obliged to take for granted a fixed -distance of the spectator from the picture,—he must even suppose an -equally certain amount of sharpness of eye in his spectator; in such -things he must on no account waver. Every one, therefore, who desires -to idealise his life must not look at it too closely, and must always -keep his gaze at a certain distance. This was a trick that Goethe, for -instance, understood.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">280.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Aggravation As Relief, and <i>vice Versa.</i></span>—Much that makes life more -difficult in certain grades of mankind serves to lighten it in a -higher grade, because such people have become familiar with greater -aggravations of life. The contrary also happens; for instance, religion -has a double face, according to whether a man looks up to it to relieve -him of his burden and need, or looks down upon it as-upon fetters laid -on him to prevent him from soaring too high into the air.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">281.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Higher Culture Is Necessarily Misunderstood</span>.—He who has strung his -instrument with only two strings, like the scholars who, besides the -<i>instinct of knowledge</i> possess only an acquired <i>religious</i> instinct, -does not understand people who can play upon more strings. It lies -in the nature of the higher, <i>many-stringed</i> culture that it should -always be falsely interpreted by the lower; an example of this is when -art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> appears as a disguised form of the religious. People who are only -religious understand even science as a searching after the religious -sentiment, just as deaf mutes do not know what music is, unless it be -visible movement.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">282.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lamentation</span>.—It is, perhaps, the advantages of our epoch that bring -with them a backward movement and an occasional undervaluing of the -<i>vita contemplativa.</i> But it must be acknowledged that our time is -poor in the matter of great moralists, that Pascal, Epictetus, Seneca, -and Plutarch are now but little read, that work and industry—formerly -in the following of the great goddess Health—sometimes appear to -rage like a disease. Because time to think and tranquillity in -thought are lacking, we no longer ponder over different views, but -content ourselves with hating them. With the enormous acceleration of -life, mind and eye grow accustomed to a partial and false sight and -judgment, and all people are like travellers whose only acquaintance -with countries and nations is derived from the railway. An independent -and cautious attitude of knowledge is looked upon almost as a kind of -madness; the free spirit is brought into disrepute, chiefly through -scholars, who miss their thoroughness and ant-like industry in his -art of regarding things and would gladly banish him into one single -corner of science, while it has the different and higher mission of -commanding the battalion rear-guard of scientific and learned men from -an isolated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> position, and showing them the ways and aims of culture. A -song of lamentation such as that which has just been sung will probably -have its own period, and will cease of its own accord on a forcible -return of the genius of meditation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">283.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Chief Deficiency of Active People.</span>—Active people are usually -deficient in the higher activity, I mean individual activity. They are -active as officials, merchants, scholars, that is as a species, but not -as quite distinct separate and <i>single</i> individuals; in this respect -they are idle. It is the misfortune of the active that their activity -is almost always a little senseless. For instance, we must not ask the -money-making banker the reason of his restless activity, it is foolish. -The active roll as the stone rolls, according to the stupidity of -mechanics. All mankind is divided, as it was at all times and is still, -into slaves and freemen; for whoever has not two-thirds of his day -for himself is a slave, be he otherwise whatever he likes, statesman, -merchant, official, or scholar.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">284.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Favour of the Idle.</span>—As a sign that the value of a contemplative -life has decreased, scholars now vie with active people in a sort of -hurried enjoyment, so that they appear to value this mode of enjoying -more than that which really pertains to them, and which, as a matter -of fact, is a far greater enjoyment. Scholars are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> ashamed of <i>otium.</i> -But there is one noble thing about idleness and idlers. If idleness -is really the <i>beginning</i> of all vice, it finds itself, therefore, at -least in near neighbourhood of all the virtues; the idle man is still -a better man than the active. You do not suppose that in speaking of -idleness and idlers I am alluding to you, you sluggards?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">285.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Modern Unrest.</span>—Modern restlessness increases towards the west, so -that Americans look upon the inhabitants of Europe as altogether -peace-loving and enjoying beings, whilst in reality they swarm about -like wasps and bees. This restlessness is so great that the higher -culture cannot mature its fruits, it is as if the seasons followed each -other too quickly. For lack of rest our civilisation is turning into -a new barbarism. At no period have the active, that is, the restless, -been of <i>more</i> importance. One of the necessary corrections, therefore, -which must be undertaken in the character of humanity is to strengthen -the contemplative element on a large scale. But every individual who -is quiet and steady in heart and head already has the right to believe -that he possesses not only a good temperament, but also a generally -useful virtue, and even fulfils a higher mission by the preservation of -this virtue.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">286.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To What Extent the Active Man Is Lazy.</span>—I believe that every one must -have his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> own opinion about everything concerning which opinions are -possible, because he himself is a peculiar, unique thing, which assumes -towards all other things a new and never hitherto existing attitude. -But idleness, which lies at the bottom of the active man's soul, -prevents him from drawing water out of his own well. Freedom of opinion -is like health; both are individual, and no good general conception can -be set up of either of them. That which is necessary for the health of -one individual is the cause of disease in another, and many means and -ways to the freedom of the spirit are for more highly developed natures -the ways and means to confinement.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">287.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Censor Vitæ</span></i>—Alternations of love and hatred for a long period -distinguish the inward condition of a man who desires to be free in his -judgment of life; he does not forget, and bears everything a grudge, -for good and evil. At last, when the whole tablet of his soul is -written full of experiences, he will not hate and despise existence, -neither will he love it, but will regard it sometimes with a joyful, -sometimes with a sorrowful eye, and, like nature, will be now in a -summer and now in an autumn mood.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">288.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Secondary Result.</span>—Whoever earnestly desires to be free will -therewith and without any compulsion lose all inclination for faults -and vices; he will also be more rarely overcome by anger and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> vexation. -His will desires nothing more urgently than to discern, and the means -to do this,—that is, the permanent condition in which he is best able -to discern.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">289.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of Disease.</span>—The man who is bed-ridden often perceives that -he is usually ill of his position, business, or society, and through -them has lost all self-possession. He gains this piece of knowledge -from the idleness to which his illness condemns him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">290.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sensitiveness in the Country.</span>—If there are no firm, quiet lines on -the horizon of his life, a species of mountain and forest line, man's -inmost will itself becomes restless, inattentive, and covetous, as is -the nature of a dweller in towns; he has no happiness and confers no -happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">291.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Prudence of the Free Spirits.</span>—Free-thinkers, those who live by -knowledge alone, will soon attain the supreme aim of their life and -their ultimate position towards society and State, and will gladly -content themselves, for instance, with a small post or an income that -is just sufficient to enable them to live; for they will arrange to -live in such a manner that a great change of outward prosperity, even -an overthrow of the political order, would not cause an overthrow -of their life. To all these things they devote as little energy as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -possible in order that with their whole accumulated strength, and with -a long breath, they may dive into the element of knowledge. Thus they -can hope to dive deep and be able to see the bottom. Such a spirit -seizes only the point of an event, he does not care for things in the -whole breadth and prolixity of their folds, for he does not wish to -entangle himself in them. He, too, knows the weekdays of restraint, of -dependence and servitude. But from time to time there must dawn for -him a Sunday of liberty, otherwise he could not endure life. It is -probable that even his love for humanity will be prudent and somewhat -short-winded, for he desires to meddle with the world of inclinations -and of blindness only as far as is necessary for the purpose of -knowledge. He must trust that the genius of justice will say something -for its disciple and protege if accusing voices were to call him poor -in love. In his mode of life and thought there is a <i>refined heroism,</i> -which scorns to offer itself to the great mob-reverence, as its -coarser brother does, and passes quietly through and out of the world. -Whatever labyrinths it traverses, beneath whatever rocks its stream has -occasionally worked its way—when it reaches the light it goes clearly, -easily, and almost noiselessly on its way, and lets the sunshine strike -down to its very bottom.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">292.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Forward</span>.—And thus forward upon the path of wisdom, with a firm step -and good confidence! However you may be situated, serve yourself as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -source of experience! Throw off the displeasure at your nature, forgive -yourself your own individuality, for in any case you have in yourself -a ladder with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to knowledge. -The age into which with grief you feel yourself thrown thinks you happy -because of this good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall still -have experiences which men of later ages will perhaps be obliged to -forego. Do not despise the fact of having been religious; consider -fully how you have had a genuine access to art. Can you not, with the -help of these experiences, follow immense stretches of former humanity -with a clearer understanding? Is not that ground which sometimes -displeases you so greatly, that ground of clouded thought, precisely -the one upon which have grown many of the most glorious fruits of older -civilisations? You must have loved religion and art as you loved mother -and nurse,—otherwise you cannot be wise. But you must be able to see -beyond them, to outgrow them; if you, remain under their ban you do -not understand them. You must also be familiar with history and that -cautious play with the balances: "On the one hand—on the other hand." -Go back, treading in the footsteps made by mankind in its great and -painful journey through the desert of the past, and you will learn most -surely whither it is that all later humanity never can or may go again. -And inasmuch as you wish with all your strength to see in advance how -the knots of the future are tied, your own life acquires the value of -an instrument and means of knowledge. It is within your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> power to see -that all you have experienced, trials, errors, faults, deceptions, -passions, your love and your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim. -This aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-links yourself, -and from this necessity to draw a conclusion as to the necessity in -the progress of general culture. When your sight has become strong -enough to see to the bottom of the dark well of your nature and your -knowledge, it is possible that in its mirror you may also behold the -far-away visions of future civilisations. Do you think that such a life -with such an aim is too wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable? -Then you have still to learn that no honey is sweeter than that of -knowledge, and that the overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as -an udder from which you shall draw milk for your refreshment. And only -when old age approaches will you rightly perceive how you listened to -the voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole world through -pleasure; the same life which has its zenith in age has also its zenith -in wisdom, in that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyfulness; you -meet them both, old age and wisdom, upon one ridge of life,—it was -thus intended by Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger, that -the mists of death approach. Towards the light is your last movement; a -joyful cry of knowledge is your last sound.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_12" id="Footnote_1_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_12"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This may remind one of Gobineau's more jocular saying: -"<i>Nous ne descendons pas du singe, mais nous y allons.</i>"—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_13" id="Footnote_2_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_13"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> This refers to his essay, "Schopenhauer as Educator," in -<i>Thoughts Out of Season,</i> vol. ii. of the English edition.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_14" id="Footnote_3_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_14"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> For it is when loving that mortal man gives of his -best.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a><br /><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="SIXTH_DIVISION" id="SIXTH_DIVISION">SIXTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>MAN IN SOCIETY.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">293.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Well-meant Dissimulation.</span>—In intercourse with men a well-meant -dissimulation is often necessary, as if we did not see through the -motives of their actions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">294.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Copies</span>.—We not unfrequently meet with copies of prominent persons; and -as in the case of pictures, so also here, the copies please more than -the originals.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">295.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Public Speaker.</span>—One may speak with the greatest appropriateness, -and yet so that everybody cries out to the contrary,—that is to say, -when one does not speak to everybody.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">296.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Want of Confidence.</span>—Want of confidence among friends is a fault that -cannot be censured without becoming incurable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">297.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of Giving.</span>—To have to refuse a gift, merely because it has not -been offered in the right way, provokes animosity against the giver.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">298.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Most Dangerous Partisan.</span>—In every party there is one who, by his -far too dogmatic expression of the party-principles, excites defection -among the others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">299.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Advisers of the Sick.</span>—Whoever gives advice to a sick person acquires -a feeling of superiority over him, whether the advice be accepted or -rejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick persons hate advisers more -than their sickness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">300.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Double Nature of Equality.</span>—The rage for equality may so manifest -itself that we seek either to draw all others down to ourselves (by -belittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or ourselves and all others -upwards (by recognition, assistance, and congratulation).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">301.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Against Embarrassment.</span>—The best way to relieve and calm very -embarrassed people is to give them decided praise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">302.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Preference For Certain Virtues.</span>—We set no special value on the -possession of a virtue until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in -our adversary.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">303.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Why We Contradict.</span>—We often contradict an opinion when it is really -only the tone in which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">304.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Confidence and Intimacy.</span>—Whoever proposes to command the intimacy of -a person is usually uncertain of possessing his confidence. Whoever is -sure of a person's confidence attaches little value to intimacy with -him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">305.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Equilibrium of Friendship.</span>—The right equilibrium of friendship -in our relation to other men is sometimes restored when we put a few -grains of wrong on our own side of the scales.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">306.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Most Dangerous Physicians.</span>—The most dangerous physicians are those -who, like born actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect art -of imposture.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">307.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">When Paradoxes Are Permissible.</span>—In order to interest clever persons in -a theory, it is sometimes only necessary to put it before them in the -form of a prodigious paradox.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">308.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Courageous People Are Won Over.</span>—Courageous people are persuaded to -a course of action by representing it as more dangerous than it really -is.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">309.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Courtesies</span>.—We regard the courtesies show us by unpopular persons as -offences.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">310.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Keeping People Waiting.</span>—A sure way of exasperating people and of -putting bad thoughts into their heads is to keep them waiting long. -That makes them immoral.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">311.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Against the Confidential.</span>—Persons who give us their full confidence -think they hay thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake people -acquire no rights through gifts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">312.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Mode of Settlement.</span>—It often suffices to give a person whom we have -injured an opportunity to make a joke about us to give him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> personal -satisfaction, and even to make him favourably disposed to us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">313.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Vanity of the Tongue.</span>—Whether man conceals his bad qualities -and vices, or frankly acknowledges them, his vanity in either case -seeks its advantage thereby,—only let it be observed how nicely he -distinguishes those from whom he conceals such qualities from those -with whom he is frank and honest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">314.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Considerate</span>.—To have no wish to offend or injure any one may as well -be the sign of a just as of a timid nature.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">315.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Requisite For Disputation.</span>—He who cannot put his thoughts on ice -should not enter into the heat of dispute.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">316.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intercourse and Pretension.</span>—We forget our pretensions when we are -always conscious of being amongst meritorious people; being alone -implants presumption in us. The young are pretentious, for they -associate with their equals, who are all ciphers but would fain have a -great significance.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">317.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Motives of an Attack</span>.—One does not attack a person merely to hurt -and conquer him, but perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own -strength.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">318.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Flattery</span>.—Persons who try by means of flattery to put us off our -guard in intercourse with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like a -sleeping-draught, which, when it does not send the patient to sleep, -keeps him all the wider awake.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">319.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Good Letter-writer.</span>—A person who does not write books, thinks much, -and lives in unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-writer.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">320.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Ugliest of All.</span>—It may be doubted whether a person who has -travelled much has found anywhere in the world uglier places than those -to be met with in the human face.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">321.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sympathetic Ones.</span>—Sympathetic natures, ever ready to help in -misfortune, are seldom those that participate in joy; in the happiness -of others they have nothing to occupy them, they are superfluous, they -do not feel themselves in possession of their superiority, and hence -readily show their displeasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">322.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Relatives of a Suicide.</span>—The relatives of a suicide take it in -ill part that he did not remain alive out of consideration for their -reputation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">323.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ingratitude Foreseen.</span>—He who makes a large gift gets no gratitude; for -the recipient is already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">324.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Dull Society.</span>—Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts -himself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show -one's wit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">325.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Presence of Witnesses.</span>—We are doubly willing to jump into the -water after some one who has fallen in, if there are people present who -have not the courage to do so.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">326.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Being Silent.</span>—For both parties in a controversy, the most disagreeable -way of retaliating is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor usually -regards the silence as a sign of contempt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">327.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Friends' Secrets.</span>—Few people will not expose the private affairs of -their friends when at a loss for a subject of conversation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">328.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Humanity</span>.—The humanity of intellectual celebrities consists in -courteously submitting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> unfairness in intercourse with those who are -I not celebrated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">329.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Embarrassed.</span>—People who do not feel sure of themselves in society -seize every opportunity of publicly showing their superiority to close -friends, for instance by teasing them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">330.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thanks</span>.—A refined nature is vexed by knowing that some one owes it -thanks, a coarse nature by knowing that it owes thanks to some one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">331.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Sign of Estrangement.</span>—The surest sign of the estrangement of the -opinions of two persons is when they both say something ironical to -each other and neither of them feels the irony.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">332.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Presumption in Connection With Merit.</span>—Presumption in connection with -merit offends us even more than presumption in persons devoid of merit, -for merit in itself offends us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">333.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Danger in the Voice.</span>—In conversation we are sometimes confused by the -tone of our own voice, and misled to make assertions that do not at all -correspond to our opinions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">334.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Conversation.</span>—Whether in conversation with others we mostly agree -or mostly disagree with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in -both cases.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">335.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fear of Our Neighbour.</span>—We are afraid of the animosity of our -neighbour, because we are apprehensive that he may thereby discover our -secrets.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">336.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Distinguishing by Blaming.</span>—Highly respected persons distribute even -their blame in such fashion that they try to distinguish us therewith. -It is intended to remind us of their serious interest in us. We -misunderstand them entirely when we take their blame literally and -protest against it; we thereby offend them and estrange ourselves from -them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">337.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Indignation at the Goodwill of Others.</span>—We are mistaken as to the -extent to which we think we are hated or feared; because,' though we -ourselves know very well the extent of our divergence from a person, -tendency, or party, those others know us only superficially, and can, -therefore, only hate us superficially. We often meet with goodwill -which is inexplicable to us; but when we comprehend it, it shocks us, -because it shows that we are not considered with sufficient Seriousness -or importance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">338.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thwarting Vanities.</span>—When two persons meet whose vanity is equally -great, they have afterwards a bad impression of each other because -each has been so occupied with the impression he wished to produce on -the other that the other has made no impression upon him; at last it -becomes clear to them both that their efforts have been in vain, and -each puts the blame on the other.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">339.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Improper Behaviour As a Good Sign.</span>—A superior mind takes pleasure in -the tactlessness, pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious -youths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses which have not yet -carried a rider, but, in a short time, will be so proud to carry one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">340.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">When It Is Advisable to Suffer Wrong.</span>—It is well to put up with -accusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the -accuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted -and perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person -may always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may -eventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most -intolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual -may also take place in whole classes of society.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">341.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Little Honoured.</span>—Very conceited persons, who have received -less consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to -deceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle -psychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured. -Should they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn, -they give way to all the greater fury.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">342.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Primitive Conditions Re—echoing in Speech.</span>—By the manner in which -people make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo -of the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything -else; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using -their arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords, -and with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women, -on the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat -at the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">343.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Narrator.</span>—He who gives an account of something readily betrays -whether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes -to excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will -exaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not -usually tell his story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> so well, because he does not think so much -about his subject as about himself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">344.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Reciter.</span>—He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his -own character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and -scenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while -in ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit -pathos or scurrility.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">345.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Comedy Scene in Real Life.</span>—Some one conceives an ingenious idea on -a theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should -hear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the -company at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously -pushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way, -finding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost -breathless—and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of -his mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">346.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unintentionally Discourteous.</span>—When a person treats another with -unintentional discourtesy,—for instance, not greeting him because not -recognising him,—he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his -own sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> in -the other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is -pained by the thought of having injured him,—vanity, fear, or pity may -therefore be aroused; perhaps all three together.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">347.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Masterpiece of Treachery.</span>—To express a tantalising distrust of a -fellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very -moment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece -of wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels -him for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real -traitor has thus acquired a free hand.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">348.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Injure and to Be Injured.</span>—It is far pleasanter to injure -and afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant -forgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and -afterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he -does not wish to be considered inhuman, <i>must</i> forgive; his enjoyment -of the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this -constraint.</p> - - -<p>349.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In a Dispute.</span>—When we contradict another's opinion and at the same -time develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion -usually disturbs the natural attitude of our own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> which appears more -intentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">350.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Artifice.</span>—He who wants to get another to do something difficult -must on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth -his plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye -betrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off -quickly, and allow him no time to put in a word.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">351.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pricks of Conscience After Social Gatherings.</span>—Why does our conscience -prick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated -serious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not -spoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken, -because, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,—in short, -because we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">352.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">We Are Misjudged.</span>—He who always listens to hear how he is judged is -always vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us -("who know us best"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour -in a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us -rightly? The judgments of the indifferent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> wound us deeply, because -they sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some -one hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know -ourselves, how great is then our vexation!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">353.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tyranny of the Portrait.</span>—Artists and statesmen, who out of -particular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an -event, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should -afterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway -that a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in -their representation of him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">354.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relatives As the Best Friends.</span>—The Greeks, who knew so well what a -friend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely -philosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly -(and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised -as worthy of solution,—these same Greeks have designated <i>relatives</i> -by an expression which is the superlative of the word "friend." This is -inexplicable to me.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">355.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Misunderstood Honesty.</span>—When any one quotes himself in conversation -("I then said," "I am accustomed to say"), it gives the impression of -presumption; whereas it often proceeds from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> quite an opposite source; -or at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the -present moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">356.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Parasite.</span>—It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a -person prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually -with a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be -obliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than -in men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">357.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">On the Altar of Reconciliation.</span>—There are circumstances under which -one can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming -hostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he -gladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a -reconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was -formerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any -price.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">358.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Presumption in Demanding Pity.</span>—There are people who, when they have -been in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall -all be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied -because they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human -presumption extend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">359.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bait</span>.—"Every man has his price"—that is not true. But perhaps -every one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will -snap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only -necessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble, -charitable, and self-denying—and to what cause could this glamour not -be given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of <i>their</i> soul; others have -different ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">360.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Attitude in Praising.</span>—When good friends praise a gifted person he -often appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill, -but in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved -towards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun -or shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it -would grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">361.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Experience of Socrates.</span>—If one has become a master in one thing, -one has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most -other things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already -experienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association -with masters disagreeable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">362.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Means of Defence.</span>—In warring against stupidity, the most just and -gentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking -the proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for -a stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said, -their character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of -protection than they injure their opponents by it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">363.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Curiosity</span>.—If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for -the good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the -unfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps -there is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal -love.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">364.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Disappointment in Society.</span>—One man wishes to be interesting for -his opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his -acquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness—and they all meet -with disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks -himself the only play that is to be taken into account.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">365.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Duel.</span>—It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour -that if a man has such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> susceptible feelings that he does not care to -live when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a -right to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With -regard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be -remonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its -greatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness -ever existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood -stand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular -duel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would -be in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious -in their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">366.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nobleness and Gratitude.</span>—A noble soul will be pleased to owe -gratitude, and will not anxiously avoid opportunities of coming under -obligation; it will also be moderate afterwards in the expression of -its gratitude: baser souls, on the other hand, are unwilling to be -under any obligation, or are afterwards immoderate in their expressions -of thanks and altogether too devoted. The latter is, moreover, also the -case with persons of mean origin or depressed circumstances; to show -<i>them</i> a favour seems to them a miracle of grace.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">367.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Occasions of Eloquence.</span>—In order to talk well one man needs a person -who is decidedly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> avowedly his superior to talk to, while another -can only find absolute freedom of speech and happy turns of eloquence -before one who is his inferior. In both cases the cause is the same; -each of them talks well only when he talks <i>sans gêne</i>—the one because -in the presence of something higher he does not feel the impulse of -rivalry and competition, the other because he also lacks the same -impulse in the presence of something lower. Now there is quite another -type of men, who talk well only when debating, with the intention of -conquering. Which of the two types is the more aspiring: the one that -talks well from excited ambition, or the one that talks badly or not at -all from precisely the same motive?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">368.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Talent For Friendship.</span>—Two types are distinguished amongst -people who have a special faculty for friendship. The one is ever -on the ascent, and for every phase of his development he finds a -friend exactly suited to him. The series of friends which he thus -acquires is seldom a consistent one, and is sometimes at variance -and in contradiction, entirely in accordance with the fact that the -later phases of his development neutralise or prejudice the earlier -phases. Such a man may jestingly be called a <i>ladder.</i> The other type -is represented by him who exercises an attractive influence on very -different characters and endowments, so that he wins a whole circle of -friends; these, however, are thereby brought voluntarily into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> friendly -relations with one another in spite of all differences. Such a man -may be called a <i>circle,</i> for this homogeneousness of such different -temperaments and natures must somehow be typified in him. Furthermore, -the faculty for having good friends is greater in many people than the -faculty for being a good friend.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">369.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Tactics in Conversation.</span>—After a conversation with a person one is -best pleased with him I when one has had an opportunity of exhibiting -one's intelligence and amiability in all its glory. Shrewd people who -wish to impress a person favourably make use of this circumstance, -they provide him with the best opportunities for making a good I -joke, and so on in conversation. An amusing conversation might be -imagined between two very shrewd persons, each wishing to impress the -other favourably, and therefore each throwing to the other the finest -chances in conversation, which neither of them accepted, so that the -conversation on the whole might turn out spiritless and unattractive -because each assigned to the other the opportunity of being witty and -charming.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">370.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Discharge of Indignation.</span>—The man who meets with a failure -attributes this failure rather to the ill-will of another than to -fate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> His irritated feelings are alleviated by thinking that a person -and not a thing is the cause of his failure; for he can revenge himself -on persons, but is obliged to swallow down the injuries of fate. -Therefore when anything has miscarried with a prince, those about him -are accustomed to point out some individual as the ostensible cause, -who is sacrificed in the interests of all the courtiers; for otherwise -the prince's indignation would vent itself on them all, as he can take -no revenge on the Goddess of Destiny herself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">371.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Assuming the Colours of the Environment.</span>—Why are likes and dislikes -so contagious that we can hardly live near a very sensitive person -without being filled, like a hogshead, with his <i>fors</i> and <i>againsts</i>? -In the first place, complete forbearance of judgment is very difficult, -and sometimes absolutely intolerable to our vanity; it has the same -appearance as poverty of thought and sentiment, or as timidity and -unmanliness; and so we are, at least, driven on to take a side, perhaps -contrary to our environment, if this attitude gives greater pleasure -to our pride. As a rule, however,—and this is the second point,—we -are not conscious of the transition from indifference to liking or -disliking, but we gradually accustom ourselves to the sentiments of -our environment, and because sympathetic agreement and acquiescence -are so agreeable, we soon wear all the signs and party-colours of our -surroundings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">372.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Irony.</span>—Irony is only permissible as a pedagogic expedient, on the part -of a teacher when dealing with his pupils; its purpose is to humble -and to shame, but in the wholesome way that causes good resolutions -to spring up and teaches people to show honour and gratitude, as they -would to a doctor, to him who has so treated them. The ironical man -pretends to be ignorant, and does it so well that the pupils conversing -with him are deceived, and in their firm belief in their own superior -knowledge they grow bold and expose all their weak points; they lose -their cautiousness and reveal themselves as they are,—until all of -a sudden the light which they have held up to the teacher's face -casts its rays back very humiliatingly upon themselves. Where such a -relation, as that between teacher and pupil, does not exist, irony is a -rudeness and a vulgar conceit. All ironical writers count on the silly -species of human beings, who like to feel themselves superior to all -others in common with the author himself, whom they look upon as the -mouthpiece of their arrogance. Moreover, the habit of irony, like that -of sarcasm, spoils the character; lit gradually fosters the quality of -a malicious superiority; one finally grows like a snappy dog, that has -learnt to laugh as well as to bite.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">373.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arrogance</span>.—There is nothing one should so guard against as the growth -of the weed called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> arrogance, which spoils all one's good harvest; -for there is arrogance in cordiality, in showing honour, in kindly -familiarity, in caressing, in friendly counsel, in acknowledgment of -faults, in sympathy for others,—and all these fine things arouse -aversion when the weed in question grows up among them. The arrogant -man—that is to say, he who desires to appear more than he is <i>or -passes for</i>—always miscalculates. It is true that he obtains a -momentary success, inasmuch as those with whom he is' arrogant -generally give him the amount of honour that he demands, owing to fear -or for the sake of convenience; but they take a bad revenge for it, -inasmuch as they subtract from the value which they hitherto attached -to him just as much as he demands above that amount. There is nothing -for which men ask to be paid dearer than for humiliation. The arrogant -man can make his really great merit so suspicious and small in the eyes -of others that they tread on it with dusty feet. If at all, we should -only allow ourselves a <i>proud</i> manner where we are quite sure of not -being misunderstood and considered as arrogant; as, for instance, with -friends and wives. For in social intercourse there is no greater folly -than to acquire a reputation for arrogance; it is still worse than not -having learnt to deceive politely.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">374.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Tête-à-tête</span></i>—Private conversation is the perfect conversation, -because everything the one' person says receives its particular -colouring, its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> tone, and its accompanying gestures <i>out of strict -consideration for the other person</i> engaged in the conversation, it -therefore corresponds to what takes place in intercourse by letter, -viz., that one and the same person exhibits ten kinds of psychical -expression, according as he writes now to this individual and now to -that one. In duologue there is only a single refraction of thought; -the person conversed with produces it, as the mirror in whom we want -to behold our thoughts anew in their finest form. But how is it when -there are two or three, or even more persons conversing with one? -Conversation then necessarily loses something of its individualising -subtlety, different considerations thwart and neutralise each other; -the style which pleases one does not suit the taste of another. In -intercourse with several individuals a person is therefore to withdraw -within himself and represent facts as they are; but he has also to -remove from the subjects the pulsating ether of humanity which makes -conversation one of the pleasantest things in the world. Listen only -to the tone in which those who mingle with whole groups of men are in -the habit of speaking; it is as if the fundamental base of all speech -were, "It is <i>myself</i>; I say this, so make what you will of it!" That -is the reason why clever ladies usually leave a singular, painful, and -forbidding impression on those who have met them in society; it is -the talking to many people, before many people, that robs them of all -intellectual amiability and shows only their conscious dependence on -themselves, their tactics, and their intention of gaining a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> public -victory in full light; whilst in a private conversation the same ladies -become womanly again, and recover their intellectual grace and charm.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">375.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Posthumous Fame.</span>—There is sense in hoping for recognition in a distant -future only when we take it for granted that mankind will remain -essentially unchanged, and that whatever is great is not for one age -only but will be looked upon as great for all time. But this is an -error. In all their sentiments and judgments concerning what is good -and beautiful mankind have greatly changed; it is mere fantasy to -imagine one's self to be a mile ahead, and that the whole of mankind is -coming <i>our</i> way. Besides, a scholar who is misjudged may at present -reckon with certainty that his discovery will be made by others, and -that, at best, it will be allowed to him later on by some historian -that he also already knew this or that but was not in a position to -secure the recognition of his knowledge. Not to be recognised, is -always interpreted by posterity as lack of power. In short, one should -not so readily speak in favour of haughty solitude. There are, however, -exceptional cases; but it is chiefly our faults, weakness, and follies -that hinder the recognition of our great qualities.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">376.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of Friends.</span>—Just consider with thyself how different are the feelings, -how divided are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> opinions of even the nearest acquaintances; how -even the same opinions in thy friend's mind have quite a different -aspect and strength from what they have in thine own; and how manifold -are the occasions which arise for misunderstanding and hostile -severance. After all this thou wilt say to thyself, "How insecure -is the ground upon which all our alliances and friendships rest, -how liable to cold downpours and bad weather, how lonely is every -creature!" When a person recognises this fact, and, in addition, that -all opinions and the nature and strength of them in his fellow-men -are just as necessary and irresponsible as their actions; when his -eye learns to see this internal necessity of opinions, owing to the -indissoluble interweaving of character, occupation, talent, and -environment,—he will perhaps get rid of the bitterness and sharpness -of the feeling with which the sage exclaimed, "Friends, there are no -friends!" Much rather will he make the confession to himself:—Yes, -there are friends, but they were drawn towards thee by error and -deception concerning thy character; and they must have learnt to be -silent in order to remain thy friends; for such human relationships -almost always rest on the fact that some few things are never said, -are never, indeed, alluded to; but if these pebbles are set rolling -friendship follows afterwards and is broken. Are there any who would -not be mortally injured if they were to learn what their most intimate -friends really knew about them? By getting a knowledge of ourselves, -and by looking upon our nature as a changing sphere of opinions and -moods,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> and thereby learning to despise ourselves a little, we recover -once more our equilibrium with the rest of mankind. It is true that -we have good reason to despise each of our acquaintances, even the -greatest of them; but just as good reason to turn this feeling against -ourselves. And so we will bear with each other, since we bear with -ourselves; and perhaps there will come to each a happier hour, when he -will exclaim:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Friends, there are really no friends!" thus cried<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">th' expiring old sophist;</span><br /> -"Foes, there is really no foe!"—thus shout I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">the incarnate fool.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="SEVENTH_DIVISION" id="SEVENTH_DIVISION">SEVENTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>WIFE AND CHILD.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">377.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Perfect Woman.</span>—The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than -the perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of -animals furnishes grounds in support of this theory.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">378.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Friendship and Marriage.</span>—The best friend will probably get the best -wife, because a good marriage is based on talent for friendship.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">379.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Survival of the Parents.</span>—The undissolved dissonances in the -relation of the character and sentiments of the parents survive in the -nature of the child and make up the history of its inner sufferings.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">380.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Inherited from the Mother.</span>—Every one bears within him an image of -woman, inherited from his mother: it determines his attitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> towards -women as a whole, whether to honour, despise, or remain generally -indifferent to them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">381.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Correcting Nature.</span>—Whoever has not got a good father should procure -one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">382.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fathers and Sons.</span>—Fathers have much to do to make amends for having -sons.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">383.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Error of Gentlewomen.</span>—Gentle-women think that a thing does not -really exist when it is not possible to talk of it in society.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">384.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Male Disease.</span>—The surest remedy for the male disease of -self-contempt is to be loved by a sensible woman.</p> - - -<p>385.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Species of Jealousy.</span>—Mothers are readily jealous of the friends -of sons who are particularly successful. As a rule a mother loves -<i>herself</i> in her son more than the son.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">386.</p> - -<p>RATIONAL IRRATIONALITY.—In the maturity of life and intelligence the -feeling comes over a man that his father did wrong in begetting him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">387.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maternal Excellence.</span>—Some mothers need happy and honoured children, -some need unhappy ones,—otherwise they cannot exhibit their maternal -excellence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">388.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Different Sighs.</span>—Some husbands have sighed over the elopement of their -wives, the greater number, however, have sighed because nobody would -elope with theirs.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">389.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love Matches.</span>—Marriages which are contracted for love (so-called -love-matches) have error for their father and need (necessity) for -their mother.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">390.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Women's Friendships.</span>—Women can enter into friendship with a man -perfectly well; but in order to maintain it the aid of a little -physical antipathy is perhaps required.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">391.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ennui</span>.—Many people, especially women, never feel ennui because they -have never learnt to work properly.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">392.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Element of Love.</span>—In all feminine love something of maternal love -also comes to light.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">393.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unity of Place and Drama.</span>—If married couples did not live together, -happy marriages would be more frequent.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">394.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Usual Consequences of Marriage.</span>—All intercourse which does not -elevate a person, debases him, and <i>vice versa;</i> hence men usually -sink a little when they marry, while women are somewhat elevated. -Over-intellectual men require marriage in proportion as they are -opposed to it as to a repugnant medicine.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">395.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Learning to Command.</span>—Children of unpretentious families must be taught -to command, just as much as other children must be taught to obey.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">396.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wanting to Be in Love.</span>—Betrothed couples who have been matched by -convenience often exert themselves <i>to fall in love,</i> to avoid the -reproach of cold, calculating expediency. In the same manner those who -become converts to Christianity for their advantage exert themselves to -become genuinely pious; because the religious cast of countenance then -becomes easier to them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">397.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">No Standing Still in Love.</span>—A musician who <i>loves</i> the slow <i>tempo</i> -will play the same pieces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> ever more slowly. There is thus no standing -still in any love.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">398.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Modesty</span>.—Women's modesty usually increases with their beauty.<a name="FNanchor_1_15" id="FNanchor_1_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_15" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">399.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marriage on a Good Basis.</span>—A marriage in which each wishes to realise -an individual aim by means of the other will stand well; for instance, -when the woman wishes to become famous through the man and the man -beloved through the woman.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">400.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Proteus-nature.</span>—Through love women actually become what they appear to -be in the imagination of their lovers.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">401.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Love and to Possess.</span>—As a rule women love a distinguished man to -the extent that they wish to possess him exclusively. They would gladly -keep him under lock and key, if their vanity did not forbid, but vanity -demands that he should also appear distinguished before others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">402.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Test of a Good Marriage.</span>—The goodness of a marriage is proved by -the fact that it can stand an "exception."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">403.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bringing Anyone Round to Anything.</span>—One may make any person so weak and -weary by disquietude, anxiety, and excess of work or thought that he -no longer resists anything that appears complicated, but gives way to -it,—diplomatists and women know this.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">404.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Propriety and Honesty.</span>—Those girls who mean to trust exclusively to -their youthful charms for their provision in life, and whose cunning -is further prompted by worldly mothers, have just the same aims as -courtesans, only they are wiser and less honest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">405.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Masks.</span>—There are women who, wherever one examines them, have no -inside, but are mere masks. A man is to be pitied who has connection -with such almost spectre-like and necessarily unsatisfactory creatures, -but it is precisely such women who know how to excite a man's desire -most strongly; he seeks for their soul, and seeks evermore.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">406.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marriage As a Long Talk.</span>—In entering on a marriage one should ask -one's self the question, "Do you think you will pass your time well -with this woman till your old age?" All else in marriage is transitory; -talk, however, occupies most of the time of the association.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">407.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Girlish Dreams.</span>—Inexperienced girls flatter themselves with the notion -that it is in their power to make a man happy; later on they learn that -it is equivalent to underrating a man to suppose that he needs only a -girl to make him happy. Women's vanity requires a man to be something -more than merely a happy husband.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">408.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dying-out of Faust and Marguerite.</span>—According to the very -intelligent remark of a scholar, the educated men of modern Germany -resemble somewhat a mixture of Mephistopheles and Wagner, but are not -at all like Faust, whom our grandfathers (in their youth at least) -felt agitating within them. To them, therefore,—to continue the -remark,—Marguerites are not suited, for two reasons. And because the -latter are no longer desired they seem to be dying out.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">409.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Classical Education For Girls.</span>—For goodness' sake let us not give our -classical education to girls! An education which, out of ingenious, -inquisitive, ardent youths, so frequently makes—copies of their -teacher!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">410.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Without Rivals.</span>—Women readily perceive in a man whether his soul -has already been taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> possession of; they wish to be loved without -rivals, and find fault with the objects of his ambition, his -political tasks, his sciences and arts, if he have a passion for such -things. Unless he be distinguished thereby,—then, in the case of a -love-relationship between them, women look at the same time for an -increase of <i>their own</i> distinction; under such circumstances, they -favour the lover.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">411.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Feminine Intellect.</span>—The intellect of women manifests itself as -perfect mastery, presence of mind, and utilisation of all advantages. -They transmit it as a fundamental quality to their children, and the -father adds thereto the darker background of the will. His influence -determines as it were the rhythm and harmony with which the new life -is to be performed; but its melody is derived from the mother. For -those who know how to put a thing properly: women have intelligence, -men have character and passion. This does not contradict the fact -that men actually achieve so much more with their intelligence: they -have deeper and more powerful impulses; and it is these which carry -their understanding (in itself something passive) to such an extent. -Women are often silently surprised at the great respect men pay to -their character. When, therefore, in the choice of a partner men seek -specially for a being of deep and strong character, and women for a -being of intelligence, brilliancy, and presence of mind, it is plain -that at bottom men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> seek for the ideal man, and women for the ideal -woman,—consequently not for the complement but for the completion of -their own excellence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">412.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hesiod's Opinion Confirmed.</span>—It is a sign of women's wisdom that they -have almost always known how to get themselves supported, like drones -in a bee-hive. Let us just consider what this meant originally, and -why men do not depend upon women for their support. Of a truth it -is because masculine vanity and reverence are greater than feminine -wisdom; for women have known how to secure for themselves by their -subordination the greatest advantage, in fact, the upper hand. Even the -care of children may originally have been used by the wisdom of women -as an excuse for withdrawing themselves as much as possible from work. -And at present they still understand when they are really active (as -house-keepers, for instance) how to make a bewildering fuss about it, -so that the merit of their activity is usually ten times over-estimated -by men.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">413.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lovers As Short-sighted People.</span>—A pair of powerful spectacles has -sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love; and whoever has had -sufficient imagination to represent a face or form twenty years older, -has probably gone through life not much disturbed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">414.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Women in Hatred.</span>—In a state of hatred women are more dangerous -than men; for one thing, because they are hampered by no regard for -fairness when their hostile feelings have been aroused; but let their -hatred develop unchecked to its utmost consequences; then also, -because they are expert in finding sore spots (which every man and -every party possess), and pouncing upon them: for which purpose their -dagger-pointed intelligence is of good service (whilst men, hesitating -at the sight of wounds, are often generously and conciliatorily -inclined).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">415.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love</span>.—The love idolatry which women practise is fundamentally and -originally an intelligent device, inasmuch as they increase their -power by all the idealisings of love and exhibit themselves as so much -the more desirable in the eyes of men. But by being accustomed for -centuries to this exaggerated appreciation of love, it has come to pass -that they have been caught in their own net and have forgotten the -origin of the device. They themselves are now still more deceived than -the men, and on that account also suffer more from the disillusionment -which, almost necessarily, enters into the life of every woman—so far, -at any rate, as she has sufficient imagination and intelligence to be -able to be deceived and undeceived.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">416.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Emancipation of Women.</span>—Can women be at all just, when they are -so accustomed to love and to be immediately biased for or against? -For that reason they are also less interested in things and more in -individuals: but when they are interested in things they immediately -become their partisans, and thereby spoil their pure, innocent effect. -Thus there arises a danger, by no means small, in entrusting politics -and certain portions of science to them (history, for instance). For -what is rarer than a woman who really knows what science is? Indeed the -best of them cherish in their breasts a secret scorn for science, as if -they were somehow superior to it. Perhaps all this can be changed in -time; but meanwhile it is so.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">417.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Inspiration in Women's Judgments.</span>—The sudden decisions, for -or against, which women are in the habit of making, the flashing -illumination of personal relations caused by their spasmodic -inclinations and aversions,—in short, the proofs of feminine injustice -have been invested with a lustre by men who are in love, as if all -women had inspirations of wisdom, even without the Delphic cauldron and -the laurel wreaths; and their utterances are interpreted and duly set -forth as Sibylline oracles for long afterwards. When one considers, -however, that for every person and for every cause something can be -said in favour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> of it but equally also something against it, that -things are not only two-sided, but also three and four-sided, it is -almost difficult to be entirely at fault in such sudden decisions; -indeed, it might be said that the nature of things has been so arranged -that women should always carry their point.<a name="FNanchor_2_16" id="FNanchor_2_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_16" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">418.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Being Loved.</span>—As one of every two persons in love is usually the one -who loves, the other the one who is loved, the belief has arisen that -in every love-affair there is a constant amount of love; and that -the more of it the one person monopolises the less is left for the -other. Exceptionally it happens that the vanity of each of the parties -persuades him or her that it is <i>he</i> or <i>she</i> who must be loved; so -that both of them wish to be loved: from which cause many half funny, -half absurd scenes take place, especially in married life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">419.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contradictions in Feminine Minds</span>.—Owing to the fact that women are -so much more personal than objective, there are tendencies included -in the range of their ideas which are logically in contradiction to -one another; they are accustomed in turn to become enthusiastically -fond just of the representatives of these tendencies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> and accept their -systems in the lump; but in such wise that a dead place originates -wherever a new personality afterwards gets the ascendancy. It may -happen that the whole philosophy in the mind of an old lady consists of -nothing but such dead places.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">420.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Who Suffers the More?</span>—After a personal dissension and quarrel between -a woman and a man the latter party suffers chiefly from the idea of -having wounded the other, whilst the former suffers chiefly from the -idea of not having wounded the other sufficiently; so she subsequently -endeavours by tears, sobs, and discomposed mien, to make his heart -heavier.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">421.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Opportunity For Feminine Magnanimity.</span>—If we could disregard the -claims of custom in our thinking we might consider whether nature and -reason do not suggest several marriages for men, one after another: -perhaps that, at the age of twenty-two, he should first marry an -older girl who is mentally and morally his superior, and can be his -leader through all the dangers of the twenties (ambition, hatred, -self-contempt, and passions of all kinds). This woman's affection -would subsequently change entirely into maternal love, and she would -not only submit to it but would encourage the man in the most salutary -manner, if in his thirties he contracted an alliance with quite a young -girl whose education he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> himself should take in hand. Marriage is a -necessary institution for the twenties; a useful, but not necessary, -institution for the thirties; for later life it is often harmful, and -promotes the mental deterioration of the man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">422.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tragedy of Childhood.</span>—Perhaps it not infrequently happens -that noble men with lofty aims have to fight their hardest battle -in childhood; by having perchance to carry out their principles in -opposition to a base-minded father addicted to feigning and falsehood, -or living, like Lord Byron, in constant warfare with a childish and -passionate mother. He who has had such an experience will never be able -to forget all his life who has been his greatest and most dangerous -enemy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">423.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Parental Folly.</span>—The grossest mistakes in judging a man are made by -his parents,—this is a fact, but how is it to be explained? Have -the parents too much experience of the child and cannot any longer -arrange this experience into a unity? It has been noticed that it -is only in the earlier period of their sojourn in foreign countries -that travellers rightly grasp the general distinguishing features of -a people; the better they come to know it, they are the less able to -see what is typical and distinguishing in a people. As soon as they -grow short-sighted their eyes cease to be long-sighted. Do parents, -therefore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> judge their children falsely because they have never stood -far enough away from them? The following is quite another explanation: -people are no longer accustomed to reflect on what is close at hand and -surrounds them, but just accept it. Perhaps the usual thoughtlessness -of parents is the reason why they judge so wrongly when once they are -compelled to judge their children.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">424.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Future of Marriage.</span>—The noble and liberal-minded women who take as -their mission the education and elevation of the female sex, should not -overlook one point of view: Marriage regarded in its highest aspect, -as, the spiritual friendship of two persons of opposite sexes, and -accordingly such as is hoped for in future, contracted for the purpose -of producing and educating a new generation,—such marriage, which -only makes use of the sensual, so to speak, as a rare and occasional -means to a higher purpose, will, it is to be feared, probably need a -natural auxiliary, namely, <i>concubinage.</i> For if, on the grounds of -his health, the wife is also to serve for the sole satisfaction of the -man's sexual needs, a wrong perspective, opposed to the aims indicated, -will have most influence in the choice of a wife. The aims referred to: -the production of descendants, will be accidental, and their successful -education highly improbable. A good wife, who has to be friend, helper, -child-bearer, mother, family-head and manager, and has even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> perhaps -to conduct her own business and affairs separately from those of the -husband, cannot at the same time be a concubine; it would, in general, -be asking too much of her. In the future, therefore, a state of things -might take place the opposite of what existed at Athens in the time -of Pericles; the men, whose wives were then little more to them than -concubines, turned besides to the Aspasias, because they longed for the -charms of a companionship gratifying both to head and heart, such as -the grace and intellectual suppleness of women could alone provide. All -human institutions, just like marriage, allow only a moderate amount of -practical idealising, failing which coarse remedies immediately become -necessary.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">425.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The "Storm and Stress" Period of Women</span>.—In the three or four civilised -countries of Europe, it is possible, by several centuries of education, -to make out of women anything we like,—even men, not in a sexual -sense, of course, but in every other. Under such influences they will -acquire all the masculine virtues and forces, at the same time, of -course, they must also have taken all the masculine weaknesses and -vices into the bargain: so much, as has been said, we can I command. -But how shall we endure the intermediate state thereby induced, which -may even last two or three centuries, during which feminine follies -and injustices, woman's original birthday endowment, will still -maintain the ascendancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> over all that has been otherwise gained and -acquired? This will be the time when indignation will be the peculiar -masculine passion; indignation, because all arts and sciences have been -overflowed and choked by an unprecedented dilettanteism, philosophy -talked to death by brain-bewildering chatter, politics more fantastic -and partisan than ever, and society in complete disorganisation, -because the conservatrices of ancient customs have become ridiculous -to themselves, and have endeavoured in every way to place themselves -outside the pale of custom. If indeed women had their greatest power in -custom, where will they have to look in order to reacquire a similar -plenitude of power after having renounced custom?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">426.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Free-spirit and Marriage.</span>—Will free-thinkers live with women? In -general, I think that, like the prophesying birds of old, like the -truth-thinkers and truth-speakers of the present, they must prefer <i>to -fly alone.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">427.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Happiness of Marriage.</span>—Everything to which we are accustomed draws -an ever-tightening cobweb-net around us; and presently We notice that -the threads have become cords, and that we ourselves sit in the middle -like a spider that has here got itself caught and must feed on its own -blood. Hence the free spirit hates all rules and customs, all that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> -permanent and definitive, hence he painfully tears asunder again and -again the net around him, though in consequence thereof he will suffer -from numerous wounds, slight and severe; for he must break off every -thread <i>from himself,</i> from his body and soul. He must learn to love -where he has hitherto hated, and <i>vice versa.</i> Indeed, it must not be -a thing impossible for him to sow dragon's teeth in the same field in -which he formerly scattered the abundance of his bounty. From this it -can be inferred whether he is suited for the happiness of marriage.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">428.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Intimate.</span>—When we live on too intimate terms with a person it -is as if we were again and again handling a good engraving with our -fingers; the time comes when we have soiled and damaged paper in our -hands, and nothing more. A man's soul also gets worn out by constant -handling; at least, it eventually <i>appears</i> so to us—never again do we -see its original design and beauty. We always lose through too familiar -association with women and friends; and sometimes we lose the pearl of -our life thereby.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">429.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Cradle.</span>—The free spirit will always feel relieved when he -has finally resolved to shake off the motherly care and guardianship -with which women surround him. What harm will a rough wind, from which -he has been so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> anxiously protected, do him? Of what consequence is a -genuine disadvantage, loss, misfortune, sickness, illness, fault, or -folly more or less in his life, compared with the bondage of the golden -cradle, the peacock's-feather fan, and the oppressive feeling that he -must, in addition, be grateful because he is waited on and spoiled like -a baby? Hence it is that the milk which is offered him by the motherly -disposition of the women about him can so readily turn into gall.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">430.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Voluntary Victim.</span>—There is nothing by, which able women can -so alleviate the lives of their husbands, should these be great -and famous, as by becoming, so to speak, the receptacle for the -general disfavour and occasional ill-humour of the rest of mankind. -Contemporaries are usually accustomed to overlook many mistakes, -follies, and even flagrant injustices in their great men if only they -can find some one to maltreat and kill, as a proper victim for the -relief of their feelings. A wife not infrequently has the ambition to -present herself for this sacrifice, and then the husband may indeed -feel satisfied,—he being enough of an egoist to have such a voluntary -storm, rain, and lightning-conductor beside him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">431.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Agreeable Adversaries.</span>—The natural inclination, of women towards -quiet, regular, happily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> tuned existences and intercourse, the oil-like -and calming effect of their influence upon the sea of life, operates -unconsciously against the heroic inner impulse of the free spirit. -Without knowing it, women act as if they were taking away the stones -from the path of the wandering mineralogist in order that he might not -strike his foot against them—when he has gone out for the very purpose -of striking against them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">432.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Discord of Two Concords.</span>—Woman wants to serve, and finds her -happiness therein; the free spirit does not want to be served, and -therein finds his happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">433.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Xantippe</span>.—Socrates found a wife such as he required,—but he -would not have sought her had he known her sufficiently well; even -the heroism of his free spirit would not have gone so far. As a -matter of fact, Xantippe forced him more and more into his peculiar -profession, inasmuch as she made house and home doleful and dismal -to him; she taught him to live in the streets and wherever gossiping -and idling went on, and thereby made him the greatest Athenian -street-dialectician, who had, at last, to compare himself to a gad-fly -which a god had set on the neck of the beautiful horse Athens to -prevent it from resting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">434.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Blind to the Future</span>.—Just as mothers have senses and eye only for -those pains of their children that are evident to the senses and eye, -so the wives of men of high aspirations cannot accustom themselves to -see their husbands suffering, starving, or slighted,—although all this -is, perhaps, not only the proof that they have rightly chosen their -attitude in life, but even the guarantee that their great aims <i>must</i> -be achieved some time. Women always intrigue privately against the -higher souls of their husbands; they want to cheat them out of their -future for the sake of a painless and comfortable present.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">435.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Authority and Freedom.</span>—However highly women may honour their husbands, -they honour still more the powers and ideas recognised by society; they -have been accustomed for millennia to go along with their hands folded -on their breasts, and their heads bent before everything dominant, -disapproving of all resistance to public authority. They therefore -unintentionally, and as if from instinct, hang themselves as a drag -on the wheels of free-spirited, independent endeavour, and in certain -circumstances make their husbands highly impatient, especially when the -latter persuade themselves that it is really love which prompts the -action of their wives. To disapprove of women's methods and generously -to honour the motives that prompt them—that is man's nature and often -enough his despair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">436.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Ceterum Censeo.</span></i>—It is laughable when a company of paupers decree the -abolition of the right of inheritance, and it is not less laughable -when childless persons labour for the practical law-giving of a -country: they have not enough ballast in their ship to sail safely -over the ocean of the future. But it seems equally senseless if a man -who has chosen for his mission the widest knowledge and estimation of -universal existence, burdens himself with personal considerations for a -family, with the support, protection, and care of wife and child, and -in front of his telescope hangs that gloomy veil through which hardly a -ray from the distant firmament can penetrate. Thus I, too, agree with -the opinion that in matters of the highest philosophy all married men -are to be suspected.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">437.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Finally</span>.—There are many kinds of hemlock, and fate generally finds -an opportunity to put a cup of this poison to the lips of the free -spirit,—in order to "punish" him, as every one then says. What do the -women do about him then? They cry and lament, and perhaps disturb the -sunset-calm of the thinker, as they did in the prison at Athens. "Oh -Crito, bid some one take those women away!" said Socrates at last.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_15" id="Footnote_1_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_15"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The opposite of this aphorism also holds good.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_16" id="Footnote_2_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_16"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> It may be remarked that Nietzsche changed his view -on this subject later on, and ascribed more importance to woman's -intuition. Cf. also Disraeli's reference to the "High Priestesses of -predestination."—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="EIGHTH_DIVISION" id="EIGHTH_DIVISION">EIGHTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>A GLANCE AT THE STATE.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">438.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Asking to Be Heard.</span>—The demagogic disposition and the intention of -working upon the masses is at present common to all political parties; -on this account they are all obliged to change their principles into -great <i>al fresco</i> follies and thus make a show of them. In this matter -there is no further alteration to be made: indeed, it is superfluous -even to raise a finger against it; for here Voltaire's saying applies: -"<i>Quand la populace se mêle de raisonner, tout est perdu."</i> Since this -has happened we have to accommodate ourselves to the new conditions, -as we have to accommodate ourselves when an earthquake has displaced -the old boundaries and the contour of the land and altered the value -of property. Moreover, when it is once for all a question in the -politics of all parties to make life endurable to the greatest possible -majority, this majority may always decide what they understand by an -endurable life; if they believe their intellect capable of finding the -right means to this end why should we doubt about it? They <i>want,</i> -once for all, to be the architects of their own good or ill fortune; -and if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> their feeling of free choice and their pride in the five or -six ideas that their brain conceals and brings to light, really makes -life so agreeable to them that they gladly put up with the fatal -consequences of their narrow-mindedness, there is little to object to, -provided that their narrow-mindedness does not go so far as to demand -that <i>everything</i> shall become politics in this sense, that <i>all</i> shall -live and act according to this standard. For, in the first place, it -must be more than ever permissible for some people to keep aloof from -politics and to stand somewhat aside. To this they are also impelled -by the pleasure of free choice, and connected with this there may -even be some little pride in keeping silence when too many, and only -the many, are speaking. Then this small group must be excused if they -do not attach such great importance to the happiness of the majority -(nations or strata of population may be understood thereby), and are -occasionally guilty of an ironical grimace; for their seriousness lies -elsewhere, their conception of happiness is quite different, and their -aim cannot be encompassed by every clumsy hand that has just five -fingers. Finally, there comes from time to time—what is certainly -most difficult to concede to them, but must also be conceded—a moment -when they emerge from their silent solitariness and try once more the -strength of their lungs; they then call to each other like people lost -in a wood, to make themselves known and for mutual encouragement; -whereby, to be sure, much becomes audible that sounds evil to ears for -which it is not intended.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> Soon, however, silence again prevails in -the wood, such silence that the buzzing, humming, and fluttering of -the countless insects that live in, above, and beneath it, are again -plainly heard.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">439.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Culture and Caste.</span>—A higher culture can only originate where there are -two distinct castes of society: that of the working class, and that of -the leisured class who are capable of true leisure; or, more strongly -expressed, the caste of compulsory labour and the caste of free labour. -The point of view of the division of happiness is not essential when -it is a question of the production of a higher culture; in any case, -however, the leisured caste is more susceptible to suffering and -suffer more, their pleasure in existence is less and their task is -greater. Now supposing there should be quite an interchange between the -two castes, so that on the one hand the duller and less intelligent -families and individuals are lowered from the higher caste into the -lower, and, on the other hand, the freer men of the lower caste obtain -access to the higher, a condition of things would be attained beyond -which one can only perceive the open sea of vague wishes. Thus speaks -to us the vanishing voice of the olden time; but where are there still -ears to hear it?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">440.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of Good Blood.</span>—That which men and women of good blood possess much -more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> others, and which gives them an undoubted right to be -more highly appreciated, are two arts which are always increased by -inheritance: the art of being able to command, and the art of proud -obedience. Now wherever commanding is the business of the day (as in -the great world of commerce and industry), there results something -similar to these families of good blood, only the noble bearing in -obedience is lacking which is an inheritance from feudal conditions and -hardly grows any longer in the climate of our culture.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">441.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Subordination</span>.—The subordination which is so highly valued in military -and official ranks will soon become as incredible to us as the secret -tactics of the Jesuits have already become; and when this subordination -is no longer possible a multitude of astonishing results will no longer -be attained, and the world will be all the poorer. It must disappear, -for its foundation is disappearing, the belief in unconditional -authority, in ultimate truth; even in military ranks physical -compulsion is not sufficient to produce it, but only the inherited -adoration of the princely as of something superhuman. In <i>freer</i> -circumstances people subordinate themselves only on conditions, in -compliance with a mutual contract, consequently with all the provisos -of self-interest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">442.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The National Army</span>.—The greatest disadvantage of the national army, -now so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> glorified, lies in the squandering of men of the highest -civilisation; it is only by the favourableness of all circumstances -that there are such men at all; how carefully and anxiously should we -deal with them, since long periods are required to create the chance -conditions for the production of such delicately organised brains! But -as the Greeks wallowed in the blood of Greeks, so do Europeans now in -the blood of Europeans: and indeed, taken relatively, it is mostly the -highly cultivated who are sacrificed, those who promise an abundant -and excellent posterity; for such stand in the front of the battle as -commanders, and also expose themselves to most danger, by reason of -their higher ambition. At present, when quite other and higher tasks -are assigned than <i>patria</i> and <i>honor,</i> the rough Roman patriotism is -either something dishonourable or a sign of being behind the times.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">443.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hope As Presumption.</span>—Our social order will slowly melt away, as all -former orders have done, as soon as the suns of new opinions have shone -upon mankind with a new glow. We can only <i>wish</i> this melting away in -the hope thereof, and we are only reasonably entitled to hope when we -believe that we and our equals have more strength in heart and head -than the representatives of the existing state of things. As a rule, -therefore, this hope will be a presumption, an <i>over-estimation.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">444.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">War</span>.—Against war it may be said that it makes the victor stupid and -the vanquished revengeful. In favour of war it may be said that it -barbarises in both its above-named results, and thereby makes more -natural; it is the sleep or the winter period of culture; man emerges -from it with greater strength for good and for evil.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">445.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Prince's Service</span>.—To be able to act quite regardlessly it is -best for a statesman to carry out his work not for himself but for a -prince. The eye of the spectator is dazzled by the splendour of this -general disinterestedness, so that it does not see the malignancy and -severity which the work of a statesman brings with it.<a name="FNanchor_1_17" id="FNanchor_1_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_17" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">446.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Question of Power, Not of Right</span>.—As regards Socialism, in the eyes -of those who always consider higher utility, if it is <i>really</i> a -rising against their oppressors of those who for centuries have been -oppressed and downtrodden, there is no problem of <i>right</i> involved -(notwithstanding the ridiculous, effeminate question," How far -<i>ought</i> we to grant its demands?") but only a problem of <i>power</i>;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> -the same, therefore, as in the case of a natural force,—steam, for -instance,—which is either forced by man into his service, as a -machine-god, or which, in case of defects of the machine, that is to -say, defects of human calculation in its construction, destroys it and -man together. In order to solve this question of power we must know how -strong Socialism is, in what modification it may yet be employed as -a powerful lever in the present mechanism of political forces; under -certain circumstances we should do all we can to strengthen it. With -every great force—be it the most dangerous—men have to think how they -can make of it an instrument for their purposes. Socialism acquires a -<i>right</i> only if war seems to have taken place between the two powers, -the representatives of the old and the new, when, however, a wise -calculation of the greatest possible preservation and advantageousness -to both sides gives rise to a desire for a treaty. Without treaty no -right. So far, however, there is neither war nor treaty on the ground -in question, therefore no rights, no "ought."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">447.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Utilising the Most Trivial Dishonesty</span>.—The power of the press consists -in the fact that every individual who ministers to it only feels -himself bound and constrained to a very small extent. He usually -expresses <i>his</i> opinion, but sometimes also does <i>not</i> express it -in order to serve his party or the politics of his country, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> -even himself. Such little faults of dishonesty, or perhaps only of -a dishonest silence, are not hard to bear by the individual, but -the consequences are extraordinary, because these little faults are -committed by many at the same time. Each one says to himself: "For such -small concessions I live better and can make my income; by the want of -such little compliances I make myself impossible." Because it seems -almost morally indifferent to write a line more (perhaps even without -signature), or not to write it, a person who has money and influence -can make any opinion a public one. He who knows that most people are -weak in trifles, and wishes to attain his own ends thereby, is always -dangerous.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">448.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Loud a Tone in Grievances</span>.—Through the fact that an account of a -bad state of things (for instance, the crimes of an administration, -bribery and arbitrary favour in political or learned bodies) is greatly -exaggerated, it fails in its effect on intelligent people, but has -all the greater effect on the unintelligent (who would have remained -indifferent to an accurate and moderate account). But as these latter -are considerably in the majority, and harbour in themselves stronger -will-power and more impatient desire for action, the exaggeration -becomes the cause of investigations, punishments, promises, and -reorganisations. In so far it is useful to exaggerate the accounts of -bad states of things.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">449.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Apparent Weather</span>—<span class="smcap">Makers of Politics</span>.—Just as people tacitly -assume that he who understands the weather, and foretells it about a -day in advance, makes the weather, so even the educated and learned, -with a display of superstitious faith, ascribe to great statesmen as -their most special work all the important changes and conjunctures that -have taken place during their administration, when it is only evident -that they knew something thereof a little earlier than other people and -made their calculations accordingly,—thus they are also looked upon as -weather-makers—and this belief is not the least important instrument -of their power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">450.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">New and Old Conceptions of Government</span>.—To draw such a distinction -between Government and people as if two separate spheres of power, -a stronger and higher, and a weaker and lower, negotiated and came -to terms with each other, is a remnant of transmitted political -sentiment, which still accurately represents the historic establishment -of the conditions of power in <i>most</i> States. When Bismarck, for -instance, describes the constitutional system as a compromise between -Government and people, he speaks in accordance with a principle which -has its reason in history (from whence, to be sure, it also derives -its admixture of folly, without which nothing human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> can exist). On -the other hand, we must now learn—in accordance with a principle -which has originated only in the <i>brain</i> and has still to <i>make</i> -history—that Government is nothing but an organ of the people,—not -an attentive, honourable "higher" in relation to a "lower" accustomed -to modesty. Before we accept this hitherto unhistorical and arbitrary, -although logical, formulation of the conception of Government, let us -but consider its consequences, for the relation between people and -Government is the strongest typical relation, after the pattern of -which the relationship between teacher and pupil, master and servants, -father and family, leader and soldier, master and apprentice, is -unconsciously formed. At present, under the influence of the prevailing -constitutional system of government, all these relationships are -changing a little,—they are becoming compromises. But how they will -have to be reversed and shifted, and change name and nature, when that -newest of all conceptions has got the upper hand everywhere in people's -minds!—to achieve which, however, a century may yet be required. In -this matter there is nothing <i>further</i> to be wished for except caution -and slow development.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">451.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Justice As the Decoy-cry of Parties</span>.—Well may noble (if not exactly -very intelligent) representatives of the governing classes asseverate: -"We will treat men equally and grant them equal rights"; so far a -socialistic mode of thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> which is based on <i>justice</i> is possible; -but, as has been said, only within the ranks of the governing class, -which in this case <i>practises</i> justice with sacrifices and abnegations. -On the other hand, to <i>demand</i> equality of rights, as do the Socialists -of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of -covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and -withdraw them again, until it finally begins to roar, do you think that -roaring implies justice?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">452.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Possession and Justice.</span>—When the Socialists point out that the -division of property at the present day is the consequence of countless -deeds of injustice and violence, and, <i>in summa,</i> repudiate obligation -to anything with so unrighteous a basis, they only perceive something -isolated. The entire past of ancient civilisation is built up on -violence, slavery, deception, and error; we, however, cannot annul -ourselves, the heirs of all these conditions, nay, the concrescences -of all this past, and are not entitled to demand the withdrawal of a -single fragment thereof. The unjust disposition lurks also in the souls -of non-possessors; they are not better than the possessors and have no -moral prerogative; for at one time or another their ancestors have been -possessors. Not forcible new distributions, but gradual transformations -of opinion are necessary; justice in all matters must become greater, -the instinct of violence weaker.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">453.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Helmsman of the Passions.</span>—The statesman excites public passions in -order to have the advantage of the counter-passions thereby aroused. To -give an example: a German statesman knows quite well that the Catholic -Church will never have the same plans as Russia; indeed, that it would -far rather be allied with the Turk than with the former country; he -likewise knows that Germany is threatened with great danger from an -alliance between France and Russia. If he can succeed, therefore, in -making France the focus and fortress of the Catholic Church, he has -averted this danger for a lengthy period. He has, accordingly, an -interest in showing hatred against the Catholics in transforming, by -all kinds of hostility, the supporters of the Pope's authority into an -impassioned political power which is opposed to German politics, and -must, as a matter of course, coalesce with France as the adversary of -Germany; his aim is the catholicising of France, just as necessarily -as Mirabeau saw the salvation of his native land in de-catholicising -it. The one State, therefore, desires to muddle millions of minds -of another State in order to gain advantage thereby. It is the same -disposition which supports the republican form of government of a -neighbouring State—<i>le désordre organisé,</i> as Mérimée says—for the -sole reason that it assumes that this form of government makes the -nation weaker, more distracted, less fit for war.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">454.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dangerous Revolutionary Spirits</span>.—Those who are bent on -revolutionising society may be divided into those who seek something -for themselves thereby and those who seek something for their children -and grandchildren. The latter are the more dangerous, for they have the -belief and the good conscience of disinterestedness. The others can be -appeased by favours: those in power are still sufficiently rich and -wise to adopt that expedient. The danger begins as soon as the aims -become impersonal; revolutionists seeking impersonal interests may -consider all defenders of the present state of things as personally -interested, and may therefore feel themselves superior to their -opponents.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">455.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Political Value of Paternity.</span>—When a man has no sons he has not a -full right to join in a discussion concerning the needs of a particular -community. A person must himself have staked his dearest object along -with the others: that alone binds him fast to the State; he must have -in view the well-being of his descendants, and must, therefore, above -all, have descendants in order to take a right and natural share in -all institutions and the changes thereof. The development of higher -morality depends on a person's having sons; it disposes him to be -un-egoistic, or, more correctly, it extends his egoism in its duration -and permits him earnestly to strive after goals which lie beyond his -individual lifetime.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">456.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pride of Descent</span>.—A man may be justly proud of an unbroken line of -<i>good</i> ancestors down to his father,—not however of the line itself, -for every one has that. Descent from good ancestors constitutes the -real nobility of birth; a single break in the chain, one bad ancestor, -therefore, destroys the nobility of birth. Every one who talks about -his nobility should be asked: "Have you no violent, avaricious, -dissolute, wicked, cruel man amongst your ancestors?" If with good -cognisance and conscience he can answer No, then let his friendship be -sought.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">457.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Slaves and Labourers</span>.—The fact that we regard the gratification of -vanity as of more account than all other forms of well-being (security, -position, and pleasures of all sorts), is shown to a ludicrous -extent by every one wishing for the abolition of slavery and utterly -abhorring to put any one into this position (apart altogether from -political reasons), while every one must acknowledge to himself that -in all respects slaves live more securely and more happily than modern -labourers, and that slave labour is very easy labour compared with that -of the "labourer." We protest in the name of the "dignity of man"; but, -expressed more simply, that is just our darling vanity which feels -non-equality, and inferiority in public estimation, to be the hardest -lot of all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> The cynic thinks differently concerning the matter, -because he despises honour:—and so Diogenes was for some time a slave -and tutor.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">458.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Leading Minds and Their Instruments</span>.—We see that great statesmen, and -in general all who have to employ many people to carry out their plans, -sometimes proceed one way and sometimes another; they either choose -with great skill and care the people suitable for their plans, and then -leave them a comparatively large amount of liberty, because they know -that the nature of the persons selected impels them precisely to the -point where they themselves would have them go; or else they choose -badly, in fact take whatever comes to hand, but out of every piece of -clay they form something useful for their purpose. These latter minds -are the more high-handed; they also desire more submissive instruments; -their knowledge of mankind is usually much smaller, their contempt of -mankind greater than in the case of the first mentioned class, but the -machines they construct generally work better than the machines from -the workshops of the former.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">459.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arbitrary Law Necessary</span>.—Jurists dispute whether the most perfectly -thought-out law or that which is most easily understood should prevail -in a nation. The former, the best model of which is Roman Law, seems -incomprehensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> to the layman, and is therefore not the expression of -his sense of justice. Popular laws, the Germanic, for instance, have -been rude, superstitious, illogical, and in part idiotic, but they -represented very definite, inherited national morals and sentiments. -But where, as with us, law i no longer custom, it can only <i>command</i> -and be compulsion; none of us any longer possesses a traditional sense -of justice; we must therefore content ourselves with <i>arbitrary laws,</i> -which are the expressions of the necessity that there <i>must be</i> law. -The most logical is then in any case the most acceptable, because it -is the most <i>impartial,</i> granting even that in every case the smallest -unit of measure in the relation of crime and punishment is arbitrarily -fixed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">460.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Great Man of the Masses</span>.—The recipe for what the masses call a -great man is easily given. In all circumstances let a person provide -them with something very pleasant, or first let him put it into their -heads that this or that would be very pleasant, and then let him give -it to them. On no account give it <i>immediately,</i> however: but let -him acquire it by the greatest exertions, or seem thus to acquire -it. The masses must have the impression that there is a powerful, -nay indomitable strength of will operating; at least it must seem to -be there operating. Everybody admires a strong will, because nobody -possesses it, and everybody says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> to himself that if he did possess -it there would no longer be any bounds for him and his egoism. If, -then, it becomes evident that such a strong will effects something -very agreeable to the masses, instead of hearkening to the wishes -of covetousness, people admire once more, and wish good luck to -themselves. Moreover, if he has all the qualities of the masses, they -are the less ashamed before him, and he is all the more popular. -Consequently, he may be violent, envious, rapacious, intriguing, -flattering, fawning, inflated, and, according to circumstances, -anything whatsoever.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">461.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Prince and God</span>.—People frequently commune with their princes in the -same way as with their God, as indeed the prince himself was frequently -the Deity's representative, or at least His high priest. This almost -uncanny disposition of veneration, disquiet, and shame, grew, and has -grown, much weaker, but occasionally it flares up again, and fastens -upon powerful persons generally. The cult of genius is an echo of this -veneration of Gods and Princes. Wherever an effort is made to exalt -particular men to the superhuman, there is also a tendency to regard -whole grades of the population as coarser and baser than they really -are.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">462.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Utopia</span>.—In a better arranged society the heavy work and trouble -of life will be assigned to those who suffer least through it, to the -most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> obtuse, therefore; and so step by step up to those who are most -sensitive to the highest and sublimest kinds of suffering, and who -therefore still suffer notwithstanding the greatest alleviations of -life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">463.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Delusion in Subversive Doctrines</span>.—There are political and social -dreamers who ardently and eloquently call for the overthrow of all -order, in the belief that the proudest fane of beautiful humanity -will then rear itself immediately, almost of its own accord. In these -dangerous dreams there is still an echo of Rousseau's superstition, -which believes in a marvellous primordial goodness of human nature, -buried up, as it were; and lays all the blame of that burying-up on -the institutions of civilisation, on society, State, and education. -Unfortunately, it is well known by historical experiences that -every such overthrow reawakens into new life the wildest energies, -the long-buried horrors and extravagances of remotest ages; that -an overthrow, therefore, may possibly be a source of strength to a -deteriorated humanity, but never a regulator, architect, artist, -or perfecter of human nature. It was not <i>Voltaire's</i> moderate -nature, inclined towards regulating, purifying, and reconstructing, -but <i>Rousseau's</i> passionate follies and half-lies that aroused the -optimistic spirit of the Revolution, against which I cry, "<i>Écrasez -l'infâme!</i>" Owing to this <i>the Spirit of enlightenment and progressive -development</i> has been long scared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> away; let us see—each of us -individually—if it is not possible to recall it!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">464.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Moderation</span>.—When perfect resoluteness in thinking and investigating, -that is to say, freedom of spirit, has become a feature of character, -it produces moderation of conduct; for it weakens avidity, attracts -much extant energy for the furtherance of intellectual aims, and shows -the semi-usefulness, or uselessness and danger, of all sudden changes.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">465.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Resurrection of the Spirit.</span>—A nation usually renews its youth on -a political sick-bed, and there finds again the spirit which it had -gradually lost in seeking and maintaining power. Culture is indebted -most of all to politically weakened periods.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">466.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">New Opinions in the Old Home.</span>—The overthrow of opinions is not -immediately followed by the overthrow of institutions; on the contrary, -the new opinions dwell for a long time in the desolate and haunted -house of their predecessors, and conserve it even for want of a -habitation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">467.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Public Education.</span>—In large States public education will always be -extremely mediocre, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> the same reason that in large kitchens the -cooking is at best only mediocre.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">468.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Innocent Corruption.</span>—In all institutions into which the sharp breeze -of public criticism does not penetrate an innocent corruption grows up -like a fungus (for instance, in learned bodies and senates).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">469.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Scholars As Politicians.</span>—To scholars who become politicians the comic -role is usually assigned; they have to be the good conscience of a -state policy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">470.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Wolf Hidden Behind the Sheep.</span>—Almost every politician, in certain -circumstances, has such need of an honest man that he breaks into the -sheep-fold like a famished wolf; not, however, to devour a stolen -sheep, but to hide himself behind its woolly back.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">471.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Happy Times.</span>—A happy age is no longer possible, because men only wish -for it but do not desire to have it; and each individual, when good -days come for him, learns positively to pray for disquiet and misery. -The destiny of mankind is arranged for <i>happy moments</i>—every life has -such—but not for happy times. Nevertheless, such times will continue -to exist in man's imagination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> as "over the hills and far away," an -heirloom of his earliest ancestors; for the idea of the happy age, from -the earliest times to the present, has no doubt been derived from the -state in which man, after violent exertions in hunting and warfare, -gives himself over to repose, stretches out his limbs, and hears the -wings of sleep rustle around him. It is a false conclusion when, in -accordance with that old habit, man imagines that after <i>whole periods</i> -of distress and trouble he will be able also to enjoy the state of -happiness in <i>proportionate increase and duration.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">472.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Religion and Government.</span>—So long as the State, or, more properly, the -Government, regards itself as the appointed guardian of a number of -minors, and on their account considers the question whether religion -should be preserved or abolished, it is highly probable that it will -always decide for the preservation thereof. For religion satisfies -the nature of the individual in times of loss, destitution, terror, -and distrust, in cases, therefore, where the Government feels -itself incapable of doing anything directly for the mitigation of -the spiritual sufferings of the individual; indeed, even in general -unavoidable and next to inevitable evils (famines, financial crises, -and wars) religion gives to the masses an attitude of tranquillity and -confiding expectancy. Whenever the necessary or accidental deficiencies -of the State Government, or the dangerous consequences<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> of dynastic -interests, strike the eyes of the intelligent and make them refractory, -the unintelligent will only think they see the finger of God therein -and will submit with patience to the dispensations from <i>on high</i> -(a conception in which divine and human modes of government usually -coalesce); thus internal civil peace and continuity of development -will be preserved. The power, which lies in the unity of popular -feeling, in the existence of the same opinions and aims for all, is -protected and confirmed by religion,—the rare cases excepted in -which a priesthood cannot agree with the State about the price, and -therefore comes into conflict with it. As a rule the State will know -how to win over the priests, because it needs their most private and -secret system for educating souls, and knows how to value servants who -apparently, and outwardly, represent quite other interests. Even at -present no power can become "legitimate" without the assistance of the -priests; a fact which Napoleon understood. Thus, absolutely paternal -government and the careful preservation of religion necessarily go -hand-in-hand. In this connection it must be taken for granted that -the rulers and governing classes are enlightened concerning the -advantages which religion affords, and consequently feel themselves -to a certain extent superior to it, inasmuch as they use it as a -means; thus freedom of spirit has its origin here. But how will it be -when the totally different interpretation of the idea of Government, -such as is taught in <i>democratic</i> States, begins to prevail? When -one sees in it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> nothing but the instrument of the popular will, no -"upper" in contrast to an "under," but merely a function of the sole -sovereign, the people? Here also only the same attitude which the -people assume towards religion can be assumed by the Government; -every diffusion of enlightenment will have to find an echo even in -the representatives, and the utilising and exploiting of religious -impulses and consolations for State purposes will not be so easy -(unless powerful party leaders occasionally exercise an influence -resembling that of enlightened despotism). When, however, the State -is not permitted to derive any further advantage from religion, or -when people think far too variously on religious matters to allow the -State to adopt a consistent and uniform procedure with respect to them, -the way out of the difficulty will necessarily present itself, namely -to treat religion as a private affair and leave it to the conscience -and custom of each single individual. The first result of all is that -religious feeling seems to be strengthened, inasmuch as hidden and -suppressed impulses thereof, which the State had unintentionally or -intentionally stifled, now break forth and rush to extremes; later -on, however, it is found that religion is over-grown with sects, and -that an abundance of dragon's teeth were sown as soon as religion was -made a private affair. The spectacle of strife, and the hostile laying -bare of all the weaknesses of religious confessions, admit finally of -no other expedient except that every better and more talented person -should make irreligiousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> his private affair, a sentiment which now -obtains the upper hand even in the minds of the governing classes, -and, almost against their will, gives an anti-religious character to -their measures. As soon as this happens, the sentiment of persons -still religiously disposed, who formerly adored the State as something -half sacred or wholly sacred, changes into decided <i>hostility to the -State;</i> they lie in wait for governmental measures, seeking to hinder, -thwart, and disturb as much as they can, and, by the fury of their -contradiction, drive the opposing parties, the irreligious ones, into -an almost fanatical enthusiasm <i>for</i> the State; in connection with -which there is also the silently co-operating influence, that since -their separation from religion the hearts of persons in these circles -are conscious of a void, and seek by devotion to the State to provide -themselves provisionally with a substitute for religion, a kind of -stuffing for the void. After these perhaps lengthy transitional -struggles, it is finally decided whether the religious parties are -still strong enough to revive an old condition of things, and turn the -wheel backwards: in which case enlightened despotism (perhaps less -enlightened and more timorous than formerly), inevitably gets the -State into its hands,—or whether the non-religious parties achieve -their purpose, and, possibly through schools and education, check the -increase of their opponents during several generations, and finally -make them no longer possible. Then, however, their enthusiasm for the -State also abates: it always becomes more obvious that along with -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> religious adoration which regards the State as a mystery and a -supernatural institution, the reverent and pious relation to it has -also been convulsed. Henceforth individuals see only that side of the -State which may be useful or injurious to them, and press forward by -all means to obtain an influence over it. But this rivalry soon becomes -too great; men and parties change too rapidly, and throw each other -down again too furiously from the mountain when they have only just -succeeded in getting aloft. All the measures which such a Government -carries out lack the guarantee of permanence; people then fight shy of -undertakings which would require the silent growth of future decades -or centuries to produce ripe fruit. Nobody henceforth feels any other -obligation to a law than to submit for the moment to the power which -introduced the law; people immediately set to work, however, to -undermine it by a new power, a newly-formed majority. Finally—it may -be confidently asserted—the distrust of all government, the insight -into the useless and harassing nature of these short-winded struggles, -must drive men to an entirely new resolution: to the abrogation of -the conception of the State and the abolition of the contrast of -"private and public." Private concerns gradually absorb the business -of the State; even the toughest residue which is left over from the -old work of governing (the business, for instance, which is meant to -protect private persons from private persons) will at last some day -be managed by private enterprise. The neglect, decline, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> <i>death -of the State,</i> the liberation of the private person (I am careful -not to say the individual), are the consequences of the democratic -conception of the State; that is its mission. When it has accomplished -its task,—which, like everything human, involves much rationality -and irrationality,—and when all relapses into the old malady have -been overcome, then a new leaf in the story-book of humanity will be -unrolled, on which readers will find all kinds of strange tales and -perhaps also some amount of good. To repeat shortly what has been -said: the interests of the tutelary Government and the interests of -religion go hand-in-hand, so that when the latter begins to decay -the foundations of the State are also shaken. The belief in a divine -regulation of political affairs, in a mystery in the existence of -the State, is of religious origin: if religion disappears, the State -will inevitably lose its old veil of Isis, and will no longer arouse -veneration. The sovereignty of the people, looked at closely, serves -also to dispel the final fascination and superstition in the realm -of these sentiments; modern democracy is the historical form of the -<i>decay of the State.</i> The outlook which results from this certain -decay is not, however, unfortunate in every respect; the wisdom and -the selfishness of men are the best developed of all their qualities; -when the State no longer meets the demands of these impulses, chaos -will least of all result, but a still more appropriate expedient than -the State will get the mastery over the State. How man organising forces -have already been seen to die<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>< out! For example, that of the <i>gens</i> -or clan which for millennia was far mightier than the power of the -family, and indeed already ruled and regulated long before the latter -existed. We ourselves see the important notions of the right and might -of the family, which once possessed the supremacy as far as the Roman -system extended, always becoming paler and feebler. In the same way a -later generation will also see the State become meaningless in certain -parts of the world,—an idea which many contemporaries can hardly -contemplate without alarm and horror. To <i>labour</i> for the propagation -and realisation of this idea is, certainly, another thing; one must -think very presumptuously of one's reason, and only half understand -history, to set one's hand to the plough at present—when as yet no -one can show us the seeds that are afterwards to be sown upon the -broken soil. Let us, therefore, trust to the "wisdom and selfishness -of men" that the State may <i>yet</i> exist a good while longer, and that -the destructive attempts of over-zealous, too hasty sciolists may be in -vain!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">473.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Socialism, With Regard to Its Means.</span>—Socialism is the fantastic -younger brother of almost decrepit despotism, which it wants to -succeed; its efforts are, therefore, in the deepest sense reactionary. -For it desires such an amount of State power as only despotism has -possessed,—indeed, it outdoes all the past, in that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> aims at the -complete annihilation of the individual, whom it deems an unauthorised -luxury of nature, which is to be improved by it into an appropriate -<i>organ of the general community.</i> Owing to its relationship, it always -appears in proximity to excessive developments of power, like the -old typical socialist, Plato, at the court of the Sicilian tyrant; -it desires (and under certain circumstances furthers) the Cæsarian -despotism of this century, because, as has been said, it would like to -become its heir. But even this inheritance would not suffice for its -objects, it requires the most submissive prostration of all citizens -before the absolute State, such as has never yet been realised; and -as it can no longer even count upon the old religious piety towards -the State, but must rather strive involuntarily and continuously for -the abolition thereof,—because it strives for the abolition of all -existing <i>States,</i>—it can only hope for existence occasionally, here -and there for short periods, by means of the extremest terrorism. It is -therefore silently preparing itself for reigns of terror, and drives -the word "justice" like a nail into the heads of the half-cultured -masses in order to deprive them completely of their understanding -(after they had already suffered seriously from the half-culture), and -to provide them with a good conscience for the bad game they are to -play. Socialism may serve to teach, very brutally and impressively, the -danger of all accumulations of State power, and may serve so far to -inspire distrust of the State itself. When its rough voice strikes up -the way-cry "<i>as much State as possible</i>,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> the shout at first becomes -louder than ever,—but soon the opposition cry also breaks forth, with -so much greater force: "<i>as little State as possible.</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">474.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Development of the Mind Feared by the State.</span>—The Greek <i>polis</i> -was, like every organising political power, exclusive and distrustful -of the growth of culture; its powerful fundamental impulse seemed -almost solely to have a paralysing and obstructive effect thereon. -It did not want to let any history or any becoming have a place in -culture; the education laid down in the State laws was meant to -be obligatory on all generations to keep them at <i>one</i> stage of -development. Plato also, later on, did not desire it to be otherwise -in his ideal State. <i>In spite of</i> the polis culture developed itself -in this manner; indirectly to be sure, and against its will, the polis -furnished assistance because the ambition of individuals therein was -stimulated to the utmost, so that, having once found the path of -intellectual development, they followed it to its farthest extremity. -On the other hand, appeal should not be made to the panegyric of -Pericles, for it is only a great optimistic dream about the alleged -necessary connection between the Polis and Athenian culture; -immediately before the night fell over Athens the plague and the -breakdown of tradition, Thucydides makes this culture flash up once -more like of the evil day that had preceded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">475.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">European Man and the Destruction of Nationalities.</span>—Commerce and -industry, interchange of books and letters, the universality of -all higher culture, the rapid changing of locality and landscape, -and the present nomadic life of all who are not landowners,—these -circumstances necessarily bring with them a weakening, and finally -a destruction of nationalities, at least of European nationalities; -so that, in consequence of perpetual crossings, there must arise -out of them all a mixed race, that of the European man. At present -the isolation of nations, through the rise of <i>national</i> enmities, -consciously or unconsciously counteracts this tendency; but -nevertheless the process of fusing advances slowly, in spite of those -occasional counter-currents. This artificial nationalism is, however, -as dangerous as was artificial Catholicism, for it is essentially -an un natural condition of extremity and martial la which has been -proclaimed by the few over the many, and requires artifice, lying, -and force maintain its reputation. It is not the interests the many -(of the peoples), as they probably say, but it is first of all the -interests of certain princely dynasties, and then of certain commercial -and social classes, which impel to this nationalism; once we have -recognised this fact, we should just fearlessly style ourselves <i>good -Europeans</i> and labour actively for the amalgamation of nations; in -which efforts Germans may assist by virtue of their hereditary position -as <i>interpreters and intermediaries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> between nations.</i> By the way, the -great problem of the <i>Jews</i> only exists within the national States, -inasmuch as their energy and higher intelligence, their intellectual -and volitional capital, accumulated from generation to generation in -tedious schools of suffering, must necessarily attain to universal -supremacy here to an extent provocative of envy and hatred; so that -the literary misconduct is becoming prevalent in almost all modern -nations —and all the more so as they again set up to be national—of -sacrificing the Jews as the scape-goats of all possible public -and private abuses. So soon as it is no longer a question of the -preservation or establishment of nations, but of the production and -training of a European mixed-race of the greatest possible strength, -the Jew is just as useful and desirable an ingredient as any other -national remnant. Every nation, every individual, has unpleasant and -even dangerous qualities,—it is cruel to require that the Jew should -be an exception. Those qualities may even be dangerous and frightful -in a special degree in his case; and perhaps the young Stock-Exchange -Jew is in general the most repulsive invention of the human species. -Nevertheless, in a general summing up, I should like to know how much -must be excused in a nation which, not without blame on the part of -all of us, has had the most mournful history of all nations, and to -which we owe the most loving of men (Christ), the most upright of sages -(Spinoza), the mightiest book, and the most effective moral law in the -world? Moreover, in the darkest times of the Middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> Ages, when Asiatic -clouds had gathered darkly over Europe, it was Jewish free-thinkers, -scholars, and physicians who upheld the banner of enlightenment and of -intellectual independence under the severest personal sufferings, and -defended Europe against Asia; we owe it not least to their efforts that -a more natural, more reasonable, at all events un-mythical, explanation -of the world was finally able to get the upper hand once more, and -that the link of culture which now unites us with the enlightenment -of Greco-Roman antiquity has remained unbroken. If Christianity has -done everything to orientalise the Occident, Judaism has assisted -essentially in occidentalising it anew; which, in a certain sense, is -equivalent to making Europe's mission and history a <i>continuation of -that of Greece</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">476.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Apparent Superiority of the Middle Ages.</span>—The Middle Ages present in -the Church an institution with an absolutely universal aim, involving -the whole of humanity,—an aim, moreover, which—presumedly—concerned -man's highest interests; in comparison therewith the aims of the States -and nations which modern history exhibits make a painful impression; -they seem petty, base, material, and restricted in extent. But this -different impression on our imagination should certainly not determine -our judgment; for that universal institution corresponded to feigned -and fictitiously fostered needs, such as the need of salvation, which, -wherever they did not already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> exist, it had first of all to create: -the, new institutions, however, relieve actual distresses; and the -time is coming when institutions will arise to minister to the common, -genuine needs of all men, and to cast that fantastic prototype, the -Catholic Church, into shade and oblivion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">477.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">War Indispensable.</span>—It is nothing but fanaticism and beautiful soulism -to expect very much (or even, much only) from humanity when it has -forgotten how to wage war. For the present we know of no other means -whereby the rough energy of the camp, the deep impersonal hatred, the -cold-bloodedness of murder with a good conscience, the general ardour -of the system in the destruction of the enemy, the proud indifference -to great losses, to one's own existence and that of one's friends, the -hollow, earthquake-like convulsion of the soul, can be as forcibly -and certainly communicated to enervated nations as is done by every -great war: owing to the brooks and streams that here break forth, -which, certainly, sweep stones and rubbish of all sorts along with -them and destroy the meadows of delicate cultures, the mechanism in -the workshops of the mind is afterwards, in favourable circumstances, -rotated by new power. Culture can by no means dispense with passions, -vices, and malignities. When the Romans, after having become Imperial, -had grown rather tired of war, they attempted to gain new strength -by beast-baitings, gladiatoral combats,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> and Christian persecutions. -The English of to-day, who appear on the whole to have also renounced -war, adopt other means in order to generate anew those vanishing -forces; namely, the dangerous exploring expeditions, sea voyages and -mountaineerings, nominally undertaken for scientific purposes, but in -reality to bring home surplus strength from adventures and dangers of -all kinds. Many other such substitutes for war will be discovered, but -perhaps precisely thereby it will become more and more obvious that -such a highly cultivated and therefore necessarily enfeebled humanity -as that of modern Europe not only needs wars, but the greatest and most -terrible wars,—consequently occasional relapses into barbarism,—lest, -by the means of culture, it should lose its culture and its very -existence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">478.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Industry in the South and the North.</span>—Industry arises in two entirely -different ways. The artisans of the South are not industrious because -of acquisitiveness but because of the constant needs of others. The -smith is industrious because some one is always coming who wants a -horse shod or a carriage mended. If nobody came he would loiter about -in the market-place. In a fruitful land he has little trouble in -supporting himself, for that purpose he requires only a very small -amount of work, certainly no industry; eventually he would beg and -be contented. The industry of English<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> workmen, on the contrary, has -acquisitiveness behind it; it is conscious of itself and its aims; with -property it wants power, and with power the greatest possible liberty -and individual distinction.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">479.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wealth As the Origin of a Nobility of Race</span>.—Wealth necessarily -creates an aristocracy of race, for it permits the choice of the most -beautiful women and the engagement of the best teachers; it allows a -man cleanliness, time for physical exercises, and, above all, immunity -from dulling physical labour. So far it provides all the conditions -for making man, after a few generations, move and even act nobly and -handsomely: greater freedom of character and absence of niggardliness, -of wretchedly petty matters, and of abasement before bread-givers. It -is precisely these negative qualities which are the most profitable -birthday gift, that of happiness, for the young man; a person who is -quite poor usually comes to grief through nobility of disposition, -he does not get on, and acquires nothing, his race is not capable -of living. In this connection, however, it must be remembered that -wealth produces almost the same effects whether one have three hundred -or thirty thousand thalers a year; there is no further essential -progression of the favourable conditions afterwards. But to have less, -to beg in boyhood and to abase one's self is terrible, although it may -be the proper starting-point for such as seek their happiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> in the -splendour of courts, in subordination to the mighty, and influential, -or for such as wish to be heads of the Church. (It teaches how to slink -crouching into the underground passages to favour.)</p> - - -<p class="parnum">480.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Envy and Inertia in Different Courses.</span>—The two opposing parties, -the socialist and the national,—or whatever they may be called in -the different countries of Europe,—are worthy of each other; envy -and laziness are the motive powers in each of them. In the one camp -they desire to work as little as possible with their hands, in the -other as little as possible with their heads; in the latter they hate -and envy prominent, self-evolving individuals, who do not willingly -allow themselves to be drawn up in rank and file for the purpose of -a collective effect; in the former they hate and envy the better -social caste, which is more favourably circumstanced outwardly, whose -peculiar mission, the production of the highest blessings of culture, -makes life inwardly all the harder and more painful. Certainly, if it -be possible to make the spirit of the collective effect the spirit of -the higher classes of society, the socialist crowds are quite right, -when they also seek outward equalisation between themselves and these -classes, since they are certainly internally equalised with one another -already in head and heart. Live as higher men, and always do the deeds -of higher culture,—thus everything that lives will acknowledge your -right, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> order of society, whose summit ye are, will be safe -from every evil glance and attack!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">481.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">High Politics and Their Detriments.</span>—Just as a nation does not suffer -the greatest losses that war and readiness for war involve through -the expenses of the war, or the stoppage of trade and traffic, or -through the maintenance of a standing army,—however great these -losses may now be, when eight European States expend yearly the sum -of five milliards of marks thereon,—but owing to the fact that -year after year its ablest, strongest, and most industrious men are -withdrawn in extraordinary numbers from their proper occupations and -callings to be turned into soldiers: in the same way, a nation that -sets about practising high politics and securing a decisive voice -among the great Powers does not suffer its greatest losses where -they are usually supposed to be. In fact, from this time onward it -constantly sacrifices a number of its most conspicuous talents upon -the "Altar of the Fatherland" or of national ambition, whilst formerly -other spheres of activity were open to those talents which are now -swallowed up by politics. But apart from these public hecatombs, and -in reality much more horrible, there is a drama which is constantly -being performed simultaneously in a hundred thousand acts; every able, -industrious, intellectually striving man of a nation that thus covets -political laurels, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> swayed by this covetousness, and no longer -belongs entirely to himself alone as he did formerly; the new daily -questions and cares of the public welfare devour a daily tribute of -the intellectual and emotional capital of every citizen; the sum of -all these sacrifices and losses of, individual energy and labour is -so enormous, that the political growth of a nation almost necessarily -entails an intellectual impoverishment and lassitude, a diminished -capacity for the performance of works that require great concentration -and specialisation. The question may finally be asked: "Does it then -<i>pay,</i> all this bloom and magnificence of the total (which indeed only -manifests itself as the fear of the new Colossus in other nations, and -as the compulsory favouring by them of national trade and commerce) -when all the nobler, finer, and more intellectual plants and products, -in which its soil was hitherto so rich, must be sacrificed to this -coarse and opalescent flower of the nation?"<a name="FNanchor_2_18" id="FNanchor_2_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_18" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">482.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Repeated Once More.</span>—Public opinion—private laziness.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_17" id="Footnote_1_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_17"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This aphorism may have been suggested by Nietzsche's -observing the behaviour of his great contemporary, Bismarck, towards -the dynasty.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_18" id="Footnote_2_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_18"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> This is once more an allusion to modern Germany.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="NINTH_DIVISION" id="NINTH_DIVISION">NINTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - -<h5>MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">483.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Enemies of Truth.</span>—Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth -than lies.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">484.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Topsy-turvy World.</span>—We criticise a thinker more severely when he puts -an unpleasant statement before us; and yet it would be more reasonable -to do so when we find his statement pleasant.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">485.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Decided Character.</span>—A man far oftener appears to have a decided -character from persistently following his temperament than from -persistently following his principles.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">486.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The One Thing Needful.</span>—One thing a man must have: either a naturally -light disposition or a disposition <i>lightened</i> by art and knowledge.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">487.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Passion For Things</span>.—Whoever sets his passion on things (sciences, -arts, the common weal, the interests of culture) withdraws much fervour -from his passion for persons (even when they are the representatives -of those things; as statesmen, philosophers, and artists are the -representatives of their creations).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">488.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Calmness in Action.</span>—As a cascade in its descent becomes more -deliberate and suspended, so the great man of action usually acts with -<i>more</i> calmness than his strong passions previous to action would lead -one to expect.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">489.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Not Too Deep.</span>—Persons who grasp a matter in all its depth seldom -remain permanently true to it. They have just brought the depth up into -the light, and there is always much evil to be seen there.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">490.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Illusion of Idealists.</span>—All idealists imagine that the cause which -they serve is essentially better than all other causes, and will not -believe that if their cause is really to flourish it requires precisely -the same evil-smelling manure which all other human undertakings have -need of.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">491.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-observation.</span>—Man is exceedingly well protected from himself and -guarded against his self-exploring and self-besieging; as a rule he can -perceive nothing of himself but his outworks. The actual fortress is -inaccessible, and even invisible, to him, unless friends and enemies -become traitors and lead him inside by secret paths.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">492.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Right Calling.</span>—Men can seldom hold on to a calling unless they -believe or persuade themselves that it is really more important than -any other. Women are the same with their lovers.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">493.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nobility of Disposition</span>.—Nobility of disposition consists largely in -good-nature and absence of distrust, and therefore contains precisely -that upon which money-grabbing and successful men take a pleasure in -walking with superiority and scorn.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">494.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Goal and Path.</span>—Many are obstinate with regard to the once-chosen path, -few with regard to the goal.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">495.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Offensiveness in an Individual Way of Life.</span>—All specially -individual lines of conduct excite irritation against him who adopts -them; people feel themselves reduced to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> level of commonplace -creatures by the extraordinary treatment he bestows on himself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">496.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Privilege of Greatness.</span>—It is the privilege of greatness to confer -intense happiness with insignificant gifts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">497.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unintentionally Noble.</span>—A person behaves with unintentional nobleness -when he has accustomed himself to seek naught from others and always to -give to them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">498.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Condition of Heroism.</span>—When a person wishes to become a hero, the -serpent must previously have become a dragon, otherwise he lacks his -proper enemy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">499.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Friends</span>.—Fellowship in joy, and, not sympathy in sorrow, makes people -friends.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">500.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Making Use of Ebb and Flow</span>.—For the purpose of knowledge we must know -how to make use of the inward current which draws us towards a thing, -and also of the current which after a time draws us away from it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">501.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Joy in Itself</span>.—"Joy in the Thing" people say; but in reality it is joy -in itself by means of the thing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">502.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Unassuming Man</span>.—He who is unassuming towards persons manifests his -presumption all the more with regard to things (town, State, society, -time, humanity). That is his revenge.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">503.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Envy and Jealousy.</span>—Envy and jealousy are the pudenda of the human -soul. The comparison may perhaps be carried further.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">504.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Noblest Hypocrite.</span>—It is a very noble hypocrisy not to talk of -one's self at all.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">505.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vexation</span>.—Vexation is a physical disease, which is not by any means -cured when its cause is subsequently removed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">506.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Champions of Truth</span>.—Truth does not find fewest champions when it -is dangerous to speak it, but when it is dull.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">507.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">More Troublesome Even Than Enemies</span>.—Persons of whose sympathetic -attitude we are not, in all circumstances, convinced, while for -some reason or other (gratitude, for instance) we are obliged to -maintain the appearance of unqualified sympathy with them, trouble our -imagination far more than our enemies do.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">508.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Free Nature</span>.—We are so fond of being out among Nature, because it has -no opinions about us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">509.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Each Superior in One Thing</span>.—In civilised intercourse every one feels -himself superior to all others in at least one thing; kindly feelings -generally are based thereon, inasmuch as every one can, in certain -circumstances, render help, and is therefore entitled to accept help -without shame.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">510.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Consolatory Arguments</span>.—In the case of a death we mostly use -consolatory arguments not so much to alleviate the grief as to make -excuses for feeling so easily consoled.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">511.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Persons Loyal to Their Convictions.</span>—Whoever is very busy retains his -general views and opinions almost unchanged. So also does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> every one -who labours in the service of an idea; he will nevermore examine the -idea itself, he no longer has any time to do so; indeed, it is against -his interests to consider it as still admitting of discussion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">512.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Morality and Quantity</span>.—The higher morality of one man as compared -with that of another, often lies merely in the fact that his aims are -quantitively greater. The other, living in a circumscribed sphere, is -dragged down by petty occupations.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">513.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">"The Life" As the Proceeds of Life</span>.—A man may stretch himself out ever -so far with his knowledge; he may seem to himself ever so objective, -but eventually he realises nothing therefrom but his own biography.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">514.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap"><span class="smcap">Iron Necessity</span></span>.—Iron necessity is a thing which has been found, in the -course of history, to be neither iron nor necessary.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">515.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">From Experience</span>.—The unreasonableness of a thing is no argument -against its existence, but rather a condition thereof.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">516.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Truth</span>.—Nobody dies nowadays of fatal truths, there are too many -antidotes to them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">517.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Fundamental Insight</span>.—There is no pre-established harmony between the -promotion of truth and the welfare of mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">518.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Man's Lot</span>.—He who thinks most deeply knows that he is always in the -wrong, however he may act and decide.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">519.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Truth As Circe</span>.—Error has made animals into men; is truth perhaps -capable of making man into an animal again?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">520.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger of Our Culture</span>.—We belong to a period of which the culture -is in danger of being destroyed by the appliances of culture.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">521.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Greatness Means Leading the Way</span>.—No stream is large and copious of -itself, but becomes great by receiving and leading on so many tributary -streams. It is so, also, with all intellectual greatnesses. It is only -a question of some one indicating the direction to be followed by so -many affluents; not whether he was richly or poorly gifted originally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">522.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Feeble Conscience</span>.—People who talk about their importance to mankind -have a feeble conscience for common bourgeois rectitude, keeping of -contracts, promises, etc.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">523.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Desiring to Be Loved</span>.—The demand to be loved is the greatest of -presumptions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">524.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contempt For Men</span>.—The most unequivocal sign of contempt for man is -to regard everybody merely as a means to <i>one's own</i> ends, or of no -account whatever.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">525.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Partisans Through Contradiction</span>.—Whoever has driven men to fury -against himself has also gained a party in his favour.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">526.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Forgetting Experiences</span>.—Whoever thinks much and to good purpose -easily forgets his own experiences, but not the thoughts which these -experiences have called forth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">527.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sticking to an Opinion</span>.—One person sticks to an opinion because he -takes pride in having acquired it himself,—another sticks to it -because he has learnt it with difficulty and is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> proud of having -understood it; both of them, therefore, out of vanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">528.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Avoiding the Light</span>.—Good deeds avoid the light just as anxiously as -evil deeds; the latter fear that pain will result from publicity (as -punishment), the former fear that pleasure will vanish with publicity -(the pure pleasure <i>per se,</i> which ceases as soon as satisfaction of -vanity is added to it).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">529.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Length of the Day</span>.—When one has much to put into them, a day has a -hundred pockets.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">530.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Genius of Tyranny</span>.—When an invincible desire to obtain tyrannical -power has been awakened in the soul, and constantly keeps up its -fervour, even a very mediocre talent (in politicians, artists, etc.) -gradually becomes an almost irresistible natural force.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">531.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Enemy's Life.</span>—He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an -interest in the preservation of the enemy's life.<a name="FNanchor_1_19" id="FNanchor_1_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_19" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">532.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">More Important</span>.—Unexplained, obscure matters are regarded as more -important than explained, clear ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">533.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Valuation of Services Rendered.</span>—We estimate services rendered to -us according to the value set on them by those who render them, not -according to the value they have for us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">534.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unhappiness</span>.—The distinction associated with unhappiness (as if it -were a sign of stupidity, unambitiousness, or commonplaceness to feel -happy) is so great that when any one says to us, "How happy you are!" -we usually protest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">535.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Imagination in Anguish</span>.—When one is afraid of anything, one's -imagination plays the part of that evil spirit which springs on one's -back just when one has the heaviest load to bear.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">536.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of Insipid Opponents</span>.—We sometimes remain faithful to a -cause merely because its opponents never cease to be insipid.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">537.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of a Profession</span>.—A profession makes us thoughtless; that -is its greatest blessing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> For it is a bulwark behind which we are -permitted to withdraw when commonplace doubts and cares assail us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">538.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Talent</span>.—Many a man's talent appears less than it is, because he has -always set himself too heavy tasks.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">539.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Youth</span>.—Youth is an unpleasant period; for then it is not possible or -not prudent to be productive in any sense whatsoever.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">540.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Great Aims</span>.—Whoever aims publicly at great things and at length -perceives secretly that he is too weak to achieve them, has usually -also insufficient strength to renounce his aims publicly, and then -inevitably becomes a hypocrite.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">541.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Current.</span>—Mighty waters sweep many stones and shrubs away with -them; mighty spirits many foolish and confused minds.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">542.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dangers of Intellectual Emancipation</span>.—In a seriously intended -intellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also -hope to find their advantage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">543.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Incarnation of the Mind</span>.—When any one thinks much and to good -purpose, not only his face but also his body acquires a sage look.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">544.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Seeing Badly and Hearing Badly.</span>—The man who sees little always sees -less than there is to see; the man who hears badly always hears -something more than there is to hear.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">545.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-enjoyment in Vanity</span>.—The vain man does not wish so much to be -prominent as to feel himself prominent; he therefore disdains none of -the expedients for self-deception and self-out-witting. It is not the -opinion of others that he sets his heart on, but his opinion of their -opinion</p> - - -<p class="parnum">546.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Exceptionally Vain</span>.—He who is usually self-sufficient becomes -exceptionally vain, and keenly alive to fame and praise when he is -physically ill. The more he loses himself the more he has to endeavour -to regain his position by means of the opinion of others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">547.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The "Witty."</span>—Those who seek wit do not possess it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">548.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Hint to the Heads of Parties</span>.—When one can make people publicly -support a cause they have also generally been brought to the point of -inwardly declaring themselves in its favour, because they wish to be -regarded as consistent.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">549.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contempt</span>.—Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to -self-contempt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">550.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tie of Gratitude</span>.—There are servile souls who carry so far their -sense of obligation for benefits received that they strangle themselves -with the tie of gratitude.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">551.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Prophet's Knack</span>.—In predicting beforehand the procedure of -ordinary individuals, it must be taken for granted that they always -make use of the smallest intellectual expenditure in freeing themselves -from disagreeable situations.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">552.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Man's Sole Right</span>.—He who swerves from the traditional is a victim of -the unusual; he who keeps to the traditional is its slave. The man is -ruined in either case.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">553.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Below the Beast.</span>—When a man roars with laughter he surpasses all the -animals by his vulgarity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">554.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Partial Knowledge</span>.—He who speaks a foreign language imperfectly has -more enjoyment therein than he who speaks it well. The enjoyment is -with the partially initiated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">555.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dangerous Helpfulness</span>.—There are people who wish to make human life -harder for no other reason than to be able afterwards to offer men -their life-alleviating recipes—their Christianity, for example.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">556.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Industriousness and Conscientiousness</span>.—Industriousness and -conscientiousness are often antagonists, owing to the fact that -industriousness wants to pluck the fruit sour from the tree while -conscientiousness wants to let it hang too long, until it falls and is -bruised.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">557.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Casting Suspicion.</span>—We endeavour to cast suspicion on persons whom we -cannot endure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">558.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Conditions Are Lacking</span>.—Many people wait all their lives for the -opportunity to be good in <i>their own way.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">559.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lack of Friends.</span>—Lack of friends leads to the inference that a person -is envious or presumptuous. Many a man owes his friends merely to the -fortunate circumstance that he has no occasion for envy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">560.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Danger in Manifoldness.</span>—With one talent more we often stand less -firmly than with one less; just as a table stands better on three feet -than on four.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">561.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Exemplar For Others.</span>—Whoever wants to set a good example must add a -grain of folly to his virtue; people then imitate their exemplar and at -the same time raise themselves above him, a thing they love to do.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">562.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Being a Target.</span>—The bad things others say about us are often not -really aimed at us, but are the manifestations of spite or ill-humour -occasioned by quite different causes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">563.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Easily Resigned.</span>—We suffer but little on account of ungratified wishes -if we have exercised our imagination in distorting the past.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">564.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Danger</span>.—One is in greatest danger of being run over when one has -just got out of the way of a carriage.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">565.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Role According to the Voice.</span>—Whoever is obliged to speak louder -than he naturally does (say, to a partially deaf person or before a -large audience), usually exaggerates what he has to communicate. Many -a one becomes a conspirator, malevolent gossip, or intriguer, merely -because his voice is best suited for whispering.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">566.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love and Hatred.</span>—Love and hatred are not blind, but are dazzled by the -fire which they carry about with them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">567.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Advantageously Persecuted.</span>—People who cannot make their merits -perfectly obvious to the world endeavour to awaken a strong hostility -against themselves. They have then the consolation of thinking that -this hostility stands between their merits and the acknowledgment -thereof—-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> and that many others think the same thing, which is very -advantageous for their recognition.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">568.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Confession</span>.—We forget our fault when we have confessed it to another -person, but he does not generally forget it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">569.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-sufficiency</span>.—The Golden Fleece of self-sufficiency is a -protection against blows, but not against needle-pricks.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">570.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Shadows in the Flame.</span>—The flame is not so bright to itself as to those -whom it illuminates,—so also the wise man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">571.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Our Own Opinions.</span>—The first opinion that occurs to us when we are -suddenly asked about anything is not usually our own, but only the -current opinion belonging to our caste, position, or family; our own -opinions seldom float on the surface.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">572.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of Courage.</span>—The ordinary man is as courageous and -invulnerable as a hero when he does not see the danger, when he has no -eyes for it. Reversely, the hero has his one vulnerable spot upon the -back, where he has no eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">573.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger in the Physician.</span>—One must be born for one's physician, -otherwise one comes to grief through him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">574.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marvellous Vanity.</span>—Whoever has courageously prophesied the weather -three times and has been successful in his hits, acquires a certain -amount of inward confidence in his prophetic gift. We give credence to -the marvellous and irrational when it flatters our self-esteem.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">575.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Profession.</span>—A profession is the backbone of life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">576.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger of Personal Influence.</span>—Whoever feels that he exercises a -great inward influence over another person must give him a perfectly -free rein, must, in fact, welcome and even induce occasional -opposition, otherwise he will inevitably make an enemy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">577.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Recognition of the Heir.</span>—Whoever has founded something great in an -unselfish spirit is careful to rear heirs for his work. It is the sign -of a tyrannical and ignoble nature to see opponents in all possible -heirs, and to live in a state of self-defence against them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">578.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Partial Knowledge.</span>—Partial knowledge is more triumphant than complete -knowledge; it takes things to be simpler than they are, and so makes -its theory more popular and convincing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">579.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unsuitable For a Party-man</span>.—Whoever thinks much is unsuitable for a -party-man; his thinking leads him too quickly beyond the party.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">580.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Bad Memory.</span>—The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several -times the same good things for the <i>first</i> time.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">581.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-affliction</span>.—Want of consideration is often the sign of a -discordant inner nature, which craves for stupefaction.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">582.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martyrs</span>.—The disciples of a martyr suffer more than the martyr.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">583.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arrears of Vanity</span>.—The vanity of many people who have no occasion to -be vain is the inveterate habit, still surviving from the time when -people had no right to the belief in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> themselves and only begged it in -small sums from others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">584.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap"><i>Punctum Saliens</i> of Passion</span>.—A person falling into a rage or into a -violent passion of love reaches a point when the soul is full like a -hogshead, but nevertheless a drop of water has still to be added, the -good will for the passion (which is also generally called the evil -will). This item only is necessary, and then the hogshead overflows.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">585.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Gloomy Thought</span>.—It is with men as with the charcoal fires in the -forest. It is only when young men have cooled down and have got -charred, like these piles, that they become <i>useful.</i> As long as they -fume and smoke they are perhaps more interesting, but they are useless -and too often uncomfortable. Humanity ruthlessly uses every individual -as material for the heating of its great machines; but what then is the -purpose of the machines, when all individuals (that is, the human race) -are useful only to maintain them? Machines that are ends in themselves: -is that the <i>umana commedia</i>?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">586.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Hour-hand of Life</span>.—Life consists of rare single moments of the -greatest importance, and of countless intervals during which, at best, -the phantoms of those moments hover around us. Love, the Spring, every -fine melody, the mountains,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> the moon, the sea—all speak but once -fully to the heart, if, indeed, they ever do quite attain to speech. -For many people have not those moments at all, and are themselves -intervals and pauses in the symphony of actual life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">587.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Attack Or Compromise</span>.—We often make the mistake of showing violent -enmity towards a tendency, party, or period, because we happen only -to get a sight of its most exposed side, its stuntedness, or the -inevitable "faults of its virtues,"—perhaps because we ourselves have -taken a prominent part in them. We then turn our backs on them and -seek a diametrically opposite course; but the better way would be to -seek out their strong good sides, or to develop them in ourselves. To -be sure, a keener glance and a better will are needed to improve the -becoming and the imperfect than are required to see through it in its -imperfection and to deny it.</p> - -<p class="parnum">588.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Modesty</span>.—There is true modesty (that is the knowledge that we are -not the works we create); and it is especially becoming in a great -mind, because such a mind can well grasp the thought of absolute -irresponsibility (even for the good it creates). People do not hate -a great man's presumptuousness in so far as he feels his strength, -but because he wishes to prove it by injuring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> others, by dominating -them, and seeing how long they will stand it. This, as a rule, is even -a proof of the absence of a secure sense of power, and makes people -doubt his greatness. We must therefore beware of presumption from the -stand-point of wisdom.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">589.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Day's First Thought</span>.—The best way to begin a day well is to think, -on awakening, whether we cannot give pleasure during the day to at -least one person. If this could become a substitute for the religious -habit of prayer our fellow-men would benefit by the change.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">590.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Presumption As the Last Consolation</span>.—When we so interpret a -misfortune, an intellectual defect, or a disease that we see therein -our predestined fate, our trial, or the mysterious punishment of our -former misdeeds, we thereby make our nature interesting and exalt -ourselves in imagination above our fellows. The proud sinner is a -well-known figure in all religious sects.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">591.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Vegetation of Happiness</span>.—Close beside the world's woe, and -often upon its volcanic soil, man has laid out his little garden of -happiness. Whether one regard life with the eyes of him who only seeks -knowledge therefrom, or of him who submits and is resigned, or of him -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> rejoices over surmounted difficulties—everywhere one will find -some happiness springing up beside the evil—and in fact always the -more happiness the more volcanic the soil has been,—only it would be -absurd to say that suffering itself is justified by this happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">592.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Path of Our Ancestors</span>.—It is sensible when a person develops still -further in himself the <i>talent</i> upon which his father or grandfather -spent much trouble, and does not shift to something entirely new; -otherwise he deprives himself of the possibility of attaining -perfection in any one craft. That is why the proverb says, "Which road -shouldst thou ride?—That of thine ancestors."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">593.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanity and Ambition As Educators</span>.—As long as a person has not become -an instrument of general utility, ambition may torment him; if, -however, that point has been reached, if he necessarily works like a -machine for the good of all, then vanity may result; it will humanise -him in small matters and make him more sociable, endurable, and -considerate, when ambition has completed the coarser work of making him -useful.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">594.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Philosophical Novices.</span>—Immediately we have comprehended the wisdom of -a philosopher, we go through the streets with a feeling as if we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> had -been re-created and had become great men; for we encounter only those -who are ignorant of this wisdom, and have therefore to deliver new and -unknown verdicts concerning everything. Because we now recognise a -law-book we think we must also comport ourselves as judges.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">595.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasing by Displeasing</span>.—People who prefer to attract attention, and -thereby to displease, desire the same thing as those who neither wish -to please nor to attract attention, only they seek it more ardently and -indirectly by means of a step by which they apparently move away from -their goal. They desire influence and power, and therefore show their -superiority, even to such an extent that it becomes disagreeable; for -they know that he who has finally attained power, pleases in almost all -he says and does, and that even when he displeases he still seems to -please. The free spirit also, and in like manner the believer, desire -power, in order some day to please thereby; when, on account of their -doctrine, evil fate, persecution, dungeon, or execution threaten them, -they rejoice in the thought that their teaching will thus be engraved -and branded on the heart of mankind; though its effect is remote they -accept their fate as a painful but powerful means of still attaining to -power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">596.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap"><i>casus Belli</i> and the Like</span>.—The prince who, for his determination -to make war against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> his neighbour, invents a <i>casus belli,</i> is like -a father who foists on his child a mother who is henceforth to be -regarded as such. And are not almost all publicly avowed motives of -action just such spurious mothers?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">597.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Passion and Right</span>.—Nobody talks more passionately of his rights than -he who, in the depths of his soul, is doubtful about them. By getting -passion on his side he seeks to confound his understanding and its -doubts,—he thus obtains a good conscience, and along with it success -with his fellow-men.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">598.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Trick of the Resigning One</span>.—He who protests against marriage, -after the manner of Catholic priests, will conceive of it in its -lowest and vulgarest form. In the same way he who disavows the honour -of his contemporaries will have a mean opinion of it; he can thus -dispense with it and struggle against it more easily. Moreover, he -who denies himself much in great matters will readily indulge himself -in small things. It might be possible that he who is superior to the -approbation of his contemporaries would nevertheless not deny himself -the gratification of small vanities.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">599.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Years of Presumption</span>.—The proper period of presumption in gifted -people is between their twenty-sixth and thirtieth years; it is the -time of early ripeness, with a large residue of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> sourness. On the -ground of what we feel within ourselves we demand honour and humility -from men who see little or nothing of it, and because this tribute -is not immediately forthcoming we revenge ourselves by the look, the -gesture of arrogance, and the tone of voice, which a keen ear and -eye recognise in every product of those years, whether it be poetry, -philosophy, or pictures and music. Older men of experience smile -thereat, and think with emotion of those beautiful years in which one -resents the fate of <i>being</i> so much and <i>seeming</i> so little. Later on -one really <i>seems</i> more,—but one has lost the good belief in <i>being</i> -much,—unless one remain for life an incorrigible fool of vanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">600.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Deceptive and Yet Defensible.</span>—Just as in order to pass by an abyss or -to cross a deep stream on a plank we require a railing, not to hold -fast by,—for it would instantly break down with us,—but to give -the notion of security to the eye, so in youth we require persons -who unconsciously render us the service of that railing. It is true -they would not help us if we really wished to lean upon them in great -danger, but they afford the tranquillising sensation of protection -close to one (for instance, fathers, teachers, friends, as all three -usually are).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">601.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Learning to Love</span>.—One must learn to love, one must learn to be kind, -and this from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> childhood onwards; when education and chance give us no -opportunity for the exercise of these feelings our soul becomes dried -up, and even incapable of understanding the fine devices of loving men. -In the same way hatred must be learnt and fostered, when one wants to -become a proficient hater,—otherwise the germ of it will gradually die -out.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">602.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ruin As Ornament</span>.—Persons who pass through numerous mental phases -retain certain sentiments and habits of their earlier states, which -then project like a piece of inexplicable antiquity and grey stonework -into their new thought and action, often to the embellishment of the -whole surroundings.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">603.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love and Honour</span>.—Love desires, fear avoids. That is why one cannot -be both loved and honoured by the same person, at least not at the -same time.<a name="FNanchor_2_20" id="FNanchor_2_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_20" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> For he who honours recognises power,—that is to say, he -fears it, he is in a state of reverential fear (<i>Ehr-furcht</i>) But love -recognises no power, nothing that divides, detaches, superordinates, -or subordinates. Because it does not honour them, ambitious people -secretly or openly resent being loved.</p> - -<p class="parnum"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">604.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Prejudice in Favour of Cold Natures.</span>—People who quickly take fire -grow cold quickly, and therefore are, on the whole, unreliable. For -those, therefore, who are always cold, or pretend to be so, there -is the favourable prejudice that they are particularly trustworthy, -reliable persons; they are confounded with those who take fire slowly -and retain it long.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">605.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger in Free Opinions</span>.—Frivolous occupation with free opinions -has a charm, like a kind of itching; if one yields to it further, -one begins to chafe the places; until at last an open, painful wound -results; that is to say, until the free opinion begins to disturb and -torment us in our position in life and in our human relations.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">606.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Desire For Sore Affliction</span>.—When passion is over it leaves behind an -obscure longing for it, and even in disappearing it casts a seductive -glance at us. It must have afforded a kind of pleasure to have -been beaten with this scourge. Compared with it, the more moderate -sensations appear insipid; we still prefer, apparently, the more -violent displeasure to languid delight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">607.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dissatisfaction With Others and With the World.</span>—When, as so frequently -happens, we vent our dissatisfaction on others when we are really -dissatisfied with ourselves, we are in fact attempting to mystify and -deceive our judgment; we desire to find a motive <i>a posteriori</i> for -this dissatisfaction, in the mistakes or deficiencies of others, and -so lose sight of ourselves. Strictly religious people, who have been -relentless judges of themselves, have at the same time spoken most ill -of humanity generally; there has never been a saint who reserved sin -for himself and virture for others, any more than a man who, according -to Buddha's rule, hides his good qualities from people and only shows -his bad ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">608.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Confusion of Cause and Effect</span>.—Unconsciously we seek the principles -and opinions which are suited to our temperament, so that at last it -seems as if these principles and opinions had formed our character -and given it support and stability, whereas exactly the contrary has -taken place. Our thoughts and judgments are, apparently, to be taken -subsequently as the causes of our nature, but as a matter of fact <i>our</i> -nature is the cause of our so thinking and judging. And what induces -us to play this almost unconscious comedy? Inertness and convenience, -and to a large extent also the vain desire to be regarded as thoroughly -consistent and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> homogeneous in nature and thought; for this wins -respect and gives confidence and power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">609.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Age in Relation to Truth</span>.—Young people love what is interesting and -exceptional, indifferent whether it is truth or falsehood. Riper minds -love what is interesting and extraordinary when it is truth. Matured -minds, finally, love truth even in those in whom it appears plain and -simple and is found tiresome by ordinary people, because they have -observed that truth is in the habit of giving utterance to its highest -intellectual verities with all the appearance of simplicity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">610.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Men As Bad Poets.</span>—Just as bad poets seek a thought to fit the rhyme -in the second half of the verse, so men in the second half of life, -having become more scrupulous, are in the habit of seeking pursuits, -positions, and conditions which suit those of their earlier life, so -that outwardly all sounds well, but their life is no longer ruled and -continuously determined anew by a powerful thought: in place thereof -there is merely the intention of finding a rhyme.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">611.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ennui and Play.</span>—Necessity compels us to work, with the product of -which the necessity is appeased; the ever new awakening of necessity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> -however, accustoms us to work. But in the intervals in which necessity -is appeased and asleep, as it were, we are attacked by ennui. What is -this? In a word it is the habituation to work, which now makes itself -felt as a new and additional necessity; it will be all the stronger the -more a person has been accustomed to work, perhaps, even, the more a -person has suffered from necessities. In order to escape ennui, a man -either works beyond the extent of his former necessities, or he invents -play, that is to say, work that is only intended to appease the general -necessity for work. He who has become satiated with play, and has no -new necessities impelling him to work, is sometimes attacked by the -longing for a third state, which is related to play as gliding is to -dancing, as dancing is to walking, a blessed, tranquil movement; it is -the artists' and philosophers' vision of happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">612.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lessons from Pictures.</span>—If we look at a series of pictures of -ourselves, from the time of later childhood to the time of mature -manhood, we discover with pleased surprise that the man bears more -resemblance to the child than to the youth: that probably, therefore, -in accordance with this fact, there has been in the interval a -temporary alienation of the fundamental character, over which the -collected, concentrated force of the man has again become master. With -this observation this other is also in accordance, namely, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> all -strong influences of passions, teachers, and political events, which -in our youthful years draw us hither and thither, seem later on to be -referred back again to a fixed standard; of course they still continue -to exist and operate within us, but our fundamental sentiments and -opinions have now the upper hand, and use their influence perhaps as a -source of strength, but are no longer merely regulative, as was perhaps -the case in our twenties. Thus even the thoughts and sentiments of the -man appear more in accordance with those of his childish years,—and -this objective fact expresses itself in the above-mentioned subjective -fact.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">613.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tone of Voice of Different Ages.</span>—The tone in which youths speak, -praise, blame, and versify, displeases an older person because it is -too loud, and yet at the same time dull and confused like a sound in -a vault, which acquires such a loud ring owing to the emptiness; for -most of the thought of youths does not gush forth out of the fulness -of their own nature, but is the accord and the echo of what has been -thought, said, praised or blamed around them. As their sentiments, -however (their inclinations and aversions), resound much more forcibly -than the reasons thereof, there is heard, whenever they divulge these -sentiments, the dull, clanging tone which is a sign of the absence -or scarcity of reasons. The tone of riper age is rigorous, abruptly -concise, moderately loud, but, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> everything distinctly articulated, -is heard very far off. Old age, finally, often brings a certain -mildness and consideration into the tone of the voice, and as it were, -sweetens it; in many cases, to be sure it also sours it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">614.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Atavist and the Forerunner.</span>—The man of unpleasant character, -full of distrust, envious of the success of fellow-competitors and -neighbours, violent and enraged at divergent opinions, shows that he -belongs to an earlier grade of culture, and is, therefore, an atavism; -for the way in which he behaves to people was right and suitable only -for an age of club-law; he is an <i>atavist.</i> The man of a different -character, rich in sympathy, winning friends everywhere, finding all -that is growing and becoming amiable, rejoicing at the honours and -successes of others and claiming no privilege of solely knowing the -truth, but full of a modest distrust,—he is a forerunner who presses -upward towards a higher human culture. The man of unpleasant character -dates from the times when the rude basis of human intercourse had -yet to be laid, the other lives on the upper floor of the edifice of -culture, removed as far as possible from the howling and raging wild -beast imprisoned in the cellars.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">615.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Consolation For Hypochondriacs.</span>—When a great thinker is temporarily -subjected to hypochondriacal self-torture he can say to himself, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> -way of consolation: "It is thine own great strength on which this -parasite feeds and grows; if thy strength were smaller thou wouldst -have less to suffer." The statesman may say just the same thing when -jealousy and vengeful feeling, or, in a word, the tone of the <i>bellum -omnium contra omnes,</i> for which, as the representative of a nation, he -must necessarily have a great capacity, occasionally intrudes into his -personal relations and makes his life hard.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">616.</p> - -<p>Estranged from the Present.—There are great advantages in estranging -one's self for once to a large extent from one's age, and being as -it were driven back from its shores into the ocean of past views of -things. Looking thence towards the coast one commands a view, perhaps -for the first time, of its aggregate formation, and when one again -approaches the land one has the advantage of understanding it better, -on the whole, than those who have never left it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">617.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sowing and Reaping on the Field of Personal Defects.</span>—Men like Rousseau -understand how to use their weaknesses, defects, and vices as manure -for their talent. When Rousseau bewails the corruption and degeneration -of society as the evil results of culture, there is a personal -experience at the bottom of it, the bitterness which gives sharpness to -his general condemnation and poisons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> the arrows with which he shoots; -he unburdens himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting a -remedy which, while benefiting society directly, will also benefit -himself indirectly by means of society.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">618.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Philosophically Minded.</span>—We usually endeavour to acquire <i>one</i> -attitude of mind, <i>one</i> set of opinions for all situations and events -of life—it is mostly called being philosophically minded. But for -the acquisition of knowledge it may be of greater importance not to -make ourselves thus uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the -different situations in life; these bring their own opinions with -them. We thus take an intelligent interest in the life and nature of -many persons by not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single -individuals.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">619.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Fire of Contempt.</span>—It is a fresh step towards independence when -one first dares to give utterance to opinions which it is considered as -disgraceful for a person to entertain; even friends and acquaintances -are then accustomed to grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass -through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more to itself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">620.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-sacrifice.</span>—In the event of choice, a great sacrifice is preferred -to a small one, because we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice -by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> self-admiration, which is not possible in the case of a small one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">621.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love As an Artifice.</span>—Whoever really wishes to <i>become acquainted -with</i> something new (whether it be a person, an event, or a book), -does well to take up the matter with all possible love, and to avert -his eye quickly from all that seems hostile, objectionable, and false -therein,—in fact to forget such things; so that, for instance, he -gives the author of a book the best start possible, and straightway, -just as in a race, longs with beating heart that he may reach the goal. -In this manner one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its -moving point, and this is called becoming acquainted with it. This -stage having been arrived at, the understanding afterwards makes its -restrictions; the over-estimation and the temporary suspension of the -critical pendulum were only artifices to lure forth the soul of the -matter.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">622.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thinking Too Well and Too Ill of the World.</span>—Whether we think too -well or too ill of things, we always have the advantage of deriving -therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good preconception we -usually put more sweetness into things (experiences) than they actually -contain. A too bad preconception causes a pleasant disappointment, the -pleasantness that lay in the things themselves is increased by the -pleasantness of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will have -the reverse experience in both cases.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">623.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Profound People.</span>—Those whose strength lies in the deepening of -impressions—they are usually called profound people—are relatively -self-possessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for in the first -moment the impression is still shallow, it only then <i>becomes</i> deep. -Long foreseen, long expected events or persons, however, excite such -natures most, and make them almost incapable of eventually having -presence of mind on the arrival thereof.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">624.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intercourse With the Higher Self.</span>—Every one has his good day, when -he finds his higher self; and true humanity demands that a person -shall be estimated according to this state and not according to his -work-days of constraint and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be -appraised and honoured according to the most exalted vision he could -see and represent. But men themselves commune very differently with -this their higher self, and are frequently their own playactors, in so -far as they repeatedly imitate what they are in those moments. Some -stand in awe and humility before their ideal, and would fain deny it; -they are afraid of their higher self because, when it speaks, it speaks -pretentiously. Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and -staying away just as it pleases; on that account it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> is often called a -gift of the gods, while in fact everything else is a gift of the gods -(of chance); this, however, is the man himself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">625.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lonely People.</span>—Some people are so much accustomed to being alone -in self-communion that they do not at all compare themselves with -others, but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet, happy mood, -conversing pleasantly, and even hilariously, with themselves. If, -however, they are brought to the point of comparing themselves with -others, they are inclined to a brooding under-estimation of their own -worth, so that they have first to be compelled by others <i>to form</i> once -more a good and just opinion of themselves, and even from this acquired -opinion they will always want to subtract and abate something. We must -not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneliness or foolishly -commiserate them on that account, as is so often done.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">626.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Without Melody.</span>—There are persons to whom a constant repose in -themselves and the harmonious ordering of all their capacities is -so natural that every definite activity is repugnant to them. They -resemble music which consists of nothing but prolonged, harmonious -accords, without even the tendency to an organised and animated melody -showing itself. All external movement serves only to restore to the -boat its equilibrium<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men -usually become excessively impatient when they meet such natures, who -<i>will never be anything in</i> the world, only it is not allowable to say -of them that they <i>are nothing.</i> But in certain moods the sight of them -raises the unusual question: "Why should there be melody at all? Why -should it not suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a deep -lake?" The Middle Ages were richer in such natures than our times. How -seldom one now meets with any one who can live on so peacefully and -happily with himself even in the midst of the crowd, saying to himself, -like Goethe, "The best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live -and grow in opposition to the world, and gain what it cannot take away -from me with fire and sword."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">627.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Live and Experience.</span>—If we observe how some people can deal with -their experiences—their unimportant, everyday experiences—so that -these become soil which yields fruit thrice a year; whilst others—and -how many!—are driven through the surf of the most exciting adventures, -the most diversified movements of times and peoples, and yet always -remain light, always remain on the surface, like cork; we are finally -tempted to divide mankind into a minority (minimality) of those who -know how to make much out of little, and a majority of those who -know how to make little out of much; indeed, we even meet with the -counter-sorcerers who, instead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> of making the world out of nothing, -make a nothing out of the world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">628.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Seriousness in Play.</span>—-In Genoa one evening, in the twilight, I heard -from a tower a long chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and -sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the streets, out into the -evening sky and sea-air, so thrilling, and at the same time so childish -and so sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and suddenly felt the -force of them in my heart: "<i>Human matters, one and all, are not worthy -of great seriousness; nevertheless ...</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">629.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conviction and Justice.</span>—The requirement that a person must afterwards, -when cool and sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves -during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that weigh upon mankind. -To have to acknowledge for all future time the consequences of anger, -of fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to a bitterness -against these feelings proportionate to the idolatry with which they -are idolised, especially by artists. These cultivate to its full extent -the <i>esteem of the passions,</i> and have always done so; to be sure, they -also glorify the terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person -affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with death, mutilation, or -voluntary banishment in their train, and the resignation of the broken -heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> In any case they keep alive curiosity about the passions; it is -as if they said: "Without passions you have no experience whatever." -Because we have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely fictitious -being, such as a god), because we have surrendered our heart to a -prince, a party, a woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, -in a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm over us and made -those beings appear worthy of all veneration, and every sacrifice—are -we, therefore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we not, after all, -deceive ourselves then? Was there not a hypothetical promise, under the -tacit presupposition that those beings to whom we consecrated ourselves -were really the beings they seemed to be in our imagination? Are we -under obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with the knowledge -that by this fidelity we shall cause injury to our higher selves? No, -there is no law, no obligation of that sort; we <i>must</i> become traitors, -we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals again and again. We -cannot advance from one period of life into another without causing -these pains of treachery and also suffering from them. Might it be -necessary to guard against the ebullitions of our feelings in order -to escape these pains? Would not the world then become too arid, too -ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves whether these pains -are <i>necessary</i> on a change of convictions, or whether they do not -depend on a <i>mistaken</i> opinion and estimate. Why do we admire a person -who remains true to his convictions and despise him who changes them? -I fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> the answer must be, "because every one takes for granted that -such a change is caused only by motives of more general utility or of -personal trouble." That is to say, we believe at bottom that nobody -alters his opinions as long as they are advantageous to him, or at -least as long as they do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however, -it furnishes a bad proof of the <i>intellectual</i> significance of all -convictions. Let us once examine how convictions arise, and let us see -whether their importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will thereby -be seen that the <i>change</i> of convictions also is in all circumstances -judged according to a false standard, that we have hitherto been -accustomed to suffer <i>too much</i> from this change.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">630.</p> - -<p>Conviction is belief in the possession of absolute truth on any matter -of knowledge. This belief takes it for granted, therefore, that there -are absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have been found for -attaining to them; and finally, that every one who has convictions -makes use of these perfect methods. All three notions show at once that -the man of convictions is not the man of scientific thought; he seems -to us still in the age of theoretical innocence, and is practically -a child, however grown-up he may be. Whole centuries, however, have -been lived under the influence of those childlike presuppositions, and -out of them have flowed the mightiest sources of human strength. The -countless numbers who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> sacrificed themselves for their convictions -believed they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth. They were -all wrong, however; probably no one has ever sacrificed himself for -Truth; at least, the dogmatic expression of the faith of any such -person has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But really, -people wanted to carry their point because they believed that they -<i>must be</i> in the right. To allow their belief to be wrested from -them probably meant calling in question their eternal salvation. In -an affair of such extreme importance the "will" was too audibly the -prompter of the intellect. The presupposition of every believer of -every shade of belief has been that he <i>could not</i> be confuted; if the -counter-arguments happened to be very strong, it always remained for -him to decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set up the -"<i>credo quia absurdum est</i>" as the standard of extreme fanaticism. It -is not the struggle of opinions that has made history so turbulent; but -the struggle of belief in opinions,—that is to say, of convictions. -If all those who thought so highly of their convictions, who made -sacrifices of all kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body, -nor life in their service, had only devoted half of their energy to -examining their right to adhere to this or that conviction and by what -road they arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of mankind now -appear! How much more knowledge would there be! All the cruel scenes -in connection with the persecution of heretics of all kinds would have -been avoided, for two reasons: firstly, because the inquisitors would -above all have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> inquired of themselves, and would have recognised -the presumption of defending absolute truth; and secondly, because -the heretics themselves would, after examination, have taken no more -interest in such badly established doctrines as those of all religious -sectarians and "orthodox" believers.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">631.</p> - -<p>From the ages in which it was customary to believe in the possession -of absolute truth, people have inherited a profound <i>dislike</i> of all -sceptical and relative attitudes with regard to questions of knowledge; -they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for good or evil, in the convictions -of those in authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and they -have a kind of remorse of conscience when they do not do so. This -tendency is quite comprehensible, and its results furnish no ground -for condemnation of the course of the development of human reason. -The scientific spirit in man, however, has gradually to bring to -maturity the virtue of <i>cautious forbearance,</i> the wise moderation, -which is better known in practical than in theoretical life, and -which, for instance, Goethe has represented in "Antonio," as an object -of provocation for all Tassos,—that is to say, for unscientific and -at the same time inactive natures. The man of convictions has in -himself the right not to comprehend the man of cautious thought, the -theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the other hand, has no -right to blame the former on that account, he takes no notice thereof, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former will yet cling -to him, as Tasso finally clung to Antonio.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">632.</p> - -<p>He who has not passed through different phases of conviction, but -sticks to the faith in whose net he was first caught, is, under -all circumstances, just on account of this unchangeableness, a -representative of <i>atavistic</i> culture; in accordance with this lack -of culture (which always presupposes plasticity for culture), he -is severe, unintelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever -suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who has recourse to all -expedients for enforcing his opinions because he cannot conceive that -there must be other opinions; he is, in such respects, perhaps a -source of strength, and even wholesome in cultures that have become -too emancipated and languid, but only because he strongly incites to -opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation of the new culture, -which is forced to struggle with him, becomes strong itself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">633.</p> - -<p>In essential respects we are still the same men as those of the time -of the Reformation; how could it be otherwise? But the fact that we -<i>no longer</i> allow ourselves certain means for promoting the triumph -of our opinions distinguishes us from that age, and proves that we -belong to a higher culture. He who still combats and overthrows -opinions with calumnies and outbursts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> of rage, after the manner of -the Reformation men, obviously betrays the fact that he would have -burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times, and that he would -have resorted to all the methods of the Inquisition if he had been -an opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition was rational at that -time; for it represented nothing else than the universal application of -martial law, which had to be proclaimed throughout the entire domain -of the Church, and which, like all martial law, gave a right to the -extremest methods, under the presupposition, of course, (which we now -no longer share with those people), that the Church <i>possessed</i> truth -and had to preserve it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the -salvation of mankind. Now, however, one does not so readily concede to -any one that he possesses the truth; strict methods of investigation -have diffused enough of distrust and precaution, so that every one who -violently advocates opinions in word and deed is looked upon as an -enemy of our modern culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter -of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is now of very little -consequence in comparison with the certainly milder and less noisy -pathos of the search for truth, which is never weary of learning afresh -and examining anew.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">634.</p> - -<p>Moreover, the methodical search for truth is itself the outcome of -those ages in which convictions were at war with each other. If the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> -individual had not cared about <i>his</i> "truth," that is to say, about -carrying his point, there would have been no method of investigation; -thus, however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of different -individuals to absolute truth, people went on step by step to find -irrefragable principles according to which the rights of the claims -could be tested and the dispute settled. At first people decided -according to authorities; later on they criticised one another's ways -and means of finding the presumed truth; in the interval there was a -period when people deduced the consequences of the adverse theory, and -perhaps found them to be productive of injury and unhappiness; from -which it was then to be inferred by every one that the conviction of -the adversary involved an error. The <i>personal struggle of the thinker</i> -at last so sharpened his methods that real truths could be discovered, -and the mistakes of former methods exposed before the eyes of all.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">635.</p> - -<p>On the whole, scientific methods are at least as important results -of investigation as any other results, for the scientific spirit is -based upon a knowledge of method, and if the methods were lost, all -the results of science could not prevent the renewed prevalence of -superstition and absurdity. Clever people may <i>learn</i> as much as -they like of the results of science, but one still notices in their -conversation, and especially in the hypotheses they make, that they -lack the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive distrust of -the devious courses of thinking which, in consequence of long training, -has taken root in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough for -them to find any kind of hypothesis on a subject, they are then all -on fire for it, and imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have -an opinion is with them equivalent to immediately becoming fanatical -for it, and finally taking it to heart as a conviction. In the case -of an unexplained matter they become heated for the first idea that -comes into their head which has any resemblance to an explanation—a -course from which the worst results constantly follow, especially in -the field of politics. On that account everybody should nowadays have -become thoroughly acquainted with at least <i>one</i> science, for then -surely he knows what is meant by method, and how necessary is the -extremest carefulness. To women in particular this advice is to be -given at present; as to those who are irretrievably the victims of all -hypotheses, especially when these have the appearance of being witty, -attractive, enlivening, and invigorating. Indeed, on close inspection -one sees that by far the greater number of educated people still desire -convictions from a thinker and nothing but <i>convictions,</i> and that -only a small minority want <i>certainty.</i> The former want to be forcibly -carried away in order thereby to obtain an increase of strength; the -latter few have the real interest which disregards personal advantages -and the increase of strength also. The former class, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> greatly -predominate, are always reckoned upon when the thinker comports himself -and labels himself as a <i>genius,</i> and thus views himself as a higher -being to whom authority belongs. In so far as genius of this kind -upholds the ardour of convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious -and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of truth, however much it -may think itself the wooer thereof.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">636.</p> - -<p>There is, certainly, also an entirely different species of genius, that -of justice; and I cannot make up my mind to estimate it lower than any -kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius. Its peculiarity -is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out of the way of everything that -blinds and confuses people's judgment of things; it is consequently -an <i>adversary of convictions,</i> for it wants to give their own to all, -whether they be living or dead, real or imaginary—and for that purpose -it must know thoroughly; it therefore places everything in the best -light and goes around it with careful eyes. Finally, it will even give -to its adversary the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men call -it,—among women it is called "faith"), what is due to conviction—for -the sake of truth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">637.</p> - -<p>Opinions evolve out of <i>passions; indolence of intellect</i> allows those -to congeal into <i>convictions.</i> He, however, who is conscious of himself -as a <i>free,</i> restless, lively spirit can prevent this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> congelation by -constant change; and if he is altogether a thinking snowball, he will -not have opinions in his head at all, but only certainties and properly -estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a mixed nature, alternately -inspired with ardour and chilled through and through by the intellect, -want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess we acknowledge. The -<i>fire</i> in us generally makes us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our -goddess; in this condition we are not permitted to take her hand, and -the serious smile of her approval never rests upon us. We reverence -her as the veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her our pain -as penance and sacrifice when the fire threatens to burn and consume -us. It is the <i>intellect</i> that saves us from being utterly burnt and -reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away from the sacrificial -altar of justice or enwraps us in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from -the fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass from opinion to -opinion, through the change of parties, as noble <i>betrayers</i> of all -things that can in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless without a -feeling of guilt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">638.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Wanderer.</span>—He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any -extent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as -a wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even as a traveller -<i>towards</i> a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly -wants to observe and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens -in the world; therefore he cannot attach his heart too firmly to -anything individual; he must have in himself something wandering that -takes pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be sure such a man will -have bad nights, when he is weary and finds the gates of the town that -should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may also find that, as in -the East, the desert reaches to the gates, that wild beasts howl far -and near, that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take away his -beasts of burden. Then the dreadful night closes over him like a second -desert upon the desert, and his heart grows weary of wandering. Then -when the morning sun rises upon him, glowing like a Deity of anger, -when the town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of the dwellers -therein still more desert, uncleanliness, deceit, and insecurity than -outside the gates—and the day is almost worse than the night. Thus -it may occasionally happen to the wanderer; but then there come as, -compensation the delightful mornings of other lands and days, when -already in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of muses dancing -by, close to him, in the mist of the mountain; when afterwards, in -the symmetry of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under -the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-places all manner of -good and bright things are flung to him, the gifts of all the free -spirits who are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes, and who, -like himself, alternately merry and thoughtful, are wanderers and -philosophers. Born<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the -question how the day, between the hours of ten and twelve, can have -such a pure, transparent, and gloriously cheerful countenance: they -seek the <i>ante-meridian</i> philosophy.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_19" id="Footnote_1_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_19"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This is why Nietzsche pointed out later on that he had an -interest in the preservation of Christianity, and that he was sure his -teaching would not undermine this faith—just as little as anarchists -have undermined kings; but have left them seated all the more firmly on -their thrones.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_20" id="Footnote_2_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_20"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Women never understand this.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="AN_EPODE" id="AN_EPODE">AN EPODE.</a></h4> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 30%; font-weight: bold;">AMONG FRIENDS.</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">(Translated by T. COMMON.)</p> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 30%;"> -Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming,<br /> -Nicer still when we are laughing,<br /> -'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding,<br /> -On the moss the book a-reading,<br /> -Sweetly loud with friends all laughing<br /> -Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming.<br /> -Do I well, we're mute and humble;<br /> -Do I ill—we'll laugh exceeding;<br /> -Make it worse and worse, unheeding,<br /> -Worse proceeding, more laughs needing,<br /> -Till into the grave we stumble.<br /> -Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain?<br /> -Amen! Till we meet again.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -II.<br /> -<br /> -No excuses need be started!<br /> -Give, ye glad ones, open hearted,<br /> -To this foolish book before you<br /> -Ear and heart and lodging meet;<br /> -Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you,<br /> -Though of folly I may treat!<br /> -What I find, seek, and am needing,<br /> -Was it e'er in book for reading?<br /> -Honour now fools in my name,<br /> -Learn from out this book by reading<br /> -How "our sense" from reason came.<br /> -Thus, my friends, shall it obtain?<br /> -Amen! Till we meet again.<br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - - - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 51935 ***</div> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/51935-h/images/cover.png b/old/51935-h/images/cover.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ec33da2..0000000 --- a/old/51935-h/images/cover.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51935-h/images/ill_niet.jpg b/old/51935-h/images/ill_niet.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d035085..0000000 --- a/old/51935-h/images/ill_niet.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/51935-0.txt b/old/old/51935-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 806ff3b..0000000 --- a/old/old/51935-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11533 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Human All-Too-Human, Part 1, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Human All-Too-Human, Part 1 - Complete Works, Volume Six - -Author: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -Contributor: J. M. Kennedy - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Helen Zimmern - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51935] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMAN ALL-TOO-HUMAN, PART 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - - - - - -HUMAN - -ALL-TOO-HUMAN - -_A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS_ - -PART I - -By - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - - -TRANSLATED BY - -HELEN ZIMMERN - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY - -J. M. KENNEDY - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Six - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1909 - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - INTRODUCTION - - AUTHOR'S PREFACE - - FIRST DIVISION: FIRST AND LAST THINGS - SECOND DIVISION: THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL - SENTIMENT - THIRD DIVISION: THE RELIGIOUS LIFE - FOURTH DIVISION: CONCERNING THE SOUL OF - ARTISTS AND AUTHORS - FIFTH DIVISION: THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND - LOWER CULTURE - SIXTH DIVISION: MAN IN SOCIETY - SEVENTH DIVISION: WIFE AND CHILD - EIGHTH DIVISION: A GLANCE AT THE STATE - AN EPODE--AMONG FRIENDS - - - - -INTRODUCTION. - - -Nietzsche's essay, _Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,_ appeared in 1876, -and his next publication was his present work, which was issued in -1878. A comparison of the books will show that the two years of -meditation intervening had brought about a great change in Nietzsche's -views, his style of expressing them, and the form in which they -were cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives way to an -Apollonian thinker with a touch of pessimism. The long essay form is -abandoned, and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some tinged with -melancholy, others with satire, several, especially towards the end, -with Nietzschian wit at its best, and a few at the beginning so very -abstruse as to require careful study. - -Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche had gradually come to -see Wagner as he really was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had -pictured in his own mind turned out to be nothing more than a rather -dilettante philosopher, an opportunistic decadent with a suspicious -tendency towards Christianity. The young philosopher thereupon -proceeded to shake off the influence which the musician had exercised -upon him. He was successful in doing so, but not without a struggle, -just as he had formerly shaken off the influence of Schopenhauer. -Hence he writes in his autobiography:[1] "_Human, all-too-Human,_ is -the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A book for _free_ spirits,' -and almost every line in it represents a victory--in its pages I freed -myself from everything foreign to my real nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title says, 'Where _you_ see ideal things, I see things -which are only--human alas! all-too-human!' I know man _better_--the -term 'free spirit' must here be understood in no other sense than this: -a _freed_ man, who has once more taken possession of himself." - -The form of this book will be better understood when it is remembered -that at this period Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach -trouble and headaches. As a cure for his complaints, he spent his time -in travel when he could get a few weeks' respite from his duties at -Basel University; and it was in the course of his solitary walks and -hill-climbing tours that the majority of these thoughts occurred to -him and were jotted down there and then. A few of them, however, date -further back, as he tells us in the preface to the second part of this -work. Many of them, he says, occupied his mind even before he published -his first book, _The Birth of Tragedy_ and several others, as we learn -from his notebooks and posthumous writings, date from the period of the -_Thoughts out of Season._ - -It must be clearly understood, however, that Nietzsche's disease must -not be looked upon in the same way as that of an ordinary man. People -are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous; but any one who rights -with and conquers his disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did, -benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In the first place, he has -passed through several stages of human psychology with which a healthy -man is entirely unacquainted; _e.g._ he has learnt by introspection -the spiteful and revengeful spirit of the sick man and his religion. -Secondly, in his moments of freedom from pain and gloom his thoughts -will be all the more brilliant. - -In support of this last statement, one instance may be selected out of -hundreds that could be adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater part -of his life in exile from his native country, tortured by headaches, -and finally dying in a foreign land as the result of a spinal disease. -His splendid works were composed in his moments of respite from -illness, and during the last years of his life, when his health was -at its worst, he gave to the world his famous _Romancero._ We would -likewise do well to recollect Goethe's saying: - - Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen, - Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.[2] - -Thus neither the form of this book--so startling at first to those who -have been brought up in the traditions of our own school--nor the -treat all men as equals, and proclaim the establishment of equal rights: - - so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on - _justice_ is possible; but, as has been said, only within - the ranks of the governing classes, which in this case - _practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations. On - the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the - Socialists of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome - of justice, but of covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces - of flesh to a beast, and then withdraw them again until - it finally begins to roar, do you think that the roaring - implies justice? - -Theologians on the other hand, as may be expected, will find no such -ready help in their difficulties from Nietzsche. They must, on the -contrary, be on their guard against so alert an adversary--a duty -which they are apparently not going to shirk; for theologians are -amongst the most ardent students of Nietzsche in this country. Their -attention may therefore be drawn to aphorism 630 of this book, dealing -with convictions and their origin, which will no doubt be successfully -refuted by the defenders of the true faith. In fact, there is not a -single paragraph in the book that does not deserve careful study by all -serious thinkers. - -On the whole, however, this is a calm book, and those who are -accustomed to Nietzsche the out-spoken Immoralist, may be somewhat -astonished at the calm tone of the present volume. The explanation is -that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on his own philosophical -path. His life-long aim, the uplifting of the type man, was still in -view, but the way leading towards it was once more uncertain. Hence the -peculiarly calm, even melancholic, and what Nietzsche himself would -call Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so different from -the style of his earlier and later writings. For this very reason, -however, the book may appeal all the more to English readers, who are -of course more Apollonian than Dionysian. Nietzsche is feeling his way, -and these aphorisms represent his first steps. As such--besides having -a high intrinsic value of themselves--they are enormous aids to the -study of his character and temperament. - - J. M. KENNEDY. - - -[Footnote 1: _Ecce Homo,_ p. 75.] - -[Footnote 2: "Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a dark -and sombre background."--J.M.K.] - - - - -PREFACE - - -1. - - -I have been told frequently, and always with great surprise, that there -is something common and distinctive in all my writings, from the _Birth -of Tragedy_ to the latest published _Prelude to a Philosophy of the -Future._ They all contain, I have been told, snares and nets for unwary -birds, and an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the inversion -of customary valuations and valued customs. What? _Everything_ -only--human-all-too-human? People lay down my writings with this sigh, -not without a certain dread and distrust of morality itself, indeed -almost tempted and encouraged to become advocates of the _worst_ -things: as being perhaps only the _best_ disparaged? My writings have -been called a school of suspicion and especially of disdain, more -happily, also, a school of courage and even of audacity. Indeed, I -myself do not think that any one has ever looked at the world with such -a profound suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's Advocate, but -equally also, to speak theologically, as enemy and impeacher of God; -and he who realises something of the consequences involved, in every -profound suspicion, something of the chills and anxieties of loneliness -to which every uncompromising _difference of outlook_ condemns him -who is affected therewith, will also understand how often I sought -shelter in some kind of reverence or hostility, or scientificality -or levity or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and, as it -were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness; also why, when I did not -find what I _needed,_ I was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit -and to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else have poets ever -done? And for what purpose has all the art in the world existed?). -What I always required most, however, for my cure and self-recovery, -was the belief that I was _not_ isolated in such circumstances, that I -did not _see_ in an isolated manner--a magic suspicion of relationship -and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a repose in the -confidence of friendship, a blindness in both parties without suspicion -or note of interrogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces -of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour, epidermis, and -outside appearance. Perhaps I might be reproached in this respect -for much "art" and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily -and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will to -morality at a time when I had become sufficiently clear-sighted about -morality; also for deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable -romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an end; also about -the Greeks, also about the Germans and their future--and there would -still probably be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing however, -that this were all true and that I were reproached with good reason, -what do _you_ know, what _could_ you know as to how much artifice of -self-preservation, how much rationality and higher protection there is -in such self-deception,--and how much falseness I still _require_ in -order to allow myself again and again the luxury of _my_ sincerity? -... In short, I still live; and life, in spite of ourselves, is not -devised by morality; it _demands_ illusion, it _lives_ by illusion -... but----There! I am already beginning again and doing what I have -always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher that I am,--I am talking -un-morally, ultra-morally, "beyond good and evil"?... - - -2. - -Thus then, when I found it necessary, I _invented_ once on a time the -"free spirits," to whom this discouragingly encouraging book with -the title _Human, all-too-Human,_ is dedicated. There are no such -"free spirits" nor have there been such, but, as already said, I then -required them for company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils -(sickness, loneliness, foreignness,--_acedia,_ inactivity) as brave -companions and ghosts with whom I could laugh and gossip when so -inclined and send to the devil when they became bores,--as compensation -for the lack of friends. That such free spirits _will be possible_ some -day, that our Europe _will_ have such bold and cheerful wights amongst -her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow, as the shadows of -a hermit's phantasmagoria--_I_ should be the last to doubt thereof. -Already I see them _coming,_ slowly, slowly; and perhaps I am doing -something to hasten their coming when I describe in advance under what -auspices I _see_ them originate, and upon what paths I _see_ them come. - - -3. - -One may suppose that a spirit in which the type "free spirit" is to -become fully mature and sweet, has had its decisive event in a _great -emancipation,_ and that it was all the more fettered previously and -apparently bound for ever to its corner and pillar. What is it that -binds most strongly? What cords are almost unrendable? In men of a -lofty and select type it will be their duties; the reverence which is -suitable to youth, respect and tenderness for all that is time-honoured -and worthy, gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand which -led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt to adore,--their most -exalted moments themselves will bind them most effectively, will lay -upon them the most enduring obligations. For those who are thus bound -the great emancipation comes suddenly, like an earthquake; the young -soul is all at once convulsed, unloosened and extricated--it does not -itself know what is happening. An impulsion and-compulsion sway and -over-master it like a command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth -on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent, dangerous curiosity -about an undiscovered world flames and flares in every sense. "Better -to die than live _here_"--says the imperious voice and seduction, and -this "here," this "at home" is all that the soul has hitherto loved! A -sudden fear and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of disdain -for what was called its "duty," a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanically -throbbing longing for travel, foreignness, estrangement, coldness, -disenchantment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious -clutch and look _backwards,_ to where it hitherto adored and loved, -perhaps a glow of shame at what it was just doing, and at the same -time a rejoicing _that_ it was doing it, an intoxicated, internal, -exulting thrill which betrays a triumph--a triumph? Over what? Over -whom? An enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but the _first_ -triumph nevertheless;--such evil and painful incidents belong to the -history of the great emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease -which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of power and will to -self-decision, self-valuation, this will to _free_ will; and how much -disease is manifested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by which -the liberated and emancipated one now seeks to demonstrate his mastery -over things! He roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; whatever -he captures has to suffer for the dangerous tension of his pride; -he tears to pieces whatever attracts him. With a malicious laugh he -twirls round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a sense of shame; -he tries how these things look when turned upside down. It is a matter -of arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness, if he now -perhaps bestow his favour on what had hitherto a bad repute,--if he -inquisitively and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden. In the -background of his activities and wanderings --for he is restless and -aimless in his course as in a desert--stands the note of interrogation -of an increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot _all_ valuations be -reversed? And is good perhaps evil? And God only an invention and -artifice of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically false? And -if we are the deceived, are we not thereby also deceivers? _Must_ we -not also be deceivers?"--Such thoughts lead and mislead him more and -more, onward and away. Solitude encircles and engirdles him, always -more threatening, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that terrible -goddess and _mater sæva cupidinum_--but who knows nowadays what -_solitude_ is?... - - -4. - -From this morbid solitariness, from the desert of such years of -experiment, it is still a long way to the copious, overflowing safety -and soundness which does not care to dispense with disease itself as -an instrument and angling-hook of knowledge;--to that _mature_ freedom -of spirit which is equally self-control and discipline of the heart, -and gives access to many and opposed modes of thought;--to that inward -comprehensiveness and daintiness of superabundance, which excludes any -danger of the spirit's becoming enamoured and lost in its own paths, -and lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that excess of -plastic, healing, formative, and restorative powers, which is exactly -the sign of _splendid_ health, that excess which gives the free spirit -the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to live by _experiments_ -and offer itself to adventure; the free spirit's prerogative of -mastership! Long years of convalescence may lie in between, years full -of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magical transformations, curbed -and led by a tough _will to health,_ which often dares to dress and -disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle condition therein, -which a man of such a fate never calls to mind later on without -emotion; a pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are peculiar -to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom, prospect, and haughtiness, a -_tertium quid_ in which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined. A -"free spirit"--this cool expression does good in every condition, it -almost warms. One no longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred, -without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near, voluntarily distant, -preferring to escape, to turn aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and -away; one is fastidious like every one who has once seen an immense -variety _beneath_ him,--and one has become the opposite of those who -trouble themselves about things which do not concern them. In fact, it -is nothing but things which now concern the free spirit,--and how many -things!--which no longer _trouble_ him! - - -5. - -A step further towards recovery, and the free spirit again draws -near to life; slowly, it is true, and almost stubbornly, almost -distrustfully. Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it were, -yellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,. thawing winds of every -kind pass lightly over him. He almost feels as if his eyes were now -first opened to what is _near._ He marvels and is still; where has -he been? The near and nearest things, how changed they appear to -him! What a bloom and magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks -back gratefully,--grateful to his wandering, his austerity and -self-estrangement, his far-sightedness and his bird-like flights -in cold heights. What a good thing that he did not always stay "at -home," "by himself," like a sensitive, stupid tenderling. He has been -_beside himself,_ there is no doubt. He now sees himself for the first -time,--and what surprises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced -hitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the old illness, in the -relapses of the convalescent! How he likes to sit still and suffer, to -practise patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as he with the -joy of winter, with the patch of sunshine upon the wall! They are the -most grateful animals in the world, and also the most unassuming, these -lizards of convalescents with their faces half-turned towards life once -more:--there are those amongst them who never let a day pass without -hanging a little hymn of praise on its trailing fringe. And, speaking -seriously, it is a radical _cure_ for all pessimism (the well-known -disease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to become ill after -the manner of these free spirits, to remain ill a good while, and then -grow well (I mean "better") for a still longer period. It is wisdom, -practical wisdom, to prescribe even health for one's self for a long -time only in small doses. - - -6. - -About this time it may at last happen, under the sudden illuminations -of still disturbed and changing health, that the enigma of that great -emancipation begins to reveal itself to the free, and ever freer, -spirit,--that enigma which had hitherto lain obscure, questionable, -and almost intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he scarcely -dared to ask himself, "Why so apart? So alone? denying everything that -I revered? denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this suspicion, -this severity towards my own virtues?"--he now dares and asks the -questions aloud, and already hears something like an answer to them-- -"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and master also of thine own -virtues. Formerly _they_ were thy masters; but they are only entitled -to be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst obtain power over -thy pro and contra, and learn how to put them forth and withdraw them -again in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou shouldst learn how -to take the proper perspective of every valuation--the shifting, -distortion, and apparent teleology of the horizons and everything that -belongs to perspective; also the amount of stupidity which opposite -values involve, and all the intellectual loss with which every pro -and every contra has to be paid for. Thou shouldst learn how much -_necessary_ injustice there is in every for and against, injustice -as inseparable from life, and life itself as _conditioned_ by the -perspective and its injustice. Above all thou shouldst see clearly -where the injustice is always greatest:--namely, where life has -developed most punily, restrictedly, necessitously, and incipiently, -and yet cannot help regarding _itself_ as the purpose and standard of -things, and for the sake of self-preservation, secretly, basely, and -continuously wasting away and calling in question the higher, greater, -and richer,--thou shouldst see clearly the problem of gradation of -rank, and how power and right and amplitude of perspective grow up -together. Thou shouldst----" But enough; the free spirit _knows_ -henceforth which "thou shalt" he has obeyed, and also what he _can_ now -_do,_ what he only now--_may do_.... - - -7. - -Thus doth the free spirit answer himself with regard to the riddle of -emancipation, and ends therewith, while he generalises his case, in -order thus to decide with regard to his experience. "As it has happened -to _me_," he says to himself, "so must it happen to every one in whom -a _mission_ seeks to embody itself and to 'come into the world.'" The -secret power and necessity of this mission will operate in and upon -the destined individuals like an unconscious pregnancy,--long before -they have had the mission itself in view and have known its name. Our -destiny rules over us, even when we are not yet aware of it; it is -the future that makes laws for our to-day. Granted that it is _the -problem of the gradations of rank,_ of which we may say that it is -_our_ problem, we free spirits; now only in the midday of our life do -we first understand what preparations, detours, tests, experiments, -and disguises the problem needed, before it _was permitted_ to rise -before us, and how we had first to experience the most manifold and -opposing conditions of distress and happiness in soul and body, as -adventurers and circumnavigators of the inner world called "man," as -surveyors of all the "higher" and the "one-above-another," also called -"man"--penetrating everywhere, almost without fear, rejecting nothing, -losing nothing, tasting everything, cleansing everything from all that -is accidental, and, as it were, sifting it out--until at last we could -say, we free spirits, "Here--a _new_ problem! Here a long ladder, -the rungs of which we ourselves have sat upon and mounted,--which we -ourselves at some time have _been_! Here a higher place, a lower place, -an under-us, an immeasurably long order, a hierarchy which we _see;_ -here--_our_ problem!" - - -8. - -No psychologist or augur will be in doubt for a moment as to what stage -of the development just described the following book belongs (or is -assigned to). But where are these psychologists nowadays? In France, -certainly; perhaps in Russia; assuredly not in Germany. Reasons are -not lacking why the present-day Germans could still even count this -as an honour to them--bad enough, surely, for one who in this respect -is un-German in disposition and constitution! This _German_ book, -which has been able to find readers in a wide circle of countries -and nations--it has been about ten years going its rounds--and must -understand some sort of music and piping art, by means of which -even coy foreign ears are seduced into listening,--it is precisely -in Germany that this book has been most negligently read, and worst -_listened to;_ what is the reason?" It demands too much, "I have been -told," it appeals to men free from the pressure of coarse duties, it -wants refined and fastidious senses, it needs superfluity--superfluity -of time, of clearness of sky and heart, of _otium_ in the boldest -sense of the term:--purely good things, which we Germans of to-day do -not possess and therefore cannot give." After such a polite answer -my philosophy advises me to be silent and not to question further; -besides, in certain cases, as the proverb points out, one only -_remains_ a philosopher by being--silent.[1] - -NICE, _Spring_ 1886. - - -[Footnote 1: An allusion to the mediæval Latin distich: - -O si tacuisses, -Philosophus mansisses.--J.M.K. -] - - - - -HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN. - - - - -FIRST DIVISION. - - -FIRST AND LAST THINGS. - - - -1. - -CHEMISTRY OF IDEAS AND SENSATIONS.--Philosophical problems adopt in -almost all matters the same form of question as they did two thousand -years ago; how can anything spring from its opposite? for instance, -reason out of unreason, the sentient out of the dead, logic out of -unlogic, disinterested contemplation out of covetous willing, life for -others out of egoism, truth out of error? Metaphysical philosophy has -helped itself over those difficulties hitherto by denying the origin of -one thing in another, and assuming a miraculous origin for more highly -valued things, immediately out of the kernel and essence of the "thing -in itself." Historical philosophy, on the contrary, which is no longer -to be thought of as separate from physical science, the youngest of all -philosophical methods, has ascertained in single cases (and presumably -this will happen in everything) that there are no opposites except in -the usual exaggeration of the popular or metaphysical point of view, -and that an error of reason lies at the bottom of the opposition: -according to this explanation, strictly understood, there is neither -an unegoistical action nor an entirely disinterested point of view, -they are both only sublimations in which the fundamental element -appears almost evaporated, and is only to be discovered by the closest -observation. All that we require, and which can only be given us by the -present advance of the single sciences, is a _chemistry_ of the moral, -religious, æsthetic ideas and sentiments, as also of those emotions -which we experience in ourselves both in the great and in the small -phases of social and intellectual intercourse, and even in solitude; -but what if this chemistry should result in the fact that also in this -case the most beautiful colours have been obtained from base, even -despised materials? Would many be inclined to pursue such examinations? -Humanity likes to put all questions as to origin and beginning out -of its mind; must one not be almost dehumanised to feel a contrary -tendency in one's self? - - -2. - -INHERITED FAULTS OF PHILOSOPHERS.--All philosophers have the common -fault that they start from man in his present state and hope to attain -their end by an analysis of him. Unconsciously they look upon "man" -as an _cetema Veritas,_ as a thing unchangeable in all commotion, as -a sure standard of things. But everything that the philosopher says -about man is really nothing more than testimony about the man of a -_very limited_ space of time. A lack of the historical sense is the -hereditary fault of all philosophers; many, indeed, unconsciously -mistake the very latest variety of man, such as has arisen under the -influence of certain religions, certain political events, for the -permanent form from which one must set out. They will not learn that -man has developed, that his faculty of knowledge has developed also; -whilst for some of them the entire world is spun out of this faculty -of knowledge. Now everything _essential_ in human development happened -in pre-historic times, long before those four thousand years which we -know something of; man may not have changed much during this time. But -the philosopher sees "instincts" in the present man and takes it for -granted that this is one of the unalterable facts of mankind, and, -consequently, can furnish a key to the understanding of the world; the -entire teleology is so constructed that man of the last four thousand -years is spoken of as an _eternal_ being, towards which all things in -the world have from the beginning a natural direction. But everything -has evolved; there are _no eternal facts,_ as there are likewise no -absolute truths. Therefore, _historical philosophising_ is henceforth -necessary, and with it the virtue of diffidence. - - -3. - -APPRECIATION OF UNPRETENTIOUS TRUTHS.--It is a mark of a higher -culture to value the little unpretentious truths, which have been -found by means of strict method, more highly than the joy-diffusing -and dazzling errors which spring from metaphysical and artistic times -and peoples. First of all one has scorn on the lips for the former, -as if here nothing could have equal privileges with anything else, -so unassuming, simple, bashful, apparently discouraging are they, -so beautiful, stately, intoxicating, perhaps even animating, are -the others. But the hardly attained, the certain, the lasting, and -therefore of great consequence for all wider knowledge, is still -the higher; to keep one's self to that is manly and shows bravery, -simplicity, and forbearance. Gradually not only single individuals -but the whole of mankind will be raised to this manliness, when -it has at last accustomed itself to the higher appreciation of -durable, lasting knowledge, and has lost all belief in inspiration -and the miraculous communication of truths. Respecters of _forms,_ -certainly, with their standard of the beautiful and noble, will first -of all have good reasons for mockery, as soon as the appreciation of -unpretentious truths, and the scientific spirit, begin to obtain the -mastery; but only because their eye has either not yet recognised the -charm of the _simplest_ form, or because men educated in that spirit -are not yet completely and inwardly saturated by it, so that they -still thoughtlessly imitate old forms (and badly enough, as one does -who no longer cares much about the matter). Formerly the spirit was -not occupied with strict thought, its earnestness then lay in the -spinning out of symbols and forms. This is changed; that earnestness -in the symbolical has become the mark of a lower culture. As our arts -themselves grow evermore intellectual, our senses more spiritual, and -as, for instance, people now judge concerning what sounds well to the -senses quite differently from how they did a hundred years ago, so the -forms of our life grow ever more _spiritual,_ to the eye of older ages -perhaps _uglier,_ but only because it is incapable of perceiving how -the kingdom of the inward, spiritual beauty constantly grows deeper -and wider, and to what extent the inner intellectual look may be of -more importance to us all than the most beautiful bodily frame and the -noblest architectural structure. - - -4. - -ASTROLOGY AND THE LIKE.--It is probable that the objects of religious, -moral, æsthetic and logical sentiment likewise belong only to the -surface of things, while man willingly believes that here, at least, -he has touched the heart of the world; he deceives himself, because -those things enrapture him so profoundly, and make him so profoundly -unhappy, and he therefore shows the same pride here as in astrology. -For astrology believes that the firmament moves round the destiny of -man; the moral man, however, takes it for granted that what he has -essentially at heart must also be the essence and heart of things. - - -5. - -MISUNDERSTANDING OF DREAMS.--In the ages of a rude and primitive -civilisation man believed that in dreams he became acquainted with -a _second actual world_; herein lies the origin of all metaphysics. -Without dreams there could have been found no reason for a division of -the world. The distinction, too, between soul and body is connected -with the most ancient comprehension of dreams, also the supposition of -an imaginary soul-body, therefore the origin of all belief in spirits, -and probably also the belief in gods. "The dead continues to live, -_for_ he appears to the living in a dream": thus men reasoned of old -for thousands and thousands of years. - - -6. - -THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT PARTIALLY BUT NOT WHOLLY POWERFUL.--The -_smallest_ subdivisions of science taken separately are dealt with -purely in relation to themselves,--the general, great sciences, on the -contrary, regarded as a whole, call up the question--certainly a very -non-objective one--"Wherefore? To what end?" It is this utilitarian -consideration which causes them to be dealt with less impersonally -when taken as a whole than when considered in their various parts. -In philosophy, above all, as the apex of the entire, pyramid of -science, the question as to the utility of knowledge is involuntarily -brought forward, and every philosophy has the unconscious intention of -ascribing to it the _greatest_ usefulness. For this reason there is so -much high-flying metaphysics in all philosophies and such a shyness of -the apparently unimportant solutions of physics; for the importance -of knowledge for life _must_ appear as great as possible. Here is the -antagonism between the separate provinces of science and philosophy. -The latter desires, what art does, to give the greatest possible depth -and meaning to life and actions; in the former one seeks knowledge and -nothing further, whatever may emerge thereby. So far there has been no -philosopher in whose hands philosophy has not grown into an apology -for knowledge; on this point, at least, every one is an optimist, that -the greatest usefulness must be ascribed to knowledge. They are all -tyrannised over by logic, and this is optimism--in its essence. - - -7. - -THE KILL-JOY IN SCIENCE.--Philosophy separated from science when it -asked the question, "Which is the knowledge of the world and of life -which enables man to live most happily?" This happened in the Socratic -schools; the veins of scientific investigation were bound up by the -point of view of _happiness,_--and are so still. - - -8. - -PNEUMATIC EXPLANATION OF NATURE.--Metaphysics explains the writing of -Nature, so to speak, _pneumatically,_ as the Church and her learned men -formerly did with the Bible. A great deal of understanding is required -to apply to Nature the same method of strict interpretation as the -philologists have now established for all books with the intention -of clearly understanding what the text means, but not suspecting a -_double_ sense or even taking it for granted. Just, however, as with -regard to books, the bad art of interpretation is by no means overcome, -and in the most cultivated society one still constantly comes across -the remains of allegorical and mystic interpretation, so it is also -with regard to Nature, indeed it is even much worse. - - -9. - -THE METAPHYSICAL WORLD.--It is true that there _might_ be a -metaphysical world; the absolute possibility of it is hardly to be -disputed. We look at everything through the human head and cannot cut -this head off; while the question remains, What would be left of the -world if it had been cut off? This is a purely scientific problem, -and one not very likely to trouble mankind; but everything which -has hitherto made metaphysical suppositions _valuable, terrible, -delightful_ for man, what has produced them, is passion, error, and -self-deception; the very worst methods of knowledge, not the best, -have taught belief therein. When these methods have been discovered as -the foundation of all existing religions and metaphysics, they have -been refuted. Then there still always remains that possibility; but -there is nothing to be done with it, much less is it possible to let -happiness, salvation, and life depend on the spider-thread of such a -possibility. For nothing could be said of the metaphysical world but -that it would be a different condition, a condition inaccessible and -incomprehensible to us; it would be a thing of negative qualities. -Were the existence of such a world ever so well proved, the fact would -nevertheless remain that it would be precisely the most irrelevant -of all forms of knowledge: more irrelevant than the knowledge of the -chemical analysis of water to the sailor in danger in a storm. - - -10. - -THE HARMLESSNESS OF METAPHYSICS IN THE FUTURE.--Directly the origins -of religion, art, and morals have been so described that one can -perfectly explain them without having recourse to metaphysical concepts -at the beginning and in the course of the path, the strongest interest -in the purely theoretical problem of the "thing-in-itself" and the -"phenomenon" ceases. For however it may be here, with religion, art, -and morals we do not touch the "essence of the world in itself"; we are -in the domain of representation, no "intuition" can carry us further. -With the greatest calmness we shall leave the question as to how our -own conception of the world can differ so widely from the revealed -essence of the world, to physiology and the history of the evolution of -organisms and ideas. - - -11. - -LANGUAGE AS A PRESUMPTIVE SCIENCE.--The importance of language for -the development of culture lies in the fact that in language man has -placed a world of his own beside the other, a position which he deemed -so fixed that he might therefrom lift the rest of the world off its -hinges, and make himself master of it. Inasmuch as man has believed in -the ideas and names of things as _æternæ veritates_ for a great length -of time, he has acquired that pride by which he has raised himself -above the animal; he really thought that in language he possessed -the knowledge of the world. The maker of language was not modest -enough to think that he only gave designations to things, he believed -rather that with his words he expressed the widest knowledge of the -things; in reality language is the first step in the endeavour after -science. Here also it is belief in ascertained truth, from which the -mightiest sources of strength have flowed. Much later--only now--it -is dawning upon men that they have propagated a tremendous error in -their belief in language. Fortunately it is now too late to reverse -the development of reason, which is founded upon that belief. _Logic,_ -also, is founded upon suppositions to which nothing in the actual -world corresponds,--for instance, on the supposition of the equality -of things, and the identity of the same thing at different points of -time,--but that particular science arose out of the contrary belief -(that such things really existed in the actual world). It is the same -with mathematics, which would certainly not have arisen if it had been -known from the beginning that in Nature there are no exactly straight -lines, no real circle, no absolute standard of size. - - -12. - -DREAM AND CULTURE.--The function of the brain which is most influenced -by sleep is the memory; not that it entirely ceases; but it is brought -back to a condition of imperfection, such as everyone may have -experienced in pre-historic times, whether asleep or awake. Arbitrary -and confused as it is, it constantly confounds things on the ground -of the most fleeting resemblances; but with the same arbitrariness -and confusion the ancients invented their mythologies, and even at -the present day travellers are accustomed to remark how prone the -savage is to forgetfulness, how, after a short tension of memory, his -mind begins to sway here and there from sheer weariness and gives -forth lies and nonsense. But in dreams we all resemble the savage; -bad recognition and erroneous comparisons are the reasons of the -bad conclusions, of which we are guilty in dreams: so that, when we -clearly recollect what we have dreamt, we are alarmed at ourselves at -harbouring so much foolishness within us. The perfect distinctness of -all dream-representations, which pre-suppose absolute faith in their -reality, recall the conditions that appertain, to primitive man, -in whom hallucination was extraordinarily frequent, and sometimes -simultaneously seized entire communities, entire nations. Therefore, in -sleep and in dreams we once more carry out the task of early humanity. - - -13. - -THE LOGIC OF DREAMS.--In sleep our nervous system is perpetually -excited by numerous inner occurrences; nearly all the organs are -disjointed and in a state of activity, the blood runs its turbulent -course, the position of the sleeper causes pressure on certain limbs, -his coverings influence his sensations in various ways, the stomach -digests and by its movements it disturbs other organs, the intestines -writhe, the position of the head occasions unaccustomed play of -muscles, the feet, unshod, not pressing upon the floor with the soles, -occasion the feeling of the unaccustomed just as does the different -clothing of the whole body: all this, according to its daily change -and extent, excites by its extraordinariness the entire system to the -very functions of the brain, and thus there are a hundred occasions -for the spirit to be surprised and to seek for the _reasons_ of this -excitation;--the dream, however, is _the seeking and representing of -the causes_ of those excited sensations,--that is, of the supposed -causes. A person who, for instance, binds his feet with two straps -will perhaps dream that two serpents are coiling round his feet; this -is first hypothesis, then a belief, with an accompanying _mental_ -picture and interpretation--" These serpents must be the _causa_ of -those sensations which I, the sleeper, experience,"--so decides the -mind of the sleeper. The immediate past, so disclosed, becomes to him -the present through his excited imagination. Thus every one knows -from experience how quickly the dreamer weaves into his dream a -loud sound that he hears, such as the ringing of bells or the firing -of cannon, that is to say, explains it from _afterwards_ so that he -first _thinks_ he experiences the producing circumstances and then -that sound. But how does it happen that the mind of the dreamer is -always so mistaken, while the same mind when awake is accustomed to be -so temperate, careful, and sceptical with regard to its hypotheses? -so that the first random hypothesis for the explanation of a feeling -suffices for him to believe immediately in its truth? (For in dreaming -we believe in the dream as if it were a reality, _i.e._ we think our -hypothesis completely proved.) I hold, that as man now still reasons in -dreams, so men reasoned also _when awake_ through thousands of years; -the first _causa_ which occurred to the mind to explain anything that -required an explanation, was sufficient and stood for truth. (Thus, -according to travellers' tales, savages still do to this very day.) -This ancient element in human nature still manifests itself in our -dreams, for it is the foundation upon which the higher reason has -developed and still develops in every individual; the dream carries -us back into remote conditions of human culture, and provides a ready -means of understanding them better. Dream-thinking is now so easy to -us because during immense periods of human development we have been -so well drilled in this form of fantastic and cheap explanation, -by means of the first agreeable notions. In so far, dreaming is a -recreation for the brain, which by day has to satisfy the stern -demands of thought, as they are laid down by the higher culture. We -can at once discern an allied process even in our awakened state, as -the door and ante-room of the dream. If we shut our eyes, the brain -produces a number of impressions of light and colour, probably as a -kind of after-play and echo of all those effects of light which crowd -in upon it by day. Now, however, the understanding, together with -the imagination, instantly works up this play of colour, shapeless -in itself, into definite figures, forms, landscapes, and animated -groups. The actual accompanying process thereby is again a kind of -conclusion from the effect to the cause: since the mind asks, "Whence -come these impressions of light and colour?" it supposes those figures -and forms as causes; it takes them for the origin of those colours and -lights, because in the daytime, with open eyes, it is accustomed to -find a producing cause for every colour, every effect of light. Here, -therefore, the imagination constantly places pictures before the mind, -since it supports itself on the visual impressions of the day in their -production, and the dream-imagination does just the same thing,--that -is, the supposed cause is deduced from the effect and represented after -the effect; all this happens with extraordinary rapidity, so that here, -as with the conjuror, a confusion of judgment may arise and a sequence -may look like something simultaneous, or even like a reversed sequence. -From these circumstances we may gather _how lately_ the more acute -logical thinking, the strict discrimination of cause and effect has -been developed, when our reasoning and understanding faculties _still_ -involuntarily hark back to those primitive forms of deduction, and -when we pass about half our life in this condition. The poet, too, and -the artist assign causes for their moods and conditions which are by -no means the true ones; in this they recall an older humanity and can -assist us to the understanding of it. - - -14. - -CO-ECHOING.--All _stronger_ moods bring with them a co-echoing of -kindred sensations and moods, they grub up the memory, so to speak. -Along with them something within us remembers and becomes conscious -of similar conditions and their origin. Thus there are formed quick -habitual connections of feelings and thoughts, which eventually, when -they follow each other with lightning speed, are no longer felt as -complexes but as _unities._ In this sense one speaks of the moral -feeling, of the religious feeling, as if they were absolute unities: in -reality they are streams with a hundred sources and tributaries. Here -also, as so often happens, the unity of the word is no security for the -unity of the thing. - - -15. - -NO INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL IN THE WORLD.--As Democritus transferred the -concepts "above" and "below" to endless space where they have no sense, -so philosophers in general have transferred the concepts "Internal" -and "External" to the essence and appearance of the world; they think -that with deep feelings one can penetrate deeply into the internal and -approach the heart of Nature. But these feelings are only deep in so -far as along with them, barely noticeable, certain complicated groups -of thoughts, which we call deep, are regularly excited; a feeling -is deep because we think that the accompanying thought is deep. But -the "deep" thought can nevertheless be very far from the truth, as, -for instance, every metaphysical one; if one take away from the deep -feeling the commingled elements of thought, then the _strong_ feeling -remains, and this guarantees nothing for knowledge but itself, just -as strong faith proves only its strength and not the truth of what is -believed in. - - -16. - -PHENOMENON AND THING-IN-ITSELF.--Philosophers are in the habit of -setting themselves before life and experience--before that which they -call the world of appearance--as before a picture that is once for -all unrolled and exhibits unchangeably fixed the same process,--this -process, they think, must be rightly interpreted in order to come to -a conclusion about the being that produced the picture: about the -thing-in-itself, therefore, which is always accustomed to be regarded -as sufficient ground for the world of phenomenon. On the other hand, -since one always makes the idea of the metaphysical stand definitely -as that of the unconditioned, _consequently_ also unconditioning, one -must directly disown all connection between the unconditioned (the -metaphysical world) and the world which is known to us; so that the -thing-in-itself should most certainly _not_ appear in the phenomenon, -and every conclusion from the former as regards the latter is to be -rejected. Both sides overlook the fact that that picture--that which -we now call human life and experience--has gradually evolved,--nay, -is still in the full process of evolving,--and therefore should not -be regarded as a fixed magnitude from which a conclusion about its -originator might be deduced (the sufficing cause) or even merely -neglected. It is because for thousands of years we have looked into -the world with moral, æsthetic, and religious pretensions, with blind -inclination, passion, or fear, and have surfeited ourselves in the -vices of illogical thought, that this world has gradually _become_ so -marvellously motley, terrible, full of meaning and of soul, it has -acquired colour--but we were the colourists; the human intellect, -on the basis of human needs, of human emotions, has caused this -"phenomenon" to appear and has carried its erroneous fundamental -conceptions into things. Late, very late, it takes to thinking, and -now the world of experience and the thing-in-itself seem to it so -extraordinarily different and separated, that it gives up drawing -conclusions from the former to the latter--or in a terribly mysterious -manner demands the renunciation of our intellect, of our personal -will, in order _thereby_ to reach the essential, that one may _become -essential._ Again, others have collected all the characteristic -features of our world of phenomenon,--that is, the idea of the world -spun out of intellectual errors and inherited by us,--and _instead of -accusing the intellect_ as the offenders, they have laid the blame on -the nature of things as being the cause of the hard fact of this very -sinister character of the world, and have preached the deliverance -from Being. With all these conceptions the constant and laborious -process of science (which at last celebrates its greatest triumph in a -_history of the origin of thought_) becomes completed in various ways, -the result of which might perhaps run as follows:--"That which we now -call the world is the result of a mass of errors and fantasies which -arose gradually in the general development of organic being, which -are inter-grown with each other, and are now inherited by us as the -accumulated treasure of all the past,--as a treasure, for the value of -our humanity depends upon it. From this world of representation strict -science is really only able to liberate us to a very slight extent--as -it is also not at all desirable--inasmuch as it cannot essentially -break the power of primitive habits of feeling; but it can gradually -elucidate the history of the rise of that world as representation,--and -lift us, at least for moments, above and beyond the whole process. -Perhaps we shall then recognise that the thing in itself is worth a -Homeric laugh; that it _seemed_ so much, indeed everything, and _is_ -really empty, namely, empty of meaning." - - -17. - -METAPHYSICAL EXPLANATIONS.--The young man values metaphysical -explanations, because they show him something highly significant -in things which he found unpleasant or despicable, and if he is -dissatisfied with himself, the feeling becomes lighter when he -recognises the innermost world-puzzle or world-misery in that which he -so strongly disapproves of in himself. To feel himself less responsible -and at the same time to find things more interesting--that seems to -him a double benefit for which he has to thank metaphysics. Later on, -certainly, he gets distrustful of the whole metaphysical method of -explanation; then perhaps it grows clear to him that those results can -be obtained equally well and more scientifically in another way: that -physical and historical explanations produce the feeling of personal -relief to at least the same extent, and that the interest in life and -its problems is perhaps still more aroused thereby. - - -18. - -FUNDAMENTAL QUESTIONS OF METAPHYSICS.--When the history of the rise -of thought comes to be written, a new light will be thrown on the -following statement of a distinguished logician:--"The primordial -general law of the cognisant subject consists in the inner necessity -of recognising every object in itself in its own nature, as a thing -identical with itself, consequently self-existing and at bottom -remaining ever the same and unchangeable: in short, in recognising -everything as a substance." Even this law, which is here called -"primordial," has evolved: it will some day be shown how gradually this -tendency arises in the lower organisms, how the feeble mole-eyes of -their organisations at first see only the same thing,--;how then, when -the various awakenings of pleasure and displeasure become noticeable, -various substances are gradually distinguished, but each with one -attribute, _i.e._ one single relation to such an organism. The first -step in logic is the judgment,--the nature of which, according to the -decision of the best logicians, consists in belief. At the bottom of -all belief lies _the sensation of the pleasant or the painful_ in -relation to the _sentient subject._ A new third sensation as the result -of two previous single sensations is the judgment in its simplest -form. We organic beings have originally no interest in anything but -its relation to _us_ in connection with pleasure and pain. Between -the moments (the states of feeling) when we become conscious of -this connection, lie moments of rest, of non-feeling; the world and -everything is then without interest for us, we notice no change in it -(as even now a deeply interested person does not notice when any one -passes him). To the plant, things are as a rule tranquil and eternal, -everything like itself. From the period of the lower organisms man -has inherited the belief that _similar things_ exist (this theory -is only contradicted by the matured experience of the most advanced -science). The primordial belief of everything organic from the -beginning is perhaps even this, that all the rest of the world is one -and immovable. The point furthest removed from those early beginnings -of logic is the idea of _Causality,_--indeed we still really think -that all sensations and activities are acts of the free will; when the -sentient individual contemplates himself, he regards every sensation, -every alteration as something _isolated,_ that is to say, unconditioned -and disconnected,--it rises up in us without connection with anything -foregoing or following. We are hungry, but do not originally think that -the organism must be nourished; the feeling seems to make itself felt -_without cause and purpose,_ it isolates itself and regards itself as -arbitrary. Therefore, belief in the freedom of the will is an original -error of everything organic, as old as the existence of the awakenings -of logic in it; the belief in unconditioned substances and similar -things is equally a primordial as well as an old error of everything -organic. But inasmuch as all metaphysics has concerned itself chiefly -with substance and the freedom of will, it may be designated as the -science which treats of the fundamental errors of mankind, but treats -of them as if they were fundamental truths. - - -19. - -NUMBER.--The discovery of the laws of numbers is made upon the ground -of the original, already prevailing error, that there are many similar -things (but in reality there is nothing similar), at least, that there -are things (but there is no "thing"). The supposition of plurality -always presumes that there is something which appears frequently,--but -here already error reigns, already we imagine beings, unities, -which do not exist. Our sensations of space and time are false, for -they lead--examined in sequence--to logical contradictions. In all -scientific determinations we always reckon inevitably with certain -false quantities, but as these quantities are at least constant, as, -for instance, our sensation of time and space, the conclusions of -science have still perfect accuracy and certainty in their connection -with one another; one may continue to build upon them--until that final -limit where the erroneous original suppositions, those constant faults, -come into conflict with the conclusions, for instance in the doctrine -of atoms. There still we always feel ourselves compelled to the -acceptance of a "thing" or material "sub-stratum" that is moved, whilst -the whole scientific procedure has pursued the very task of resolving -everything substantial (material) into motion; here, too, we still -separate with our sensation the mover and the moved and cannot get -out of this circle, because the belief in things has from immemorial -times been bound up with our being. When Kant says, "The understanding -does not derive its laws from Nature, but dictates them to her," it is -perfectly true with regard to the idea of Nature which we are compelled -to associate with her (Nature = World as representation, that is to -say as error), but which is the summing up of a number of errors of -the understanding. The laws of numbers are entirely inapplicable to a -world which is not our representation--these laws obtain only in the -human world. - - -20. - -A FEW STEPS BACK.--A degree of culture, and assuredly a very high one, -is attained when man rises above superstitious and religious notions -and fears, and, for instance, no longer believes in guardian angels or -in original sin, and has also ceased to talk of the salvation of his -soul,--if he has attained to this degree of freedom, he has still also -to overcome metaphysics with the greatest exertion of his intelligence. -Then, however, a _retrogressive movement_ is necessary; he must -understand the historical justification as well as the psychological in -such representations, he must recognise how the greatest advancement -of humanity has come therefrom, and how, without such a retrocursive -movement, we should have been robbed of the best products of hitherto -existing mankind. With regard to philosophical metaphysics, I always -see increasing numbers who have attained to the negative goal (that -all positive metaphysics is error), but as yet few who climb a few -rungs backwards; one ought to look out, perhaps, over the last steps of -the ladder, but not try to stand upon them. The most enlightened only -succeed so far as to free themselves from metaphysics and look back -upon it with superiority, while it is necessary here, too, as in the -hippodrome, to turn round the end of the course. - - -21. - -CONJECTURAL VICTORY OF SCEPTICISM.--For once let the sceptical -starting-point be accepted,--granted that there were no other -metaphysical world, and all explanations drawn from metaphysics about -the only world we know were useless to us, in what light should we -then look upon men and things? We can think this out for ourselves, it -is useful, even though the question whether anything metaphysical has -been scientifically proved by Kant and Schopenhauer were altogether set -aside. For it is quite possible, according to historical probability, -that some time or other man, as a general rule, may grow _sceptical;_ -the question will then be this: What form will human society take under -the influence of such a mode of thought? Perhaps the _scientific proof_ -of some metaphysical world or other is already so _difficult_ that -mankind will never get rid of a certain distrust of it. And when there -is distrust of metaphysics, there are on the whole the same results as -if it had been directly refuted and _could_ no longer be believed in. -The historical question with regard to an unmetaphysical frame of mind -in mankind remains the same in both cases. - - -22. - -UNBELIEF IN THE "_MONUMENTUM ÆRE PERENNIUS._"--An actual drawback -which accompanies the cessation of metaphysical views lies in the fact -that the individual looks upon his short span of life too exclusively -and receives no stronger incentives to build durable institutions -intended to last for centuries,--he himself wishes to pluck the fruit -from the tree which he plants, and therefore he no longer plants those -trees which require regular care for centuries, and which are destined -to afford shade to a long series of generations. For metaphysical -views furnish the belief that in them the last conclusive foundation -has been given, upon which henceforth all the future of mankind is -compelled to settle down and establish itself; the individual furthers -his salvation, when, for instance, he founds a church or convent, he -thinks it will be reckoned to him and recompensed to him in the eternal -life of the soul, it is work for the soul's eternal salvation. Can -science also arouse such faith in its results? As a matter of fact, it -needs doubt and distrust as its most faithful auxiliaries; nevertheless -in the course of time, the sum of inviolable truths--those, namely, -which have weathered all the storms of scepticism, and all destructive -analysis--may have become so great (in the regimen of health, for -instance), that one may determine to found thereupon "eternal" works. -For the present the _contrast_ between our excited ephemeral existence -and the long-winded repose of metaphysical ages still operates too -strongly, because the two ages still stand too closely together; -the individual man himself now goes through too many inward and -outward developments for him to venture to arrange his own lifetime -permanently, and once and for all. An entirely modern man, for -instance, who is going to build himself a house, has a feeling as if -he were going to immure himself alive in a mausoleum. - - -23. - -THE AGE OF COMPARISON.--The less men are fettered by tradition, the -greater becomes the inward activity of their motives; the greater, -again, in proportion thereto, the outward restlessness, the confused -flux of mankind, the polyphony of strivings. For whom is there still an -absolute compulsion to bind himself and his descendants to one place? -For whom is there still anything strictly compulsory? As all styles of -arts are imitated simultaneously, so also are all grades and kinds of -morality, of customs, of cultures. Such an age obtains its importance -because in it the various views of the world, customs, and cultures can -be compared and experienced simultaneously,--which was formerly not -possible with the always localised sway of every culture, corresponding -to the rooting of all artistic styles in place and time. An increased -æsthetic feeling will now at last decide amongst so many forms -presenting themselves for comparison; it will allow the greater number, -that is to say all those rejected by it, to die out. In the same way -a selection amongst the forms and customs of the higher moralities is -taking place, of which the aim can be nothing else than the downfall of -the lower moralities. It is the age of comparison! That is its pride, -but more justly also its grief. Let us not be afraid of this grief! -Rather will we comprehend as adequately as possible the task our age -sets us: posterity will bless us for doing so,--a posterity which knows -itself to be as much above the terminated original national cultures as -above the culture of comparison, but which looks back with gratitude on -both kinds of culture as upon antiquities worthy of veneration. - - -24. - -THE POSSIBILITY OF PROGRESS.--When a scholar of the ancient culture -forswears the company of men who believe in progress, he does quite -right. For the greatness and goodness of ancient culture lie behind -it, and historical education compels one to admit that they can never -be fresh again; an unbearable stupidity or an equally insufferable -fanaticism would be necessary to deny this. But men can _consciously_ -resolve to develop themselves towards a new culture; whilst formerly -they only developed unconsciously and by chance, they can now create -better conditions for the rise of human beings, for their nourishment, -education and instruction; they can administer the earth economically -as a whole, and can generally weigh and restrain the powers of man. -This new, conscious culture kills the old, which, regarded as a whole, -has led an unconscious animal and plant life; it also kills distrust -in progress,--progress is _possible._ I must say that it is over-hasty -and almost nonsensical to believe that progress must _necessarily_ -follow; but how could one deny that it is possible? On the other hand, -progress in the sense and on the path of the old culture is not even -thinkable. Even if romantic fantasy has also constantly used the word -"progress" to denote its aims (for instance, circumscribed primitive -national cultures), it borrows the picture of it in any case from the -past; its thoughts and ideas on this subject are entirely without -originality. - - -25. - -PRIVATE AND ŒCUMENICAL MORALITY.--Since the belief has ceased that -a God directs in general the fate of the world and, in spite of all -apparent crookedness in the path of humanity, leads it on gloriously, -men themselves must set themselves œcumenical aims embracing the -whole earth. The older morality, especially that of Kant, required -from the individual actions which were desired from all men,--that was -a delightfully naïve thing, as if each one knew off-hand what course -of action was beneficial to the whole of humanity, and consequently -which actions in general were desirable; it is a theory like that -of free trade, taking for granted that the general harmony _must_ -result of itself according to innate laws of amelioration. Perhaps a -future contemplation of the needs of humanity will show that it is -by no means desirable that all men should act alike; in the interest -of œcumenical aims it might rather be that for whole sections of -mankind, special, and perhaps under certain circumstances even evil, -tasks would have to be set. In any case, if mankind is not to destroy -itself by such a conscious universal rule, there must previously be -found, as a scientific standard for œcumenical aims, a _knowledge of -the conditions of culture_ superior to what has hitherto been attained. -Herein lies the enormous task of the great minds of the next century. - - -26. - -REACTION AS PROGRESS.--Now and again there appear rugged, powerful, -impetuous, but nevertheless backward-lagging minds which conjure up -once more a past phase of mankind; they serve to prove that the new -tendencies against which they are working are not yet sufficiently -strong, that they still lack something, otherwise they would show -better opposition to those exorcisers. Thus, for example, Luther's -Reformation bears witness to the fact that in his century all the -movements of the freedom of the spirit were still uncertain, tender, -and youthful; science could not yet lift up its head. Indeed the whole -Renaissance seems like an early spring which is almost snowed under -again. But in this century also, Schopenhauer's Metaphysics showed -that even now the scientific spirit is not yet strong enough; thus the -whole mediæval Christian view of the world and human feeling could -celebrate its resurrection in Schopenhauer's doctrine, in spite of -the long achieved destruction of all Christian dogmas. There is much -science in his doctrine, but it does not dominate it: it is rather -the old well-known "metaphysical requirement" that does so. It is -certainly one of the greatest and quite invaluable advantages which -we gain from Schopenhauer, that he occasionally forces our sensations -back into older, mightier modes of contemplating the world and man, to -which no other path would so easily lead us. The gain to history and -justice is very great,--I do not think that any one would so easily -succeed now in doing justice to Christianity and its Asiatic relations -without Schopenhauer's assistance, which is specially impossible -from the basis of still existing Christianity. Only after this great -_success of justice,_ only after we have corrected so essential a point -as the historical mode of contemplation which the age of enlightenment -brought with it, may we again bear onward the banner of enlightenment, -the banner with the three names, Petrarch, Erasmus, Voltaire. We have -turned reaction into progress. - - -27. - -A SUBSTITUTE FOR RELIGION.--It is believed that something good -is said of philosophy when it is put forward as a substitute for -religion for the people. As a matter of fact, in the spiritual economy -there is need, at times, of an _intermediary_ order of thought: the -transition from religion to scientific contemplation is a violent, -dangerous leap, which is not to be recommended. To this extent the -recommendation is justifiable. But one should eventually learn that -the needs which have been satisfied by religion and are now to be -satisfied by philosophy are not unchangeable; these themselves can be -_weakened_ and _eradicated._ Think, for instance, of the Christian's -distress of soul, his sighing over inward corruption, his anxiety -for salvation,--all notions which originate only in errors of reason -and deserve not satisfaction but destruction. A philosophy can serve -either to _satisfy_ those needs or to _set them aside_; for they are -acquired, temporally limited needs, which are based upon suppositions -contradictory to those of science. Here, in order to make a transition, -_art_ is far rather to be employed to relieve the mind overburdened -with emotions; for those notions receive much less support from it than -from a metaphysical philosophy. It is easier, then, to pass over from -art to a really liberating philosophical science. - - -28. - -ILL-FAMED WORDS.--Away with those wearisomely hackneyed terms -Optimism and Pessimism! For the occasion for using them becomes less -and less from day to day; only the chatterboxes still find them so -absolutely necessary. For why in all the world should any one wish to -be an optimist unless he had a God to defend who _must_ have created -the best of worlds if he himself be goodness and perfection,--what -thinker, however, still needs the hypothesis of a God? But every -occasion for a pessimistic confession of faith is also lacking when -one has no interest in being annoyed at the advocates of God (the -theologians, or the theologising philosophers), and in energetically -defending the opposite view, that evil reigns, that pain is greater -than pleasure, that the world is a bungled piece of work, the -manifestation of an ill-will to life. But who still bothers about the -theologians now--except the theologians? Apart from all theology and -its contentions, it is quite clear that the world is not good and not -bad (to say nothing of its being the best or the worst), and that the -terms "good" and "bad" have only significance with respect to man, and -indeed, perhaps, they are not justified even here in the way they are -usually employed; in any case we must get rid of both the calumniating -and the glorifying conception of the world. - - -29. - -INTOXICATED BY THE SCENT OF THE BLOSSOMS.--It is supposed that the ship -of humanity has always a deeper draught, the heavier it is laden; it is -believed that the deeper a man thinks, the more delicately he feels, -the higher he values himself, the greater his distance from the other -animals,--the more he appears as a genius amongst the animals,--all -the nearer will he approach the real essence of the world and its -knowledge; this he actually does too, through science, but he _means_ -to do so still more through his religions and arts. These certainly -are blossoms of the world, but by no means any _nearer to the root of -the world_ than the stalk; it is not possible to understand the nature -of things better through them, although almost every one believes he -can. _Error_ has made man so deep, sensitive, and inventive that he has -put forth such blossoms as religions and arts. Pure knowledge could -not have been capable of it. Whoever were to unveil for us the essence -of the world would give us all the most disagreeable disillusionment. -Not the world as thing-in-itself, but the world as representation (as -error) is so full of meaning, so deep, so wonderful, bearing happiness -and unhappiness in its bosom. This result leads to a philosophy of the -logical denial of the world, which, however, can be combined with a -practical world-affirming just as well as with its opposite. - - -30. - -BAD HABITS IN REASONING.--The usual false conclusions of mankind are -these: a thing exists, therefore it has a right to exist. Here there -is inference from the ability to live to its suitability; from its -suitability to its rightfulness. Then: an opinion brings happiness; -therefore it is the true opinion. Its effect is good; therefore it is -itself good and true. To the effect is here assigned the predicate -beneficent, good, in the sense of the useful, and the cause is then -furnished with the same predicate good, but here in the sense of the -logically valid. The inversion of the sentences would read thus: an -affair cannot be carried through, or maintained, therefore it is -wrong; an opinion causes pain or excites, therefore it is false. The -free spirit who learns only too often the faultiness of this mode -of reasoning, and has to suffer from its consequences, frequently -gives way to the temptation to draw the very opposite conclusions, -which, in general, are naturally just as false: an affair cannot be -carried through, therefore it is good; an opinion is distressing and -disturbing, therefore it is true. - - -31. - -THE ILLOGICAL NECESSARY.--One of those things that may drive a thinker -into despair is the recognition of the fact that the illogical is -necessary for man, and that out of the illogical comes much that is -good. It is so firmly rooted in the passions, in language, in art, -in religion, and generally in everything that gives value to life, -that it cannot be withdrawn without thereby hopelessly injuring these -beautiful things. It is only the all-too-naïve people who can believe -that the nature of man can be changed into a purely logical one; but -if there were degrees of proximity to this goal, how many things would -not have to be lost on this course! Even the most rational man has need -of nature again from time to time, _i.e._ his _illogical fundamental -attitude_ towards all things. - - -32. - -INJUSTICE NECESSARY.--All judgments on the value of life are -illogically developed, and therefore unjust. The inexactitude of -the judgment lies, firstly, in the manner in which the material is -presented, namely very imperfectly; secondly, in the manner in which -the conclusion is formed out of it; and thirdly, in the fact that every -separate element of the material is again the result of vitiated -recognition, and this, too, of necessity. For instance, no experience -of an individual, however near he may stand to us, can be perfect, so -that we could have a logical right to make a complete estimate of him; -all estimates are rash, and must be so. Finally, the standard by which -we measure, our nature, is not of unalterable dimensions,--we have -moods and vacillations, and yet we should have to recognise ourselves -as a fixed standard in order to estimate correctly the relation of any -thing whatever to ourselves. From this it will, perhaps, follow that -we should make no judgments at all; if one could only live without -making estimations, without having likes and dislikes! For all dislike -is connected with an estimation, as well as all inclination. An -impulse towards or away from anything without a feeling that something -advantageous is desired, something injurious avoided, an impulse -without any kind of conscious valuation of the worth of the aim does -not exist in man. We are from the beginning illogical, and therefore -unjust beings, _and can recognise this_; it is one of the greatest and -most inexplicable discords of existence. - - -33. - -ERROR ABOUT LIFE NECESSARY FOR LIFE.--Every belief in the value and -worthiness of life is based on vitiated thought; it is only possible -through the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of -mankind is very weakly developed in the individual. Even the rarer -people who think outside themselves do not contemplate this general -life, but only a limited part of it. If one understands how to direct -one's attention chiefly to the exceptions,--I mean to the highly gifted -and the rich souls,--if one regards the production of these as the aim -of the whole world-development and rejoices in its operation, then -one may believe in the value of life, because one thereby _overlooks_ -the other men--one consequently thinks fallaciously. So too, when -one directs one's attention to all mankind, but only considers _one_ -species of impulses in them, the less egoistical ones, and excuses -them with regard to the other instincts, one may then again entertain -hopes of mankind in general and believe so far in the value of life, -consequently in this case also through fallaciousness of thought. Let -one, however, behave in this or that manner: with such behaviour one -is an _exception_ amongst men. Now, most people bear life without any -considerable grumbling, and consequently _believe_ in the value of -existence, but precisely because each one is solely self-seeking and -self-affirming, and does not step out of himself like those exceptions; -everything extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or at most seems -only a faint shadow. Therefore on this alone is based the value of -life for the ordinary everyday man, that he regards himself as more -important than the world. The great lack of imagination from which -he suffers is the reason why he cannot enter into the feelings of -other beings, and therefore sympathises as little as possible with -their fate and suffering. He, on the other hand, who really _could_ -sympathise therewith, would have to despair of the value of life; were -he to succeed in comprehending and feeling in himself the general -consciousness of mankind, he would collapse with a curse on existence; -for mankind as a whole has _no_ goals, consequently man, in considering -his whole course, cannot find in it his comfort and support, but his -despair. If, in all that he does, he considers the final aimlessness -of man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the character of -wastefulness. But to feel one's self just as much wasted as humanity -(and not only as an individual) as we see the single blossom of nature -wasted, is a feeling above all other feelings. But who is capable -of it? Assuredly only a poet, and poets always know how to console -themselves. - - -34. - -FOR TRANQUILLITY.--But does not our philosophy thus become a tragedy? -Does not truth become hostile to life, to improvement? A question seems -to weigh upon our tongue and yet hesitate to make itself heard: whether -one _can_ consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing one were -_obliged_ to do this, would not death be preferable? For there is no -longer any "must"; morality, in so far as it had any "must" or "shalt", -has been destroyed by our mode of contemplation, just as religion has -been destroyed. Knowledge can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and -injury to subsist as motives; but how will these motives agree with -the sense of truth? They also contain errors (for, as already said, -inclination and aversion, and their very incorrect determinations, -practically regulate our pleasure and pain). The whole of human life -is deeply immersed in untruthfulness; the individual cannot draw it -up out of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to his -whole past, without finding his present motives--those of honour, -for instance--inconsistent, and without opposing scorn and disdain -to the passions which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it true -that there remains but one sole way of thinking which brings after it -despair as a personal experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy -of dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I believe that -the decision with regard to the after-effects of the knowledge will -be given through the _temperament_ of a man; I could imagine another -after-effect, just as well as that one described, which is possible in -certain natures, by means of which a life would arise much simpler, -freer from emotions than is the present one, so that though at first, -indeed, the old motives of passionate desire might still have strength -from old hereditary habit, they would gradually become weaker under -the influence--of purifying knowledge. One would live at last amongst -men, and with one's self as with _Nature,_ without praise, reproach, -or agitation, feasting one's eyes, as if it were a _play,_ upon much -of which one was formerly afraid. One would be free from the emphasis, -and would no longer feel the goading, of the thought that one is not -only nature or more than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a -good temperament would be necessary for this, an even, mild, and -naturally joyous soul, a disposition which would not always need to be -on its guard against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would not convey -in its utterances anything of a grumbling or sudden nature,--those -well-known vexatious qualities of old dogs and men who have been long -chained up. On the contrary, a man from whom the ordinary fetters of -life have so far fallen that he continues to live only for the sake of -ever better knowledge must be able to renounce without envy and regret: -much, indeed almost everything that is precious to other men, he must -regard as the _all-sufficing_ and the most desirable condition; the -free, fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the traditional -valuations of things. The joy of this condition he imparts willingly, -and he _has_ perhaps nothing else to impart,--wherein, to be sure, -there is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless, more is -demanded from him, he will point with a friendly shake of his head to -his brother, the free man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a -little derision, for as regards this "freedom" it is a very peculiar -case. - - - - -SECOND DIVISION. - - -THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS. - - - -35. - -ADVANTAGES OF PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATION.--That reflection on the human, -all-too-human--or, according to the learned expression, psychological -observation--is one of the means by which one may lighten the burden -of life, that exercise in this art produces presence of mind in -difficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome surroundings, even -that from the most thorny and unpleasant periods of one's own life -one may gather maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this -was believed, was known in former centuries. Why was it forgotten -by our century, when in Germany at least, even in all Europe, the -poverty of psychological observation betrays itself by many signs? Not -exactly in novels, tales, and philosophical treatises,--they are the -work of exceptional individuals,--rather in the judgments on public -events and personalities; but above all there is a lack of the art of -psychological analysis and summing-up in every rank of society, in -which a great deal is talked about men, but nothing about _man._ Why -do we allow the richest and most harmless subject of conversation to -escape us? Why are not the great masters of psychological maxims more -read? For, without any exaggeration, the educated man in Europe who has -read La Rochefoucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely found, -and still more rare is he who knows them and does not blame them. It -is probable, however, that even this exceptional reader will find much -less pleasure in them than the form of this artist should afford him; -for even the clearest head is not capable of rightly estimating the -art of shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really been brought -up to it and has competed in it. Without this practical teaching one -deems this shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one has not -a sufficient perception of fitness and charm. For this reason the -present readers of maxims find in them a comparatively small pleasure, -hardly a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble the people who -generally look at cameos, who praise because they cannot love, and are -very ready to admire, but still more ready to run away. - - -36. - -OBJECTION.--Or should there be a counter-reckoning to that theory -that places psychological observation amongst the means of charming, -curing, and relieving existence? Should one have sufficiently convinced -one's self of the unpleasant consequences of this art to divert from -it designedly the attention of him who is educating himself in it? As -a matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the goodness of human -nature, an innate aversion to the analysis of human actions, a kind -of shame-facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul may -really be more desirable for the general well-being of a man than that -quality, useful in isolated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness; -and perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men and deeds, in an -abundance of impersonal goodwill in the world, has made men better -inasmuch as it has made them less distrustful. When one imitates -Plutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and turns with disgust from a -suspicious examination of the motives for their actions, it is not -truth which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human society; the -psychological mistake and, generally speaking, the insensibility -on this matter helps humanity forwards, while the recognition of -truth gains more through the stimulating power of hypothesis than La -Rochefoucauld has said in his preface to the first edition of his -"_Sentences et maximes morales." ... "Ce que le monde nomme vertu n'est -d'ordinaire qu'un fantôme formé par nos passions, à qui on donne un -nom honnête pour faire impunément ce qu'on veut."_ La Rochefoucauld -and those other French masters of soul-examination who have lately -been joined by a German, the author of _Psychological Observations_[1] -resemble good marksmen who again and again hit the bull's-eye; but it -is the bull's-eye of human nature. Their art arouses astonishment; but -in the end a spectator who is not led by the spirit of science, but -by humane intentions, will probably execrate an art which appears to -implant in the soul the sense of the disparagement and suspicion of -mankind. - - -37. - -NEVERTHELESS.--However it may be with reckoning and counter-reckoning, -in the present condition of philosophy the awakening of moral -observation is necessary. Humanity can no longer be spared the cruel -sight of the psychological dissecting-table with its knives and -forceps. For here rules that science which inquires into the origin and -history of the so-called moral sentiments, and which, in its progress, -has to draw up and solve complicated sociological problems:--the older -philosophy knows the latter one not at all, and has always avoided the -examination of the origin and history of moral sentiments on any feeble -pretext. With what consequences it is now very easy to see, after -it has been shown by many examples how the mistakes of the greatest -philosophers generally have their starting-point in a wrong explanation -of certain human actions and sensations, just as on the ground of an -erroneous analysis--for instance, that of the so-called unselfish -actions a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with this again, -religion and mythological confusion are brought in to assist, and -finally the shades of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and -the general mode of regarding the world. If it is certain, however, -that superficiality in psychological observation has laid, and still -lays, the most dangerous snares for human judgments and conclusions, -then there is need now of that endurance of work which does not grow -weary of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble; there is need of -courage not to be ashamed of such humble work and to turn a deaf ear -to scorn. And this is also true,--numberless single observations on -the human and all-too-human have first been discovered, and given -utterance to, in circles of society which were accustomed to offer -sacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please, and not to scientific -knowledge,--and the odour of that old home of the moral maxim, a very -seductive odour, has attached itself almost inseparably to the whole -species, so that on its account the scientific man involuntarily -betrays a certain distrust of this species and its earnestness. But -it is sufficient to point to the consequences, for already it begins -to be seen what results of a serious kind spring from the ground of -psychological observation. What, after all, is the principal axiom -to which the boldest and coldest thinker, the author of the book -_On the Origin of Moral Sensations_[2] has attained by means of his -incisive and decisive analyses of human actions? "The moral man," he -says, "is no nearer to the intelligible (metaphysical) world than -is the physical man." This theory, hardened and sharpened under the -hammer-blow of historical knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps -in some future period, serve as the axe which is applied to the root -of the "metaphysical need" of man,--whether _more_ as a blessing than -a curse to the general welfare it is not easy to say, but in any case -as a theory with the most important consequences, at once fruitful and -terrible, and looking into the world with that Janus-face which all -great knowledge possesses. - - -38. - -HOW FAR USEFUL.--It must remain for ever undecided whether -psychological observation is advantageous or disadvantageous to -man; but it is certain that it is necessary, because science cannot -do without it. Science, however, has no consideration for ultimate -purposes, any more than Nature has, but just as the latter occasionally -achieves things of the greatest suitableness without intending to do -so, so also true science, as the _imitator of nature in ideas,_ will -occasionally and in many ways further the usefulness and welfare of -man,--_but also without intending to do so._ - -But whoever feels too chilled by the breath of such a reflection has -perhaps too little fire in himself; let him look around him meanwhile -and he will become aware of illnesses which have need of ice-poultices, -and of men who are so "kneaded together" of heat and spirit that -they can hardly find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough. -Moreover, as individuals and nations that are too serious have need of -frivolities, as others too mobile and excitable have need occasionally -of heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their health, should not -we, the more _intellectual_ people of this age, that grows visibly more -and more inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means that exist, in -order that we may at least remain as constant, harmless, and moderate -as we still are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other as mirror -and self-contemplation for this age? - - -39. - -THE FABLE OF INTELLIGIBLE FREEDOM.--The history of the sentiments by -means of which we make a person responsible consists of the following -principal phases. First, all single actions are called good or bad -without any regard to their motives, but only on account of the useful -or injurious consequences which result for the community. But soon the -origin of these distinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the -qualities "good" or "bad" are contained in the action itself without -regard to its consequences, by the same error according to which -language describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,--with which, -in short, the result is regarded as the cause. Then the goodness or -badness is implanted in the motive, and the action in itself is looked -upon as morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further, and applies -the predicate good or bad no longer to single motives, but to the -whole nature of an individual, out of whom the motive grows as the -plant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man is made responsible -for his operations, then for his actions, then for his motives, and -finally for his nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this -nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an absolutely necessary -consequence concreted out of the elements and influences of past and -present things,--that man, therefore, cannot be made responsible for -anything, neither for his nature, nor his motives, nor his actions, nor -his effects. It has therewith come to be recognised that the history -of moral valuations is at the same time the history of an error, the -error of responsibility, which is based upon the error of the freedom -of will. Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because certain actions -bring ill humour ("consciousness of guilt") in their train, there -must be a responsibility; for there would be _no reason_ for this ill -humour if not only all human actions were not done of necessity,--which -is actually the case and also the belief of this philosopher,--but -man himself from the same necessity is precisely the _being_ that -he is--which Schopenhauer denies. From the fact of that ill humour -Schopenhauer thinks he can prove a liberty which man must somehow -have had, not with regard to actions, but with regard to nature; -liberty, therefore, to _be_ thus or otherwise, not to _act_ thus or -otherwise. From the _esse,_ the sphere of freedom and responsibility, -there results, in his opinion, the _operari,_ the sphere of strict -causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This ill humour is -apparently directed to the _operari,_--in so far it is erroneous,--but -in reality it is directed to the _esse,_ which is the deed of a free -will, the fundamental cause of the existence of an individual, man -becomes that which he _wishes_ to be, his will is anterior to his -existence. Here the mistaken conclusion is drawn that from the fact -of the ill humour, the justification, the reasonable _admissableness_ -of this ill humour is presupposed; and starting from this mistaken -conclusion, Schopenhauer arrives at his fantastic sequence of the -so-called intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the deed is -not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is assuredly not reasonable, for -it is based upon the erroneous presumption that the action need _not_ -have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is only because man _believes_ -himself to be free, not because he is free, that he experiences remorse -and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill humour is a habit that can -be broken off; in many people it is entirely absent in connection with -actions where others experience it. It is a very changeable thing, and -one which is connected with the development of customs and culture, -and probably only existing during a comparatively short period of the -world's history. Nobody is responsible for his actions, nobody for his -nature; to judge is identical with being unjust. This also applies when -an individual judges himself. The theory is as clear as sunlight, and -yet every one prefers to go back into the shadow and the untruth, for -fear of the consequences. - - -40. - -THE SUPER-ANIMAL.--The beast in us wishes to be deceived; morality is -a lie of necessity in order that we may not be torn in pieces by it. -Without the errors which lie in the assumption of morality, man would -have remained an animal. Thus, however, he has considered himself as -something higher and has laid strict laws upon himself. Therefore he -hates the grades which have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the -former scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to be explained as a -fact. - - -41. - -THE UNCHANGEABLE CHARACTER.--That the character is unchangeable is -not true in a strict sense; this favourite theory means, rather, that -during the short lifetime of an individual the new influencing motives -cannot penetrate deeply enough to destroy the ingrained marks of many -thousands of years. But if one were to imagine a man of eighty thousand -years, one would have in him an absolutely changeable character, so -that a number of different individuals would gradually develop out -of him. The shortness of human life misleads us into forming many -erroneous ideas about the qualities of man. - - -42. - -THE ORDER OF POSSESSIONS AND MORALITY.--The once-accepted hierarchy -of possessions, according as this or the other is coveted by a lower, -higher, or highest egoism, now decides what is moral or immoral. To -prefer a lesser good (for instance, the gratification of the senses) -to a more highly valued good (for instance, health) is accounted -immoral, and also to prefer luxury to liberty. The hierarchy of -possessions, however, is not fixed and equal at all times; if any one -prefers vengeance to justice he is moral according to the standard of -an earlier civilisation, but immoral according to the present one. To -be "immoral," therefore, denotes that an individual has not felt, or -not felt sufficiently strongly, the higher, finer, spiritual motives -which have come in with a new culture; it marks one who has remained -behind, but only according to the difference of degrees. The order of -possessions itself is _not_ raised and lowered according to a moral -point of view; but each time that it is fixed it supplies the decision -as to whether an action is moral or immoral. - - -43. - -CRUEL PEOPLE AS THOSE WHO HAVE REMAINED BEHIND.--People who are -cruel nowadays must be accounted for by us as the grades of earlier -civilisations which have survived; here are exposed those deeper -formations in the mountain of humanity which usually remain concealed. -They are backward people whose brains, through all manner of accidents -in the course of inheritance, have not been developed in so delicate -and manifold a way. They show us what we all _were_ and horrify us, but -they themselves are as little responsible as is a block of granite for -being granite. There must, too, be grooves and twists in our brains -which answer to that condition of mind, as in the form of certain -human organs there are supposed to be traces of a fish-state. But these -grooves and twists are no longer the bed through which the stream of -our sensation flows. - - -44. - -GRATITUDE AND REVENGE.--The reason why the powerful man is grateful -is this: his benefactor, through the benefit he confers, has mistaken -and intruded into the sphere of the powerful man,--now the latter, -in return, penetrates into the sphere of the benefactor by the act of -gratitude. It is a milder form of revenge. Without the satisfaction of -gratitude, the powerful man would have shown himself powerless, and -would have been reckoned as such ever after. Therefore every society of -the good, which originally meant the powerful, places gratitude amongst -the first duties.--Swift propounded the maxim that men were grateful in -the same proportion as they were revengeful. - - -45. - -THE TWOFOLD EARLY HISTORY OF GOOD AND EVIL.--The conception of good -and evil has a twofold early history, namely, _once_ in the soul of -the ruling tribes and castes. Whoever has the power of returning -good for good, evil for evil, and really practises requital, and who -is, therefore, grateful and revengeful, is called good; whoever is -powerless, and unable to requite, is reckoned as bad. As a good man one -is reckoned among the "good," a community which has common feelings -because the single individuals are bound to one another by the sense -of requital. As a bad man one belongs to the "bad," to a party of -subordinate, powerless people who have no common feeling. The good are -a caste, the bad are a mass like dust. Good and bad have for a long -time meant the same thing as noble and base, master and slave. On the -other hand, the enemy is not looked upon as evil, he can requite. In -Homer the Trojan and the Greek are both good. It is not the one who -injures us, but the one who is despicable, who is called bad. Good is -inherited in the community of the good; it is impossible that a bad man -could spring from such good soil. If, nevertheless, one of the good -ones does something which is unworthy of the good, refuge is sought in -excuses; the guilt is thrown upon a god, for instance; it is said that -he has struck the good man with blindness and madness.-- - -_Then_ in the soul of the oppressed and powerless. Here every _other_ -man is looked upon as hostile, inconsiderate, rapacious, cruel, -cunning, be he noble or base; evil is the distinguishing word for man, -even for every conceivable living creature, _e.g._ for a god; human, -divine, is the same thing as devilish, evil. The signs of goodness, -helpfulness, pity, are looked upon with fear as spite, the prelude to -a terrible result, stupefaction and out-witting,--in short, as refined -malice. With such a disposition in the individual a community could -hardly exist, or at most it could exist only in its crudest form, so -that in all places where this conception of good and evil obtains, -the downfall of the single individuals, of their tribes and races, is -at hand.--Our present civilisation has grown up on the soil of the -_ruling_ tribes and castes. - - -46. - -SYMPATHY STRONGER THAN SUFFERING.--There are cases when sympathy is -stronger than actual suffering. For instance, we are more pained when -one of our friends is guilty of something shameful than when we do -it ourselves. For one thing, we have more faith in the purity of his -character than he has himself; then our love for him, probably on -account of this very faith, is stronger than his love for himself. And -even if his egoism suffers more thereby than our egoism, inasmuch as it -has to bear more of the bad consequences of his fault, the un-egoistic -in us--this word is not to be taken too seriously, but only as a -modification of the expression--is more deeply wounded by his guilt -than is the un-egoistic in him. - - -47. - -HYPOCHONDRIA.--There are people who become hypochondriacal through -their sympathy and concern for another person; the kind of sympathy -which results therefrom is nothing but a disease. Thus there is -also a Christian hypochondria, which afflicts those solitary, -religiously-minded people who keep constantly before their eyes the -sufferings and death of Christ. - - -48. - -ECONOMY OF GOODNESS.--Goodness and love, as the most healing herbs and -powers in human intercourse, are such costly discoveries that one would -wish as much economy as possible to be exercised in the employment of -these balsamic means; but this is impossible. The economy of goodness -is the dream of the most daring Utopians. - - -49. - -GOODWILL.--Amongst the small, but countlessly frequent and therefore -very effective, things to which science should pay more attention than -to the great, rare things, is to be reckoned goodwill; I mean that -exhibition of a friendly disposition in intercourse, that smiling -eye, that clasp of the hand, that cheerfulness with which almost all -human actions are usually accompanied. Every teacher, every official, -adds this to whatever is his duty; it is the perpetual occupation -of humanity, and at the same time the waves of its light, in which -everything grows; in the narrowest circle, namely, within the family, -life blooms and flourishes only through that goodwill. Kindliness, -friendliness, the courtesy of the heart, are ever-flowing streams of -un-egoistic impulses, and have given far more powerful assistance to -culture than even those much more famous demonstrations which are -called pity, mercy, and self-sacrifice. But they are thought little -of, and, as a matter of fact, there is not much that is un-egoistic -in them. The _sum_ of these small doses is nevertheless mighty, their -united force is amongst the strongest forces. Thus one finds much more -happiness in the world than sad eyes see, if one only reckons rightly, -and does not forget all those moments of comfort in which every day is -rich, even in the most harried of human lives. - - -50. - -THE WISH TO AROUSE PITY.--In the most remarkable passage of his -auto--portrait (first printed in 1658), La Rochefoucauld assuredly -hits the nail on the head when he warns all sensible people against -pity, when he advises them to leave that to those orders of the people -who have need of passion (because it is not ruled by reason), and to -reach the point of helping the suffering and acting energetically in an -accident; while pity, according to his (and Plato's) judgment, weakens -the soul. Certainly we should _exhibit_ pity, but take good care not -to _feel_ it, for the unfortunate are so _stupid_ that to them the -exhibition of pity is the greatest good in the world. One can, perhaps, -give a more forcible warning against this feeling of pity if one looks -upon that need of the unfortunate not exactly as stupidity and lack of -intellect, a kind of mental derangement which misfortune brings with -it (and as such, indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to regard it), but -as something quite different and more serious. Observe children, who -cry and scream _in order_ to be pitied, and therefore wait for the -moment when they will be noticed; live in intercourse with the sick and -mentally oppressed, and ask yourself whether that ready complaining and -whimpering, that making a show of misfortune, does not, at bottom, aim -at _making the spectators miserable;_ the pity which the spectators -then exhibit is in so far a consolation for the weak and suffering in -that the latter recognise therein that they _possess still one power,_ -in spite of their weakness, _the power of giving pain._ The unfortunate -derives a sort of pleasure from this feeling of superiority, of which -the exhibition of pity makes him conscious; his imagination is exalted, -he is still powerful enough to give the world pain. Thus the thirst for -pity is the thirst for self-gratification, and that, moreover, at the -expense of his fellow-men; it shows man in the whole inconsiderateness -of his own dear self, but not exactly in his "stupidity," as La -Rochefoucauld thinks. In society-talk three-fourths of all questions -asked and of all answers given are intended to cause the interlocutor -a little pain; for this reason so many people pine for company; it -enables them to feel their power. There is a powerful charm of life -in such countless but very small doses in which malice makes itself -felt, just as goodwill, spread in the same way throughout the world, is -the ever-ready means of healing. But are there many honest people who -will admit that it is pleasing to give pain? that one not infrequently -amuses one's self--and amuses one's self very well--in causing -mortifications to others, at least in thought, and firing off at them -the grape-shot of petty malice? Most people are too dishonest, and a -few are too good, to know anything of this _pudendum_ these will always -deny that Prosper Mérimée is right when he says, "_Sachez aussi qu'il -n'y a rien de plus commun que de faire le mal pour le plaisir de le -faire._" - - -51. - -HOW APPEARANCE BECOMES ACTUALITY.--The actor finally reaches such a -point that even in the deepest sorrow he cannot cease from thinking -about the impression made by his own person and the general scenic -effect; for instance, even at the funeral of his child, he will weep -over his own sorrow and its expression like one of his own audience. -The hypocrite, who always plays one and the same part, ceases at -last to be a hypocrite; for instance, priests, who as young men are -generally conscious or unconscious hypocrites, become at last natural, -and are then really without any affectation, just priests; or if the -father does not succeed so far, perhaps the son does, who makes use -of his father's progress and inherits his habits. If any one long and -obstinately desires to _appear_ something, he finds it difficult at -last to _be_ anything else. The profession of almost every individual, -even of the artist, begins with hypocrisy, with an imitating from -without, with a copying of the effective. He who always wears the -mask of a friendly expression must eventually obtain a power over -well-meaning dispositions without which the expression of friendliness -is not to be compelled,--and finally, these, again, obtain a power -over him, he _is_ well-meaning. - - -52. - -THE POINT OF HONOUR IN DECEPTION.--In all great deceivers one thing -is noteworthy, to which they owe their power. In the actual act of -deception, with all their preparations, the dreadful voice, expression, -and mien, in the midst of their effective scenery they are overcome -by their _belief in themselves_ it is this, then, which speaks so -wonderfully and persuasively to the spectators. The founders of -religions are distinguished from those great deceivers in that they -never awake from their condition of self-deception; or at times, but -very rarely, they have an enlightened moment when doubt overpowers -them; they generally console themselves, however, by ascribing these -enlightened moments to the influence of the Evil One. There must -be self-deception in order that this and that may _produce_ great -_effects._ For men believe in the truth of everything that is visibly, -strongly believed in. - - -53. - -THE NOMINAL DEGREES OF TRUTH.--One of the commonest mistakes is this: -because some one is truthful and honest towards us, he must speak the -truth. Thus the child believes in its parents' judgment, the Christian -in the assertions of the Founder of the Church. In the same way men -refuse to admit that all those things which men defended in former ages -with the sacrifice of life and happiness were nothing but errors; it -is even said, perhaps, that they were degrees of the truth. But what -is really meant is that when a man has honestly believed in something, -and has fought and died for his faith, it would really be too _unjust_ -if he had only been inspired by an error. Such a thing seems a -contradiction of eternal justice; therefore the heart of sensitive man -ever enunciates against his head the axiom: between moral action and -intellectual insight there must absolutely be a necessary connection. -It is unfortunately otherwise; for there is no eternal justice. - - -54. - -FALSEHOOD.--Why do people mostly speak the truth in daily -life?--Assuredly not because a god has forbidden falsehood. But, -firstly, because it is more convenient, as falsehood requires -invention, deceit, and memory. (As Swift says, he who tells a lie is -not sensible how great a task he undertakes; for in order to uphold -one lie he must invent twenty others.) Therefore, because it is -advantageous in upright circumstances to say straight out, "I want -this, I have done that," and so on; because, in other words, the path -of compulsion and authority is surer than that of cunning. But if a -child has been brought up in complicated domestic circumstances, he -employs falsehood, naturally and unconsciously says whatever best suits -his interests; a sense of truth and a hatred of falsehood are quite -foreign and unknown to him, and so he lies in all innocence. - - -55. - -THROWING SUSPICION ON MORALITY FOR FAITH'S SAKE.--No power can be -maintained when it is only represented by hypocrites; no matter how -many "worldly" elements the Catholic Church possesses, its strength -lies in those still numerous priestly natures who render life hard -and full of meaning for themselves, and whose glance and worn bodies -speak of nocturnal vigils, hunger, burning prayers, and perhaps even of -scourging; these move men and inspire them with fear. What if it were -_necessary_ to live thus? This is the terrible question which their -aspect brings to the lips. Whilst they spread this doubt they always -uprear another pillar of their power; even the free-thinker does not -dare to withstand such unselfishness with hard words of truth, and to -say, "Thyself deceived, deceive not others!" Only the difference of -views divides them from him, certainly no difference of goodness or -badness; but men generally treat unjustly that which they do not like. -Thus we speak of the cunning and the infamous art of the Jesuits, but -overlook the self-control which every individual Jesuit practises, and -the fact that the lightened manner of life preached by Jesuit books -is by no means for their benefit, but for that of the laity. We may -even ask whether, with precisely similar tactics and organisation, -we enlightened ones would make equally good tools, equally admirable -through self-conquest, indefatigableness, and renunciation. - - -56. - -VICTORY OF KNOWLEDGE OVER RADICAL EVIL.--It is of great advantage to -him who desires to be wise to have witnessed for a time the spectacle -of a thoroughly evil and degenerate man; it is false, like the contrary -spectacle, but for whole long periods it held the mastery, and its -roots have even extended and ramified themselves to us and our world. -In order to understand _ourselves_ we must understand _it_ but then, in -order to mount higher we must rise above it. We recognise, then, that -there exist no sins in the metaphysical sense; but, in the same sense, -also no virtues; we recognise that the entire domain of ethical ideas -is perpetually tottering, that there are higher and deeper conceptions -of good and evil, of moral and immoral. He who does not desire much -more from things than a knowledge of them easily makes peace with his -soul, and will make a mistake (or commit a sin, as the world calls -it) at the most from ignorance, but hardly from covetousness. He will -no longer wish to excommunicate and exterminate desires; but his -only, his wholly dominating ambition, to _know_ as well as possible -at all times, will make him cool and will soften all the savageness -in his disposition. Moreover, he has been freed from a number of -tormenting conceptions, he has no more feeling at the mention of the -words "punishments of hell," "sinfulness," "incapacity for good," he -recognises in them only the vanishing shadow-pictures of false views of -the world and of life. - - -57. - -MORALITY AS THE SELF-DISINTEGRATION OF MAN.--A good author, who -really has his heart in his work, wishes that some one could come -and annihilate him by representing the same thing in a clearer way -and answering without more ado the problems therein proposed. The -loving girl wishes she could prove the self-sacrificing faithfulness -of her love by the unfaithfulness of her beloved. The soldier hopes -to die on the field of battle for his victorious fatherland; for his -loftiest desires triumph in the victory of his country. The mother -gives to the child that of which she deprives herself--sleep, the best -food, sometimes her health and fortune. But are all these un-egoistic -conditions? Are these deeds of morality _miracles,_ because, to use -Schopenhauer's expression, they are "impossible and yet performed"? Is -it not clear that in all four cases the individual loves _something -of himself,_ a thought, a desire, a production, better than _anything -else of himself;_ that he therefore divides his nature and to one part -sacrifices all the rest? Is it something _entirely_ different when an -obstinate man says, "I would rather be shot than move a step out of -my way for this man"? The _desire for something_ (wish, inclination, -longing) is present in all the instances mentioned; to give way to it, -with all its consequences, is certainly not "un-egoistic."--In ethics -man does not consider himself as _Individuum_ but as _dividuum._ - - -58. - -WHAT ONE MAY PROMISE.--One may promise actions, but no sentiments, for -these are involuntary. Whoever promises to love or hate a person, or be -faithful to him for ever, promises something which is not within his -power; he can certainly promise such actions as are usually the results -of love, hate, or fidelity, but which may also spring from other -motives; for many ways and motives lead to one and the same action. -The promise to love some one for ever is, therefore, really: So long -as I love you I will act towards you in a loving way; if I cease to -love you, you will still receive the same treatment from me, although -inspired by other motives, so that our fellow-men will still be deluded -into the belief that our love is unchanged and ever the same. One -promises, therefore, the continuation of the semblance of love, when, -without self-deception, one speaks vows of eternal love. - - -59. - -INTELLECT AND MORALITY.--One must have a good memory to be able to keep -a given promise. One must have a strong power of imagination to be -able to feel pity. So closely is morality bound to the goodness of the -intellect. - - -60. - -TO WISH FOR REVENGE AND TO TAKE REVENGE.--To have a revengeful thought -and to carry it into effect is to have a violent attack of fever, -which passes off, however,--but to have a revengeful thought without -the strength and courage to carry it out is a chronic disease, a -poisoning of body and soul which we have to bear about with us. -Morality, which only takes intentions into account, considers the -two cases as equal; usually the former case is regarded as the worse -(because of the evil consequences which may perhaps result from the -deed of revenge). Both estimates are short-sighted. - - -61. - -THE POWER OF WAITING.--Waiting is so difficult that even great poets -have not disdained to take incapability of waiting as the motive for -their works. Thus Shakespeare in Othello or Sophocles in Ajax, to whom -suicide, had he been able to let his feelings cool down for one day, -would no longer have seemed necessary, as the oracle intimated; he -would probably have snapped his fingers at the terrible whisperings -of wounded vanity, and said to himself, "Who has not already, in -my circumstances, mistaken a fool for a hero? Is it something so -very extraordinary?" On the contrary, it is something very commonly -human; Ajax might allow himself that consolation. Passion will not -wait; the tragedy in the lives of great men frequently lies _not_ in -their conflict with the times and the baseness of their fellow-men, -but in their incapacity of postponing their work for a year or two; -they cannot wait. In all duels advising friends have one thing to -decide, namely whether the parties concerned can still wait awhile; -if this is not the case, then a duel is advisable, inasmuch as each -of the two says, "Either I continue to live and that other man must -die immediately, or _vice versa_." In such case waiting would mean a -prolonged suffering of the terrible martyrdom of wounded honour in the -face of the insulter, and this may entail more suffering than life is -worth. - - -62. - -REVELLING IN VENGEANCE.--Coarser individuals who feel themselves -insulted, make out the insult to be as great as possible, and relate -the affair in greatly exaggerated language, in order to be able to -revel thoroughly in the rarely awakened feelings of hatred and revenge. - - -63. - -THE VALUE OF DISPARAGEMENT.--In order to maintain their self-respect -in their own eyes and a certain thoroughness of action, not a few men, -perhaps even the majority, find it absolutely necessary to run down and -disparage all their acquaintances. But as mean natures are numerous, -and since it is very important whether they possess that thoroughness -or lose it, hence---- - - -64. - -THE MAN IN A PASSION.--We must beware of one who is in a passion -against us as of one who has once sought our life; for the fact that -we still live is due to the absence of power to kill,--if looks would -suffice, we should have been dead long ago. It is a piece of rough -civilisation to force some one into silence by the exhibition of -physical savageness and the inspiring of fear. That cold glance which -exalted persons employ towards their servants is also a relic of that -caste division between man and man, a piece of rough antiquity; women, -the preservers of ancient things, have also faithfully retained this -_survival_ of an ancient habit. - - -65. - -WHITHER HONESTY CAN LEAD.--Somebody had the bad habit of occasionally -talking quite frankly about the motives of his actions, which were as -good and as bad as the motives of most men. He first gave offence, -then aroused suspicion, was then gradually excluded from society and -declared a social outlaw, until at last justice remembered such an -abandoned creature, on occasions when it would otherwise have had no -eyes, or would have closed them. The lack of power to hold his tongue -concerning the common secret, and the irresponsible tendency to see -what no one wishes to see--himself--brought him to a prison and an -early death. - - -66. - -PUNISHABLE, BUT NEVER PUNISHED.--Our crime against criminals lies in -the fact that we treat them like rascals. - - -67. - -_SANCTA SIMPLICITAS_ OF VIRTUE.--Every virtue has its privileges; for -example, that of contributing its own little faggot to the scaffold of -every condemned man. - - -68. - -MORALITY AND CONSEQUENCES.--It is not only the spectators of a deed -who frequently judge of its morality or immorality according to its -consequences, but the doer of the deed himself does so. For the motives -and intentions are seldom sufficiently clear and simple, and sometimes -memory itself seems clouded by the consequences of the deed, so that -one ascribes the deed to false motives or looks upon unessential -motives as essential. Success often gives an action the whole honest -glamour of a good conscience; failure casts the shadow of remorse -over the most estimable deed. Hence arises the well-known practice -of the politician, who thinks, "Only grant me success, with that I -bring all honest souls over to my side and make myself honest in my -own eyes." In the same way success must replace a better argument. -Many educated people still believe that the triumph of Christianity -over Greek philosophy is a proof of the greater truthfulness of -the former,--although in this case it is only the coarser and more -powerful that has triumphed over the more spiritual and delicate. -Which possesses the greater truth may be seen from the fact that the -awakening sciences have agreed with Epicurus' philosophy on point after -point, but on point after point have rejected Christianity. - - -69. - -LOVE AND JUSTICE.--Why do we over-estimate love to the disadvantage -of justice, and say the most beautiful things about it, as if it were -something very much higher than the latter? Is it not visibly more -stupid than justice? Certainly, but precisely for that reason all the -_pleasanter_ for every one. It is blind, and possesses an abundant -cornucopia, out of which it distributes its gifts to all, even if they -do not deserve them, even if they express no thanks for them. It is as -impartial as the rain, which, according to the Bible and experience, -makes not only the unjust, but also occasionally the just wet through -to the skin. - - -70. - -EXECUTION.--How is it that every execution offends us more than does a -murder? It is the coldness of the judges, the painful preparations, the -conviction that a human being is here being used as a warning to scare -others. For the guilt is not punished, even if it existed--it lies with -educators, parents, surroundings, in ourselves, not in the murderer--I -mean the determining circumstances. - - -71. - -HOPE.--Pandora brought the box of ills and opened it. It was the gift -of the gods to men, outwardly a beautiful and seductive gift, and -called the Casket of Happiness. Out of it flew all the evils, living -winged creatures, thence they now circulate and do men injury day and -night. One single evil had not yet escaped from the box, and by the -will of Zeus Pandora closed the lid and it remained within. Now for -ever man has the casket of happiness in his house and thinks he holds a -great treasure; it is at his disposal, he stretches out his hand for it -whenever he desires; for he does not know the box which Pandora brought -was the casket of evil, and he believes the ill which remains within to -be the greatest blessing,--it is hope. Zeus did not wish man, however -much he might be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his life, -but to go on letting himself be tormented again and again. Therefore he -gives man hope,--in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it -prolongs the torments of man. - - -72. - -THE DEGREE OF MORAL INFLAMMABILITY UNKNOWN.--According to whether we -have or have not had certain disturbing views and impressions--for -instance, an unjustly executed, killed, or martered father; a faithless -wife; a cruel hostile attack--it depends whether our passions reach -fever heat and influence our whole life or not. No one knows to -what he may be driven by circumstances, pity, or indignation; he -does not know the degree of his own inflammability. Miserable little -circumstances make us miserable; it is generally not the quantity of -experiences, but their quality, on which lower and higher man depends, -in good and evil. - - -73. - -THE MARTYR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.--There was a man belonging to a party -who was too nervous and cowardly ever to contradict his comrades; they -made use of him for everything, they demanded everything from him, -because he was more afraid of the bad opinion of his companions than -of death itself; his was a miserable, feeble soul. They recognised -this, and on the ground of these qualities they made a hero of him, and -finally even a martyr. Although the coward inwardly always said No, -with his lips he always said Yes, even on the scaffold, when he was -about to die for the opinions of his party; for beside him stood one of -his old companions, who so tyrannised over him by word and look that -he really suffered death in the most respectable manner, and has ever -since been celebrated as a martyr and a great character. - - -74. - -I THE EVERY-DAY STANDARD.--One will seldom go wrong if one attributes -extreme actions to vanity, average ones to habit, and petty ones to -fear. - - -75. - -MISUNDERSTANDING CONCERNING VIRTUE.--Whoever has known immorality -in connection with pleasure, as is the case with a man who has a -pleasure-seeking youth behind him, imagines that virtue must be -connected with absence of pleasure.--Whoever, on the contrary, has been -much plagued by his passions and vices, longs to find in virtue peace -and the soul's happiness. Hence it is possible for two virtuous persons -not to understand each other at all. - - -76. - -THE ASCETIC.--The ascetic makes a necessity of virtue. - - -77. - -TRANSFERRING HONOUR FROM THE PERSON TO THE THING.--Deeds of love and -sacrifice for the benefit of one's neighbour are generally honoured, -wherever they are manifested. Thereby we multiply the valuation of -things which are thus loved, or for which we sacrifice ourselves, -although perhaps they are not worth much in themselves. A brave army is -convinced of the cause for which it fights. - - -78. - -AMBITION A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE MORAL SENSE.--The moral sense must not be -lacking in those natures which have no ambition. The ambitious manage -without it, with almost the same results. For this reason the sons of -unpretentious, unambitious families, when once they lose the moral -sense, generally degenerate very quickly into complete scamps. - - -79. - -VANITY ENRICHES.--How poor would be the human mind without vanity! -Thus, however, it resembles a well-stocked and constantly replenished -bazaar which attracts buyers of every kind. There they can find almost -everything, obtain almost everything, provided that they bring the -right sort of coin, namely admiration. - - -80. - -OLD AGE AND DEATH.--Apart from the commands of religion, the question -may well be asked, Why is it more worthy for an old man who feels his -powers decline, to await his slow exhaustion and extinction than with -full consciousness to set a limit to his life? Suicide in this case is -a perfectly natural, obvious action, which should justly arouse respect -as a triumph of reason, and did arouse it in those times when the heads -of Greek philosophy and the sturdiest patriots used to seek death -through suicide. The seeking, on the contrary, to prolong existence -from day to day, with anxious consultation of doctors and painful mode -of living, without the power of drawing nearer to the actual aim of -life, is far less worthy. Religion is rich in excuses to reply to the -demand for suicide, and thus it ingratiates itself with those who wish -to cling to life. - - -81. - -ERRORS OF THE SUFFERER AND THE DOER.--When a rich man deprives a poor -man of a possession (for instance, a prince taking the sweetheart of -a plebeian), an error arises in the mind of the poor man; he thinks -that the rich man must be utterly infamous to take away from him the -little that he has. But the rich man does not estimate so highly the -value of a _single_ possession, because he is accustomed to have many; -hence he cannot imagine himself in the poor man's place, and does not -commit nearly so great a wrong as the latter supposes. They each have a -mistaken idea of the other. The injustice of the powerful, which, more -than anything else, rouses indignation in history, is by no means so -great as it appears. Alone the mere inherited consciousness of being a -higher creation, with higher claims, produces a cold temperament, and -leaves the conscience quiet; we all of us feel no injustice when the -difference is very great between ourselves and another creature, and -kill a fly, for instance, without any pricks of conscience. Therefore -it was no sign of badness in Xerxes (whom even all Greeks describe -as superlatively noble) when he took a son away from his father and -had him cut in pieces, because he had expressed a nervous, ominous -distrust of the whole campaign; in this case the individual is put out -of the way like an unpleasant insect; he is too lowly to be allowed -any longer to cause annoyance to a ruler of the world. Yes, every -cruel man is not so cruel as the ill-treated one imagines the idea of -pain is not the same as its endurance. It is the same thing in the -case of unjust judges, of the journalist who leads public opinion -astray by small dishonesties. In all these cases cause and effect are -surrounded by entirely different groups of feelings and thoughts; yet -one unconsciously takes it for granted that doer and sufferer think and -feel alike, and according to this supposition we measure the guilt of -the one by the pain of the other. - - -82. - -THE SKIN OF THE SOUL.--As the bones, flesh, entrails, and blood-vessels -are enclosed within a skin, which makes the aspect of man endurable, so -the emotions and passions of the soul are enwrapped with vanity,--it is -the skin of the soul. - - -83. - -THE SLEEP OF VIRTUE.--When virtue has slept, it will arise again all -the fresher. - - -84. - -THE REFINEMENT OF SHAME.--People are not ashamed to think something -foul, but they are ashamed when they think these foul thoughts are -attributed to them. - - -85. - -MALICE IS RARE.--Most people are far too much occupied with themselves -to be malicious. - - -86. - -THE TONGUE IN THE BALANCE.--We praise or blame according as the one or -the other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment. - - -87. - -ST. LUKE XVIII. 14, IMPROVED.--He that humbleth himself wishes to be -exalted. - - -88. - -THE PREVENTION OF SUICIDE.--There is a certain right by which we may -deprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death; -this is mere cruelty. - - -89. - -VANITY.--We care for the good opinion of men, firstly because they are -useful to us, and then because we wish to please them (children their -parents, pupils their teachers, and well-meaning people generally their -fellow-men). Only where the good opinion of men is of importance to -some one, apart from the advantage thereof or his wish to please, can -we speak of vanity. In this case the man wishes to please himself, -but at the expense of his fellow-men, either by misleading them into -holding a false opinion about him, or by aiming at a degree of "good -opinion" which must be painful to every one else (by arousing envy). -The individual usually wishes to corroborate the opinion he holds of -himself by the opinion of others, and to strengthen it in his own -eyes; but the strong habit of authority--a habit as old as man himself ---induces many to support by authority their belief in themselves: that -is to say, they accept it first from others; they trust the judgment -of others more than their own. The interest in himself, the wish to -please himself, attains to such a height in a vain man that he misleads -others into having a false, all too elevated estimation of him, and yet -nevertheless sets store by their authority,--thus causing an error and -yet believing in it. It must be confessed, therefore, that vain people -do not wish to please others so much as themselves, and that they go -so far therein as to neglect their advantage, for they often endeavour -to prejudice their fellow-men unfavourably, inimicably, enviously, -consequently injuriously against themselves, merely in order to have -pleasure in themselves, personal pleasure. - - -90. - -THE LIMITS OF HUMAN LOVE.--A man who has declared that another is an -idiot and a bad companion, is angry when the latter eventually proves -himself to be otherwise. - - -91. - -_MORALITÉ LARMOYANTE._--What a great deal of pleasure morality gives! -Only think what a sea of pleasant tears has been shed over descriptions -of noble and unselfish deeds! This charm of life would vanish if the -belief in absolute irresponsibility were to obtain supremacy. - - -92. - -THE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE.--Justice (equity) has, its origin amongst powers -which are fairly equal, as Thucydides (in the terrible dialogue between -the Athenian and Melian ambassadors) rightly comprehended: that is to -say, where there is no clearly recognisable supremacy, and where a -conflict would be useless and would injure both sides, there arises the -thought of coming to an understanding and settling the opposing claims; -the character of _exchange_ is the primary character of justice. Each -party satisfies the other, as each obtains what he values more than the -other. Each one receives that which he desires, as his own henceforth, -and whatever is desired is received in return. Justice, therefore, -is recompense and exchange based on the hypothesis of a fairly equal -degree of power,--thus, originally, revenge belongs to the province -of justice, it is an exchange. Also gratitude.--Justice naturally is -based on the point of view of a judicious self-preservation, on the -egoism, therefore, of that reflection, "Why should I injure myself -uselessly and perhaps not attain my aim after all?" So much about the -_origin_ of justice. Because man, according to his intellectual custom, -has _forgotten_ the original purpose of so-called just and reasonable -actions, and particularly because for hundreds of years children have -been taught to admire and imitate such actions, the idea has gradually -arisen that such an action is un-egoistic; upon this idea, however, is -based the high estimation in which it is held: which, moreover, like -all valuations, is constantly growing, for something that is valued -highly is striven after, imitated, multiplied, and increases, because -the value of the output of toil and enthusiasm of each individual is -added to the value of the thing itself. How little moral would the -world look without this forgetfulness! A poet might say that God had -placed forgetfulness as door-keeper in the temple of human dignity. - - -93. - -THE RIGHT OF THE WEAKER.--When any one submits under certain -conditions to a greater power, as a besieged town for instance, the -counter-condition is that one can destroy one's self, burn the town, -and so cause the mighty one a great loss. Therefore there is a kind of -_equalisation_ here, on the basis of which rights may be determined. -The enemy has his advantage in maintaining it. In so far there are -also rights between slaves and masters, that is, precisely so far as -the possession of the slave is useful and important to his master. The -_right_ originally extends _so far as_ one _appears_ to be valuable to -the other, essentially unlosable, unconquerable, and so forth. In so -far the weaker one also has rights, but lesser ones. Hence the famous -_unusquisque tantum juris habet, quantum potentia valet_ (or more -exactly, _quantum potentia valere creditur_). - - -94. - -THE THREE PHASES OF HITHERTO EXISTING MORALITY.--It is the first -sign that the animal has become man when its actions no longer have -regard only to momentary welfare, but to what is enduring, when it -grows _useful_ and _practical_; there the free rule of reason first -breaks out. A still higher step is reached when he acts according to -the principle of _honour_ by this means he brings himself into order, -submits to common feelings, and that exalts him still higher over -the phase in which he was led only by the idea of usefulness from a -personal point of view; he respects and wishes to be respected, _i.e._ -he understands usefulness as dependent upon what he thinks of others -and what others think of him. Eventually he acts, on the highest step -of the _hitherto_ existing--morality, according to _his_ standard of -things and men; he himself decides for himself and others what is -honourable, what is useful; he has become the law-giver of opinions, -in accordance with the ever more highly developed idea of what is -useful and honourable. Knowledge enables him to place that which is -most useful, that is to say the general, enduring usefulness, above the -personal, the honourable recognition of general, enduring validity -above the momentary; he lives and acts as a collective individual. - - -95. - -THE MORALITY OF THE MATURE INDIVIDUAL.--The impersonal has hitherto -been looked upon as the actual distinguishing mark of moral action; and -it has been pointed out that in the beginning it was in consideration -of the common good that all impersonal actions were praised and -distinguished. Is not an important change in these views impending, -now when it is more and more recognised that it is precisely in the -_most personal_ possible considerations that the common good is the -greatest, so that a _strictly personal_ action now best illustrates -the present idea of morality, as utility for the mass? To make a -whole _personality_ out of ourselves, and in all that we do to keep -that personality's _highest good_ in view, carries us further than -those sympathetic emotions and actions for the benefit of others. We -all still suffer, certainly, from the too small consideration of the -personal in us; it is badly developed,--let us admit it; rather has -our mind been forcibly drawn away from it and offered as a sacrifice -to the State, to science, or to those who stand in need of help, as if -it were the bad part which must be sacrificed. We are still willing to -work for our fellow-men, but only so far as we find our own greatest -advantage in this work, no more and no less. It is only a question of -what we understand as _our advantage;_ the unripe, undeveloped, crude -individual will understand it in the crudest way. - - -96. - -CUSTOM AND MORALITY.--To be moral, correct, and virtuous is to be -obedient to an old-established law and custom. Whether we submit -with difficulty or willingly is immaterial, enough that we do so. He -is called "good" who, as if naturally, after long precedent, easily -and willingly, therefore, does what is right, according to whatever -this may be (as, for instance, taking revenge, if to take revenge be -considered as right, as amongst the ancient Greeks). He is called -good because he is good "for something"; but as goodwill, pity, -consideration, moderation, and such like, have come, with the change -in manners, to be looked upon as "good for something," as useful, the -good-natured and helpful have, later on, come to be distinguished -specially as "good." (In the beginning other and more important kinds -of usefulness stood in the foreground.) To be evil is to be "not -moral" (immoral), to be immoral is to be in opposition to tradition, -however sensible or stupid it may be; injury to the community (the -"neighbour" being understood thereby) has, however, been looked upon -by the social laws of all different ages as being eminently the actual -"immorality," so that now at the word "evil" we immediately think of -voluntary injury to one's neighbour. The fundamental antithesis which -has taught man the distinction between moral and immoral, between good -and evil, is not the "egoistic" and "un-egoistic," but the being bound -to the tradition, law, and solution thereof. How the tradition has -_arisen_ is immaterial, at all events without regard to good and evil -or any immanent categorical imperative, but above all for the purpose -of preserving a _community,_ a generation, an association, a people; -every superstitious custom that has arisen on account of some falsely -explained accident, creates a tradition, which it is moral to follow; -to separate one's self from it is dangerous, but more dangerous for the -_community_ than for the individual (because the Godhead punishes the -community for every outrage and every violation of its rights, and the -individual only in proportion). Now every tradition grows continually -more venerable, the farther off lies its origin, the more this is -lost sight of; the veneration paid it accumulates from generation to -generation, the tradition at last becomes holy and excites awe; and -thus in any case the morality of piety is a much older morality than -that which requires un-egoistic actions. - - -97. - -PLEASURE IN TRADITIONAL CUSTOM.--An important species of pleasure, -and therewith the source of morality, arises out of habit. Man does -what is habitual to him more easily, better, and therefore more -willingly; he feels a pleasure therein, and knows from experience -that the habitual has been tested, and is therefore useful; a custom -that we can live with is proved to be wholesome and advantageous in -contrast to all new and not yet tested experiments. According to -this, morality is the union of the pleasant and the useful; moreover, -it requires no reflection. As soon as man can use compulsion, he uses -it to introduce and enforce his _customs_; for in his eyes they are -proved as the wisdom of life. In the same way a company of individuals -compels each single one to adopt the same customs. Here the inference -is wrong; because we feel at ease with a morality, or at least -because we are able to carry on existence with it, therefore this -morality is necessary, for it seems to be the _only_ possibility of -feeling at ease; the ease of life seems to grow out of it alone. This -comprehension of the habitual as a necessity of existence is pursued -even to the smallest details of custom,--as insight into genuine -causality is very small with lower peoples and civilisations, they -take precautions with superstitious fear that everything should go in -its same groove; even where custom is difficult, hard, and burdensome, -it is preserved on account of its apparent highest usefulness. It is -not known that the same degree of well-being can also exist with other -customs, and that even higher degrees may be attained. We become aware, -however, that all customs, even the hardest, grow pleasanter and milder -with time, and that the severest way of life may become a habit and -therefore a pleasure. - - -98. - -PLEASURE AND SOCIAL INSTINCT.--Out of his relations with other men, man -obtains a new species of _pleasure_ in addition to those pleasurable -sensations which he derives from himself; whereby he greatly increases -the scope of enjoyment. Perhaps he has already taken too many of the -pleasures of this sphere from animals, which visibly feel pleasure -when they play with each other, especially the mother with her young. -Then consider the sexual relations, which make almost every female -interesting to a male with regard to pleasure, and _vice versa._ The -feeling of pleasure on the basis of human relations generally makes -man better; joy in common, pleasure enjoyed together is increased, it -gives the individual security, makes him good-tempered, and dispels -mistrust and envy, for we feel ourselves at ease and see others at -ease. _Similar manifestations of pleasure_ awaken the idea of the same -sensations, the feeling of being like something; a like effect is -produced by common sufferings, the same bad weather, dangers, enemies. -Upon this foundation is based the oldest alliance, the object of which -is the mutual obviating and averting of a threatening danger for the -benefit of each individual. And thus the social instinct grows out of -pleasure. - - -99. - -THE INNOCENT SIDE OF SO-CALLED EVIL ACTIONS.--All "evil" actions are -prompted by the instinct of preservation, or, more exactly, by the -desire for pleasure and the avoidance of pain on the part of the -individual; thus prompted, but not evil. "To cause pain _per se_" does -not exist, except in the brains of philosophers, neither does "to give -pleasure _per se_" (pity in Schopenhauer's meaning). In the social -condition _before_ the State we kill the creature, be it ape or man, -who tries to take from us the fruit of a tree when we are hungry and -approach the tree, as we should still do with animals in inhospitable -countries. The evil actions which now most rouse our indignation, are -based upon the error that he who causes them has a free will, that he -had the option, therefore, of not doing us this injury. This belief in -option arouses hatred, desire for revenge, spite, and the deterioration -of the whole imagination, while we are much less angry with an animal -because we consider it irresponsible. To do injury, not from the -instinct of preservation, but as _requital,_ is the consequence of a -false judgment and therefore equally innocent. The individual can in -the condition which lies before the State, act sternly and cruelly -towards other creatures for the purpose of _terrifying,_ to establish -his existence firmly by such terrifying proofs of his power. Thus -act the violent, the mighty, the original founders of States, who -subdue the weaker to themselves. They have the right to do so, such -as the State still takes for itself; or rather, there is no right -that can hinder this. The ground for all-morality can only be made -ready when a stronger individual or a collective individual, for -instance society or the State, subdues the single individuals,.draws -them out of their singleness, and forms them into an association.. -_Compulsion_ precedes morality, indeed morality itself is compulsion -for a time, to which one submits for the avoidance of pain. Later on -it becomes custom,--later still, free obedience, and finally almost -instinct,--then, like everything long accustomed and natural, it is -connected with pleasure--and is henceforth called _virtue_. - - -100. - -SHAME.--Shame exists everywhere where there is a "mystery"; this, -however, is a religious idea, which was widely extended in the older -times of human civilisation. Everywhere were found bounded domains -to which access was forbidden by divine right, except under certain -conditions ; at first locally, as, for example, certain spots that -ought not to be trodden by the feet of the uninitiated, in the -neighbourhood of which these latter experienced horror and fear. -This feeling was a good deal carried over into other relations, for -instance, the sex relations, which, as a privilege and _ἃδoυτον_ of -riper years, had to be withheld from the knowledge of the young for -their advantage, relations for the protection and sanctification of -which many gods were invented and were set up as guardians in the -nuptial chamber. (In Turkish this room is on this account called harem, -"sanctuary," and is distinguished with the same name, therefore, that -is used for the entrance courts of the mosques.) Thus the kingdom is as -a centre from which radiate power and glory, to the subjects a mystery -full of secrecy and shame, of which many after-effects may still be -felt among nations which otherwise do not by any means belong to the -bashful type. Similarly, the whole world of inner conditions, the -so-called "soul," is still a mystery for all who are not philosophers, -after it has been looked upon for endless ages as of divine origin and -as worthy of divine intercourse; according to this it is an _ἃδoυτον_ -and arouses shame. - - -101. - -JUDGE NOT.--In considering earlier periods, care must be taken not -to fall into unjust abuse. The injustice in slavery, the cruelty in -the suppression of persons and nations, is not to be measured by our -standard. For the instinct of justice was not then so far developed. -Who dares to reproach the Genevese Calvin with the burning of the -physician Servet? It was an action following and resulting from his -convictions, and in the same way the Inquisition had a good right; -only the ruling views were false, and produced a result which seems -hard to us because those views have now grown strange to us. Besides, -what is the burning of a single individual compared with eternal -pains of hell for almost all! And yet this idea was universal at that -time, without essentially injuring by its dreadfulness the conception -of a God. With us, too, political sectarians are hardly and cruelly -treated, but because one is accustomed to believe in the necessity of -the State, the cruelty is not so deeply felt here as it is where we -repudiate the views. Cruelty to animals in children and Italians is -due to ignorance, _i.e._ the animal, through the interests of Church -teaching, has been placed too far behind man. Much that is dreadful and -inhuman in history, much that one hardly likes to believe, is mitigated -by the reflection that the one who commands and the one who carries -out are different persons,--the former does not behold the right and -therefore does not experience the strong impression on the imagination; -the latter obeys a superior and therefore feels no responsibility. Most -princes and military heads, through lack of imagination, easily appear -hard and cruel without really being so. _Egoism is not evil,_ because -the idea of the "neighbour"--the word is of Christian origin and does -not represent the truth--is very weak in us; and we feel ourselves -almost as free and irresponsible towards him as towards plants and -stones. We have yet to _learn_ that others suffer, and this can never -be completely learnt. - - -102. - -"MAN ALWAYS ACTS RIGHTLY."--We do not complain of nature as immoral -because it sends a thunderstorm and makes us wet,--why do we call those -who injure us immoral? Because in the latter case we take for granted -a free will functioning voluntarily; in the former we see necessity. -But this distinction is an error. Thus we do not call even intentional -injury immoral in all circumstances; for instance, we kill a fly -unhesitatingly and intentionally, only because its buzzing annoys us; -we punish a criminal intentionally and hurt him in order to protect -ourselves and society. In the first case it is the individual who, in -order to preserve himself, or even to protect himself from worry, does -intentional injury; in the second case it is the State. All morals -allow intentional injury _in the case of necessity,_ that is, when -it is a matter of _self-preservation_! But these two points of view -suffice to explain all evil actions committed by men against men, we -are desirous of obtaining pleasure or avoiding pain; in any case it is -always a question of self-preservation. Socrates and Plato are right: -whatever man does he always does well, that is, he does that which -seems to him good (useful) according to the degree of his intellect, -the particular standard of his reasonableness. - - -103. - -THE HARMLESSNESS OF MALICE.--The aim of malice is _not_ the suffering -of others in itself, but our own enjoyment; for instance, as the -feeling of revenge, or stronger nervous excitement. All teasing, -even, shows the pleasure it gives to exercise our power on others and -bring it to an enjoyable feeling of preponderance. Is it _immoral_ to -taste pleasure at the expense of another's pain? Is malicious joy[3] -devilish, as Schopenhauer says? We give ourselves pleasure in nature -by breaking off twigs, loosening stones, fighting with wild animals, -and do this in order to become thereby conscious of our strength. Is -the knowledge, therefore, that another suffers through us, the same -thing concerning which we otherwise feel irresponsible, supposed to -make us immoral? But if we did not know this we would not thereby have -the enjoyment of our own superiority, which can only _manifest_ itself -by the suffering of others, for instance in teasing. All pleasure -_per se_ is neither good nor evil; whence should come the decision -that in order to have pleasure ourselves we may not cause displeasure -to others? From the point of view of usefulness alone, that is, out -of consideration for the _consequences,_ for _possible_ displeasure, -when the injured one or the replacing State gives the expectation of -resentment and revenge: this only can have been the original reason -for denying ourselves such actions. _Pity_ aims just as little at -the pleasure of others as malice at the pain of others _per se._ For -it contains at least two (perhaps many more) elements of a personal -pleasure, and is so far self-gratification; in the first place as the -pleasure of emotion, which is the kind of pity that exists in tragedy, -and then, when it impels to action, as the pleasure of satisfaction -in the exercise of power. If, besides this, a suffering person is -very dear to us, we lift a sorrow from ourselves by the exercise of -sympathetic actions. Except by a few philosophers, pity has always been -placed very low in the scale of moral feelings, and rightly so. - - -104. - -SELF-DEFENCE.--If self-defence is allowed to pass as moral, then almost -all manifestations of the so-called immoral egoism must also stand; -men injure, rob, or kill in order to preserve or defend themselves, -to prevent personal injury; they lie where cunning and dissimulation -are the right means of self-preservation. _Intentional injury,_ when -our existence or safety (preservation of our comfort) is concerned, is -conceded to be moral; the State itself injures, according to this point -of view, when it punishes. In unintentional injury, of course, there -can be nothing immoral, that is ruled by chance. Is there, then, a kind -of intentional injury where our existence or the preservation of our -comfort is _not_ concerned? Is there an injuring out of pure _malice,_ -for instance in cruelty? If one does not know how much an action hurts, -it is no deed of malice; thus the child is not malicious towards the -animal, not evil; he examines and destroys it like a toy. But _do_ we -ever know entirely how an action hurts another? As far as our nervous -system extends we protect ourselves from pain; if it extended farther, -to our fellow-men, namely, we should do no one an injury (except in -such cases as we injure ourselves, where we cut ourselves for the -sake of cure, tire and exert ourselves for the sake of health). We -_conclude_ by analogy that something hurts somebody, and through memory -and the strength of imagination we may suffer from it ourselves. But -still what a difference there is between toothache and the pain (pity) -that the sight of toothache calls forth! Therefore, in injury out of -so-called malice the _degree_ of pain produced is always unknown to -us; but inasmuch as there is _pleasure_ in the action (the feeling of -one's own power, one's own strong excitement), the action is committed, -in order to preserve the comfort of the individual, and is regarded, -therefore, from a similar point of view as defence and falsehood in -necessity. No life without pleasure; the struggle for pleasure is the -struggle for life. Whether the individual so fights this fight that -men call him good, or so that they call him evil, is determined by the -measure and the constitution of his _intellect._ - - -105. - -RECOMPENSING JUSTICE.--Whoever has completely comprehended the doctrine -of absolute irresponsibility can no longer include the so-called -punishing and recompensing justice in the idea of justice, should this -consist of giving to each man his due. For he who is punished does -not deserve the punishment, he is only used as a means of henceforth -warning away from certain actions; equally so, he who is rewarded -does not merit this reward, he could not act otherwise than he did. -Therefore the reward is meant only as an encouragement to him and -others, to provide a motive for subsequent actions; words of praise are -flung to the runners on the course, not to the one who has reached -the goal. Neither punishment nor reward is anything that comes to one -as _one's own;_ they are given from motives of usefulness, without one -having a right to claim them. Hence we must say, "The wise man gives -no reward because the deed has been well done," just as we have said, -"The wise man does not punish because evil has been committed, but in -order that evil shall not be committed." If punishment and reward no -longer existed, then the strongest motives which deter men from certain -actions and impel them to certain other actions, would also no longer -exist; the needs of mankind require their continuance; and inasmuch as -punishment and reward, blame and praise, work most sensibly on vanity, -the same need requires the continuance of vanity. - - -106. - -AT THE WATERFALL.--In looking at a water-fall we imagine that there is -freedom of will and fancy in the countless turnings, twistings, and -breakings of the waves; but everything is compulsory, every movement -can be mathematically calculated. So it is also with human actions; -one would have to be able to calculate every single action beforehand -if one were all-knowing; equally so all progress of knowledge, every -error, all malice. The one who acts certainly labours under the -illusion of voluntariness; if the world's wheel were to stand still -for a moment and an all-knowing, calculating reason were there to make -use of this pause, it could foretell the future of every creature to -the remotest times, and mark out every track upon which that wheel -would continue to roll. The delusion of the acting agent about himself, -the supposition of a free will, belongs to this mechanism which still -remains to be calculated. - - -107. - -IRRESPONSIBILITY AND INNOCENCE.--The complete irresponsibility of -man for his actions and his nature is the bitterest drop which he -who understands must swallow if he was accustomed to see the patent -of nobility of his humanity in responsibility and duty. All his -valuations, distinctions, disinclinations, are thereby deprived of -value and become false,--his deepest feeling for the sufferer and -the hero was based on an error; he may no longer either praise or -blame, for it is absurd to praise and blame nature and necessity. In -the same way as he loves a fine work of art, but does not praise it, -because it can do nothing for itself; in the same way as he regards -plants, so must he regard his own actions and those of mankind. He can -admire strength, beauty, abundance, in themselves; but must find no -merit therein,--the chemical progress and the strife of the elements, -the torments of the sick person who thirsts after recovery, are all -equally as little merits as those struggles of the soul and states of -distress in which we are torn hither and thither by different impulses -until we finally decide for the strongest--as we say (but in reality -it is the strongest motive which decides for us). All these motives, -however, whatever fine names we may give them, have all grown out of -the same root, in which we believe the evil poisons to be situated; -between good and evil actions there is no difference of species, but -at most of degree. Good actions are sublimated evil ones; evil actions -are vulgarised and stupefied good ones. The single longing of the -individual for self-gratification (together with the fear of losing it) -satisfies itself in all circumstances: man may act as he can, that is -as he must, be it in deeds of vanity, revenge, pleasure, usefulness, -malice, cunning; be it in deeds of sacrifice, of pity, of knowledge. -The degrees of the power of judgment determine whither any one lets -himself be drawn through this longing; to every society, to every -individual, a scale of possessions is continually present, according to -which he determines his actions and judges those of others. But this -standard changes constantly; many actions are called evil and are only -stupid, because the degree of intelligence which decided for them was -very low. In a certain sense, even, _all_ actions are still stupid; -for the highest degree of human intelligence which can now be attained -will assuredly be yet surpassed, and then, in a retrospect, all our -actions and judgments will appear as limited and hasty as the actions -and judgments of primitive wild peoples now appear limited and hasty to -us. To recognise all this may be deeply painful, but consolation comes -after; such pains are the pangs of birth. The butterfly wants to break -through its chrysalis: it rends and tears it, and is then blinded and -confused by the unaccustomed light, the kingdom of liberty. In such -people as are _capable_ of such sadness--and how few are!--the first -experiment made is to see whether _mankind can change itself_ from a -_moral_ into a _wise_ mankind. The sun of a new gospel throws its rays -upon the highest point in the soul of each single individual, then -the mists gather thicker than ever, and the brightest light and the -dreariest shadow lie side by side. Everything is necessity--so says the -new knowledge, and this knowledge itself is necessity. Everything is -innocence, and knowledge is the road to insight into this innocence. -Are pleasure, egoism, vanity _necessary_ for the production of the -moral phenomena and their highest result, the sense for truth and -justice in knowledge; were error and the confusion of the imagination -the only means through which mankind could raise itself gradually to -this degree of self-enlightenment and self-liberation--who would dare -to undervalue these means? Who would dare to be sad if he perceived the -goal to which those roads led? Everything in the domain of morality -has evolved, is changeable, unstable, everything is dissolved, it is -true; but _everything is also streaming towards one goal._ Even if -the inherited habit of erroneous valuation, love and hatred, continue -to reign in us, yet under the influence of growing knowledge it will -become weaker; a new habit, that of comprehension, of not loving, not -hating, of overlooking, is gradually implanting itself in us upon the -same ground, and in thousands of years will perhaps be powerful enough -to give humanity the strength to produce wise, innocent (consciously -innocent) men, as it now produces unwise, guilt-conscious men,--_that -is the necessary preliminary step, not its opposite._ - - -[Footnote 1: Dr. Paul Rée.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: Dr. Paul Rée.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 3: This is the untranslatable word _Schadenfreude,_ which -means joy at the misfortune of others.--J.M.K.] - - - - -THIRD DIVISION. - - -THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. - - - -108. - -THE DOUBLE FIGHT AGAINST EVIL.--When misfortune overtakes us we can -either pass over I it so lightly that its cause is removed, or so -that the result which it has on our temperament is altered, through a -changing, therefore, of the evil into a good, the utility of which is -perhaps not visible until later on. Religion and art (also metaphysical -philosophy) work upon the changing of the temperament, partly through -the changing of our judgment on events (for instance, with the help -of the phrase "whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth"), partly through -the awakening of a pleasure in pain, in emotion generally (whence -the tragic art takes its starting-point). The more a man is inclined -to twist and arrange meanings the less he will grasp the causes of -evil and disperse them; the momentary mitigation and influence of -a narcotic, as for example in toothache, suffices him even in more -serious sufferings. The more the dominion of creeds and all arts -dispense with narcotics, the more strictly men attend to the actual -removing of the evil, which is certainly bad for writers of tragedy; -for the material for tragedy is growing scarcer because the domain of -pitiless, inexorable fate is growing ever narrower,--but worse still -for the priests, for they have hitherto lived on the narcotisation of -human woes. - - -109. - -SORROW IS KNOWLEDGE.--How greatly we should like to exchange the -false assertions of the priests, that there is a god who desires good -from us, a guardian and witness of every action, every moment, every -thought, who loves us and seeks our welfare in all misfortune,--how -greatly we would like to exchange these ideas for truths which would be -just as healing, pacifying and beneficial as those errors! But there -are no such truths; at most philosophy can oppose to them metaphysical -appearances (at bottom also untruths). The tragedy consists in the fact -that we cannot _believe_ those dogmas of religion and metaphysics, -if we have strict methods of truth in heart and brain: on the other -hand, mankind has, through development, become so delicate, irritable -and suffering, that it has need of the highest means of healing and -consolation; whence also the danger arises that man would bleed to -death from recognised truth, or, more correctly, from discovered error. -Byron has expressed this in the immortal lines:-- - - Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most - Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, - The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. - -For such troubles there is no better help than to recall the stately -levity of Horace, at least for the worst hours and eclipses of the -soul, and to say with him: - - ... quid æternis minorem - consiliis animum fatigas? - cur non sub alta vel platano vel hac - pinu jacentes.[1] - -But assuredly frivolity or melancholy of every degree is better than -a romantic retrospection and desertion of the flag, an approach to -Christianity in any form; for according to the present condition of -knowledge it is absolutely impossible to approach it without hopelessly -soiling our _intellectual conscience_ and giving ourselves away to -ourselves and others. Those pains may be unpleasant enough, but we -cannot become leaders and educators of mankind without pain; and woe -to him who would wish to attempt this and no longer have that clear -conscience! - - -110. - -THE TRUTH IN RELIGION.--In the period of rationalism justice was not -done to the importance of religion, of that there is no doubt, but -equally there is no doubt that in the reaction that followed this -rationalism justice was far overstepped; for religions were treated -lovingly, even amorously, and, for instance, a deeper, even the -very deepest, understanding of the world was ascribed to them; which -science has only to strip of its dogmatic garment in order to possess -the "truth" in unmythical form. Religions should, therefore,--this -was the opinion of all opposers of rationalism,--_sensu allegorico,_ -with all consideration for the understanding of the masses, give -utterance to that ancient wisdom which is wisdom itself, inasmuch -as all true science of later times has always led up to it instead -of away from it, so that between the oldest wisdom of mankind and -all later harmonies similarity of discernment and a progress of -knowledge--in case one should wish to speak of such a thing--rests -not upon the nature but upon the way of communicating it. This whole -conception of religion and science is thoroughly erroneous, and none -would still dare to profess it if Schopenhauer's eloquence had not -taken it under its protection; this resonant eloquence which, however, -only reached its hearers a generation later. As surely as from -Schopenhauer's religious-moral interpretations of men and the world -much may be gained for the understanding of the Christian and other -religions, so surely also is he mistaken about the _value of religion -for knowledge._ Therein he himself was only a too docile pupil of the -scientific teachers of his time, who all worshipped romanticism and had -forsworn the spirit of enlightenment; had he been born in our present -age he could not possibly have talked about the _sensus allegoricus_ -of religion; he would much rather have given honour to truth, as he -used to do, with the words, "_no religion, direct or indirect, either -as dogma or as allegory, has ever contained a truth._" For each has -been born of fear and necessity, through the byways of reason did it -slip into existence; once, perhaps, when imperilled by science, some -philosophic doctrine has lied itself into its system in order that -it may be found there later, but this is a theological trick of the -time when a religion already doubts itself. These tricks of theology -(which certainly were practised in the early days of Christianity, -as the religion of a scholarly period steeped in philosophy) have -led to that superstition of the _sensus allegoricus,_ but yet more -the habits of the philosophers (especially the half-natures, the -poetical philosophers and the philosophising artists), to treat all the -sensations which they discovered in _themselves_ as the fundamental -nature of man in general, and hence to allow their own religious -feelings an important influence in the building up of their systems. -As philosophers frequently philosophised under the custom of religious -habits, or at least under the anciently inherited power of that -"metaphysical need," they developed doctrinal opinions which really -bore a great resemblance to the Jewish or Christian or Indian religious -views,--a resemblance, namely, such as children usually bear to their -mothers, only that in this case the fathers were not clear about that -motherhood, as happens sometimes,--but in their innocence romanced -about a family likeness between all religion and science. In reality, -between religions and real science there exists neither relationship -nor friendship, nor even enmity; they live on different planets. Every -philosophy which shows a religious comet's tail shining in the darkness -of its last prospects makes all the science it contains suspicious; all -this is presumably also religion, even though in the guise of science. -Moreover, if all nations were to agree about certain religious matters, -for instance the existence of a God (which, it may be remarked, is not -the case with regard to this point), this would only be an argument -_against_ those affirmed matters, for instance the existence of a God; -the _consensus gentium_ and _hominum_ in general can only take place in -case of a huge folly. On the other hand, there is no _consensus omnium -sapientium,_ with regard to any single thing, with that exception -mentioned in Goethe's lines: - - "Alle die Weisesten aller der Zeiten - Lächeln und winken und stimmen mit ein: - Thöricht, auf Bess'rung der Thoren zu harren! - Kinder der Klugheit, o habet die Narren - Eben zum Narren auch, wie sich's gehört!"[2] - -Spoken without verse and rhyme and applied to our case, the _consensus -sapientium_ consists in this: that the _consensus gentium_ counts as a -folly. - - -111. - -THE ORIGIN OF THE RELIGIOUS CULT.--If we go back to the times in -which the religious life flourished to the greatest extent, we find a -fundamental conviction, which we now no longer share, and whereby the -doors leading to a religious life are closed to us once for all,--it -concerns Nature and intercourse with her. In those times people knew -nothing of natural laws; neither for earth nor for heaven is there a -"must"; a season, the sunshine, the rain may come or may not come. In -short, every idea of natural causality is lacking. When one rows, it -is not the rowing that moves the boat, but rowing is only a magical -ceremony by which one compels a _dæmon_ to move the boat. All maladies, -even death itself, are the result of magical influences. Illness -and death never happen naturally; the whole conception of "natural -sequence" is lacking,--it dawned first amongst the older Greeks, that -is, in a very late phase of humanity, in the conception of _Moira,_ -enthroned above the gods. When a man shoots with a bow, there is still -always present an irrational hand and strength; if the wells suddenly -dry up, men think first of subterranean _dæmons_ and their tricks; it -must be the arrow of a god beneath whose invisible blow a man suddenly -sinks down. In India (says Lubbock) a carpenter is accustomed to offer -sacrifice to his hammer, his hatchet, and the rest of his tools; in -the same way a Brahmin treats the pen with which he writes, a soldier -the weapons he requires in the field of battle, a mason his trowel, a -labourer his plough. In the imagination of religious people all nature -is a summary of the actions of conscious and voluntary creatures, -an enormous complex of _arbitrariness._ No conclusion may be drawn -with regard to everything that is outside of us, that anything will -_be_ so and so, _must_ be so and so; the approximately sure, reliable -are _we,_--man is the _rule,_ nature is _irregularity,_--this theory -contains the fundamental conviction which obtains in rude, religiously -productive primitive civilisations. We latter-day men feel just -the contrary,--the richer man now feels himself inwardly, the more -polyphonous is the music and the noise of his soul the more powerfully -the symmetry of nature works upon him; we all recognise with Goethe -the great means in nature for the appeasing of the modern soul; we -listen to the pendulum swing of this greatest of clocks with a longing -for rest, for home and tranquillity, as if we could absorb this -symmetry into ourselves and could only thereby arrive at the enjoyment -of ourselves. Formerly it was otherwise; if we consider the rude, -early condition of nations, or contemplate present-day savages' at -close quarters, we find them most strongly influenced by _law_ and by -_tradition_: the individual is almost automatically bound to them, and -moves with the uniformity of a pendulum. To him Nature--uncomprehended, -terrible, mysterious Nature--must appear as the _sphere of liberty,_ -of voluntariness, of the higher power, even as a superhuman degree -of existence, as God. In those times and conditions, however, every -individual felt that his existence, his happiness, and that of the -family and the State, and the success of all undertakings, depended -on those spontaneities of nature; certain natural events must appear -at the right time, others be absent at the right time. How can one -have any influence on these terrible unknown things, how can one -bind the sphere of liberty? Thus he asks himself, thus he inquires -anxiously;--is there, then, no means of making those powers as regular -through tradition and law as you are yourself? The aim of those who -believe in magic and miracles is to _impose a law on nature,_--and, -briefly, the religious cult is a result of this aim. The problem which -those people have set themselves is closely related to this: how can -the _weaker_ race dictate laws to the _stronger,_ rule it, and guide -its actions (in relation to the weaker)? One would first remember the -most harmless sort of compulsion, that compulsion which one exercises -when one has gained any one's affection. By imploring and praying, by -submission, by the obligation of regular taxes and gifts, by flattering -glorifications, it is also possible to exercise an influence upon the -powers of nature, inasmuch as one gains the affections; love binds and -becomes bound. Then one can make compacts by which one is mutually -bound to a certain behaviour, where one gives pledges and exchanges -vows. But far more important is a species of more forcible compulsion, -by magic and witchcraft. As with the sorcerer's help man is able to -injure a more powerful enemy and keep him in fear, as the love-charm -works at a distance, so the weaker man believes he can influence the -mightier spirits of nature. The principal thing in all witchcraft -is that we must get into our possession something that belongs to -some one, hair, nails, food from their table, even their portrait, -their name. With such apparatus we can then practise sorcery; for the -fundamental rule is, to everything spiritual there belongs something -corporeal; with the help of this we are able to bind the spirit, to -injure it, and destroy it; the corporeal furnishes the handles with -which we can grasp the spiritual. As man controls man, so he controls -some natural spirit or other; for this has also its corporeal part -by which it may be grasped. The tree and, compared with it, the seed -from which it sprang,--this enigmatical contrast seems to prove that -the same spirit embodied itself in both forms, now small, now large. -A stone that begins to roll suddenly is the body in which a spirit -operates; if there is an enormous rock lying on a lonely heath it seems -impossible to conceive human strength sufficient to have brought it -there, consequently the stone must have moved there by itself, that -is, it must be possessed by a spirit. Everything that has a body is -susceptible to witchcraft, therefore also the natural spirits. If a god -is bound to his image we can use the most direct compulsion against him -(through refusal of sacrificial food, scourging, binding in fetters, -and so on). In order to obtain by force the missing favour of their -god the lower classes in China wind cords round the image of the one -who has left them in the lurch, pull it down and drag it through the -streets in the dust and the dirt: "You dog of a spirit," they say, "we -gave you a magnificent temple to live in, we gilded you prettily, we -fed you well, we offered you sacrifice, and yet you are so ungrateful." -Similar forcible measures against pictures of the Saints and Virgin -when they refused to do their duty in pestilence or drought, have -been witnessed even during the present century in Catholic countries. -Through all these magic relations to nature, countless ceremonies -have been called into life; and at last, when the confusion has -grown too great, an endeavour has been made to order and systematise -them, in order that the favourable course of the whole progress of -nature, _i.e._ of the great succession of the seasons, may seem to -be guaranteed by a corresponding course of a system of procedure. -The essence of the religious cult is to determine and confine nature -to human advantage, _to impress it with a legality, therefore, which -it did not originally possess_; while at the present time we wish to -recognise the legality of nature in order to adapt ourselves to it. -In short, then, the religious cult is based upon the representations -of sorcery between man and man,--and the sorcerer is older than the -priest. But it is likewise based upon other and nobler representations; -it premises the sympathetic relation of man to man, the presence of -goodwill, gratitude, the hearing of pleaders, of treaties between -enemies, the granting of pledges, and the claim to the protection of -property. In very low stages of civilisation man does not stand in the -relation of a helpless slave to nature, he is _not_ necessarily its -involuntary, bondsman. In the _Greek_ grade of religion, particularly -in relation to the Olympian gods, there may even be imagined a common -life between two castes, a nobler and more powerful one, and one less -noble; but in their origin both belong to each other somehow, and -are of one kind; they need not be ashamed of each other. That is the -nobility of the Greek religion. - - -112. - -AT THE SIGHT OF CERTAIN ANTIQUE SACRIFICIAL IMPLEMENTS.--The fact of -how many feelings are lost to us may be seen, for instance, in the -mingling of the _droll,_ even of the _obscene,_ with the religious -feeling. The sensation of the possibility of this mixture vanishes, we -only comprehend historically that it existed in the feasts of Demeter -and Dionysus, in the Christian Easter-plays and Mysteries. But we also -know that which is noble in alliance with burlesque and such like, the -touching mingled with the laughable, which perhaps a later age will not -be able to understand. - - -113. - -CHRISTIANITY AS ANTIQUITY.--When on a Sunday morning we hear the old -bells ring out, we ask ourselves, "Is it possible! This is done on -account of a Jew crucified two thousand years ago who said he was the -Son of God. The proof of such an assertion is wanting." Certainly in -our times the Christian religion is an antiquity that dates from -very early ages, and the fact that its assertions are still believed, -when otherwise all claims are subjected to such strict examination, -is perhaps the oldest part of this heritage. A God who creates a son -from a mortal woman; a sage who requires that man should no longer -work, no longer judge, but should pay attention to the signs of the -approaching end of the world; a justice that accepts an innocent being -as a substitute in sacrifice; one who commands his disciples to drink -his blood; prayers for miraculous intervention; sins committed against -a God and atoned for through a God; the fear of a future to which death -is the portal; the form of the cross in an age which no longer knows -the signification and the shame of the cross,[3] how terrible all this -appears to us, as if risen from the grave of the ancient past! Is it -credible that such things are still believed? - - -114. - -WHAT IS UN-GREEK IN CHRISTIANITY.--The Greeks did not regard the -Homeric gods as raised above them like masters, nor themselves as -being under them like servants, as the Jews did. They only saw, as -in a mirror, the most perfect examples of their own caste; an ideal, -therefore, and not an opposite of their own nature. There is a feeling -of relationship, a mutual interest arises, a kind of symmachy. Man -thinks highly of himself when he gives himself such gods, and places -himself in a relation like that of the lower nobility towards the -higher; while the Italian nations hold a genuine peasant-faith, with -perpetual fear of evil and mischievous powers and tormenting spirits. -Wherever the Olympian gods retreated into the background, Greek life -was more sombre and more anxious. Christianity, on the contrary, -oppressed man and crushed him utterly, sinking him as if in deep mire; -then into the feeling of absolute depravity it suddenly threw the light -of divine mercy, so that the surprised man, dazzled by forgiveness, -gave a cry of joy and for a moment believed that he bore all heaven -within himself. All psychological feelings of Christianity work upon -this unhealthy excess of sentiment, and upon the deep corruption of -head and heart it necessitates; it desires to destroy, break, stupefy, -confuse,--only one thing it does not desire, namely _moderation,_ and -therefore it is in the deepest sense barbaric, Asiatic, ignoble and -un-Greek. - - -115. - -TO BE RELIGIOUS WITH ADVANTAGE.--There are sober and industrious people -on whom religion is embroidered like a hem of higher humanity; these -do well to remain religious, it beautifies them. All people who do -not understand some kind of trade in weapons--tongue and pen included -as weapons--become servile; for such the Christian religion is very -useful, for then servility assumes the appearance of Christian virtues -and is surprisingly beautified. People to whom their daily life appears -too empty and monotonous easily grow religious; this is comprehensible -and excusable, only they have no right to demand religious sentiments -from those whose daily life is not empty and monotonous.[4] - - -116. - -THE COMMONPLACE CHRISTIAN.--If Christianity were right, with its -theories of an avenging God, of general sinfulness, of redemption, and -the danger of eternal damnation, it would be a sign of weak intellect -and lack of character _not_ to become a priest, apostle or hermit, -and to work only with fear and trembling for one's own salvation; it -would be senseless thus to neglect eternal benefits for temporary -comfort. Taking it for granted that there _is belief,_ the commonplace -Christian is a miserable figure, a man that really cannot add two and -two together, and who, moreover, just because of his mental incapacity -for responsibility, did not deserve to be so severely punished as -Christianity has decreed. - - -117. - -OF THE WISDOM OF CHRISTIANITY.--It is a clever stroke on the part -of Christianity to teach the utter unworthiness, sinfulness, and -despicableness of mankind so loudly that the disdain of their -fellow-men is no longer possible. "He may sin as much as he likes, he -is not essentially different from me,--it is I who am unworthy and -despicable in every way," says the Christian to himself. But even -this feeling has lost its sharpest sting, because the Christian no -longer believes in his individual despicableness; he is bad as men are -generally, and comforts himself a little with the axiom, "We are all of -one kind." - - -118. - -CHANGE OF FRONT.--As soon as a religion triumphs it has for its enemies -all those who would have been its first disciples. - - -119. - -THE FATE OF CHRISTIANITY.--Christianity arose for the purpose of -lightening the heart; but now it must first make the heart heavy in -order afterwards to lighten it. Consequently it will perish. - - -120. - -THE PROOF OF PLEASURE.--The agreeable opinion is accepted as -true,--this is the proof of the pleasure (or, as the Church says, the -proof of the strength), of which all religions are so proud when they -ought to be ashamed of it. If Faith did not make blessed it would not -be believed in; of how little value must it be, then! - - -121. - -A DANGEROUS GAME.--Whoever now allows scope to his religious feelings -must also let them increase, he cannot do otherwise. His nature then -gradually changes; it favours whatever is connected with and near to -the religious element, the whole extent of judgment and feeling becomes -clouded, overcast with religious shadows. Sensation cannot stand still; -one must therefore take care. - - -122. - -THE BLIND DISCIPLES.--So long as one knows well the strength and -weakness of one's doctrine, one's art, one's religion, its power -is still small. The disciple and apostle who has no eyes for the -weaknesses of the doctrine, the religion, and so forth, dazzled by the -aspect of the master and by his reverence for him, has on that account -usually more power than the master himself. Without blind disciples the -influence of a man and his work has never yet become great. To help a -doctrine to victory often means only so to mix it with stupidity that -the weight of the latter carries off also the victory for the former. - - -123. - -CHURCH DISESTABLISHMENT.--There is not enough religion in the world -even to destroy religions. - - -124. - -THE SINLESSNESS OF MAN.--If it is understood how "sin came into the -world," namely through errors of reason by which men held each other, -even the single individual held himself, to be much blacker and much -worse than was actually the case, the whole sensation will be much -lightened, and man and the world will appear in a blaze of innocence -which it will do one good to contemplate. In the midst of nature man -is always the child _per se._ This child sometimes has a heavy and -terrifying dream, but when it opens its eyes it always finds itself -back again in Paradise. - - -125. - -THE IRRELIGIOUSNESS OF ARTISTS.--Homer is so much at home amongst -his gods, and is so familiar with them as a poet, that he must have -been deeply irreligious; that which the popular faith gave him--a -meagre, rude, partly terrible superstition--he treated as freely as -the sculptor does his clay, with the same unconcern, therefore, which -Æschylus and Aristophanes possessed, and by which in later times the -great artists of the Renaissance distinguished themselves, as also did -Shakespeare and Goethe. - - -126. - -THE ART AND POWER OF FALSE INTERPRETATIONS.--All the visions, terrors, -torpors, and ecstasies of saints are well-known forms of disease, -which are only, by reason of deep-rooted religious and psychological -errors, differently _explained_ by him, namely not as diseases. Thus, -perhaps, the _Daimonion_ of Socrates was only an affection of the -ear, which he, in accordance with his ruling moral mode of thought, -_expounded_ differently from what would be the case now. It is the same -thing with the madness and ravings of the prophets and soothsayers; it -is always the degree of knowledge, fantasy, effort, morality in the -head and heart of the _interpreters_ which has _made_ so much of it. -For the greatest achievements of the people who are called geniuses and -saints it is necessary that they should secure interpreters by force, -who _misunderstand_ them for the good of mankind. - - -127. - -THE VENERATION OF INSANITY.--Because it was remarked that excitement -frequently made the mind clearer and produced happy inspirations it was -believed that the happiest inspirations and suggestions were called -forth by the greatest excitement; and so the insane were revered as -wise and oracular. This is based on a false conclusion. - - -128. - -THE PROMISES OF SCIENCE.--The aim of modern science is: as little -pain as possible, as long a life as possible,--a kind of eternal -blessedness, therefore; but certainly a very modest one as compared -with the promises of religions. - - -129. - -FORBIDDEN GENEROSITY.--There is not sufficient love and goodness in the -world to permit us to give some of it away to imaginary beings. - - -130. - -THE CONTINUANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS CULT IN THE FEELINGS.--The Roman -Catholic Church, and before that all antique cults, dominated the -entire range of means by which man was put into unaccustomed moods -and rendered incapable of the cold calculation of judgment or the -clear thinking of reason. A church quivering with deep tones; the -dull, regular, arresting appeals of a priestly throng, unconsciously -communicates its tension to the congregation and makes it listen almost -fearfully, as if a miracle were in preparation; the influence of the -architecture, which, as the dwelling of a Godhead, extends into the -uncertain and makes its apparition to be feared in all its sombre -spaces,--who would wish to bring such things back to mankind if the -necessary suppositions are no longer believed? But the _results_ of all -this are not lost, nevertheless; the inner world of noble, emotional, -deeply contrite dispositions, full of presentiments, blessed with hope, -is inborn in mankind mainly through this cult; what exists of it now in -the soul was then cultivated on a large scale as it germinated, grew -up and blossomed. - - -131. - -THE PAINFUL CONSEQUENCES OF RELIGION.--However much we may think we -have weaned ourselves from religion, it has nevertheless not been done -so thoroughly as to deprive us of pleasure in encountering religious -sensations and moods in music, for instance; and if a philosophy shows -us the justification of metaphysical hopes and the deep peace of -soul to be thence acquired, and speaks, for instance, of the "whole, -certain gospel in the gaze of Raphael's Madonnas," we receive such -statements and expositions particularly warmly; here the philosopher -finds it easier to prove; that which he desires to give corresponds -to a heart that desires to receive. Hence it may be observed how the -less thoughtful free spirits really only take offence at the dogmas, -but are well acquainted with the charm of religious sensations; they -are sorry to lose hold of the latter for the sake of the former. -Scientific philosophy must be very careful not to smuggle in errors on -the ground of that need,--a need which has grown up and is consequently -temporary,--even logicians speak of "presentiments" of truth in -ethics and in art (for instance, of the suspicion that "the nature -of things is one"), which should be forbidden to them Between the -carefully established truths and such "presaged" things there remains -the unbridgable chasm that those are due to intellect and these to -requirement Hunger does not prove that food _exists_ to satisfy it, but -that it desires food. To "presage" does not mean the acknowledgment of -the existence of a thing in any one degree, but its possibility, in so -far as it is desired or feared; "presage" does not advance one step -into the land of certainty. We believe involuntarily that the portions -of a philosophy which are tinged with religion are better proved than -others; but actually it is the contrary, but we have the inward desire -that it _may_ be so, that that which makes blessed, therefore, may be -also the true. This desire misleads us to accept bad reasons for good -ones. - - -132. - -OF THE CHRISTIAN NEED OF REDEMPTION.--With careful reflection it -must be possible to obtain an explanation free from mythology of -that process in the soul of a Christian which is called the need of -redemption, consequently a purely psychological explanation. Up to the -present, the psychological explanations of religious conditions and -processes have certainly been held in some disrepute, inasmuch as a -theology which called itself free carried on its unprofitable practice -in this domain; for here from the beginning (as the mind of its -founder, Schleiermacher, gives us reason to suppose) the preservation -of the Christian religion and the continuance of Christian theology -was kept in view; a theology which was to find a new anchorage in -the psychological analyses of religious "facts," and above all a new -occupation. Unconcerned about such predecessors we hazard the following -interpretation of the phenomenon in question. Man is conscious of -certain actions which stand far down in the customary rank of actions; -he even discovers in himself a tendency towards similar actions, a -tendency which appears to him almost as unchangeable as his whole -nature. How willingly would he try himself in that other species of -actions which in the general valuation are recognised as the loftiest -and highest, how gladly would he feel himself to be full of the good -consciousness which should follow an unselfish mode of thought! But -unfortunately he stops short at this wish, and the discontent at not -being able to satisfy it is added to all the other discontents which -his lot in life or the consequences of those above-mentioned evil -actions have aroused in him; so that a deep ill-humour is the result, -with the search for a physician who could remove this and all its -causes. This condition would not be felt so bitterly if man would only -compare himself frankly with other men,--then he would have no reason -for being dissatisfied with himself to a particular extent, he would -only bear his share of the common burden of human dissatisfaction and -imperfection. But he compares himself with a being who is said to be -capable only of those actions which are called un-egoistic, and to -live in the perpetual consciousness of an unselfish mode of thought, -_i.e._ with God; it is because he gazes into this clear mirror that his -image appears to him so dark, so unusually warped. Then he is alarmed -by the thought of that same creature, in so far as it floats before his -imagination as a retributive justice; in all possible small and great -events he thinks he recognises its anger and menaces, that he even -feels its scourge-strokes as judge and executioner. Who will help him -in this danger, which, by the prospect of an immeasurable duration of -punishment, exceeds in horror all the other terrors of the idea? - - -133. - -Before we examine the further consequences of this mental state, let -us acknowledge that it is not through his "guilt" and "sin" that man -has got into this condition, but through a series of errors of reason; -that it was the fault of the mirror if his image appeared so dark and -hateful to him, and that that mirror was _his_ work, the very imperfect -work of human imagination and power of judgment. In the first place, -a nature that is only capable of purely un-egoistic actions is more -fabulous than the phœnix; it cannot even be clearly imagined, just -because, when closely examined, the whole idea "un-egoistic action" -vanishes into air. No man _ever_ did a thing which was done only -for others and without any personal motive; how should he be _able_ -to do anything which had no relation to himself, and therefore -without inward obligation (which must always have its foundation in -a personal need)? How could the _ego_ act without _ego_ A God who, -on the contrary, is _all_ love, as such a one is often represented, -would not be capable of a single un-egoistic action, whereby one is -reminded of a saying of Lichtenberg's which is certainly taken from -a lower sphere: "We cannot possibly _feel_ for others, as the saying -is; we feel only for ourselves. This sounds hard, but it is not so -really if it be rightly understood. We do not love father or mother -or wife or child, but the pleasant sensations they cause us;" or, as -Rochefoucauld says: "_Si on croit aimer sa maîtresse pour l'amour -d'elle, on est bien trompé._" To know the reason why actions of love -are valued more than others, not on account of their nature, namely, -but of their _usefulness,_ we should compare the examinations already -mentioned, _On the Origin of Moral Sentiments._ But should a man desire -to be entirely like that God of Love, to do and wish everything for -others and nothing for himself, the latter is impossible for the reason -that he must do _very much_ for himself to be able to do something -for the love of others. Then it is taken for granted that the other -is sufficiently egoistic to accept that sacrifice again and again, -that living for him,--so that the people of love and sacrifice have an -interest in the continuance of those who are loveless and incapable -of sacrifice, and, in order to exist, the highest morality would be -obliged positively to _compel_ the existence of un-morality (whereby -it would certainly annihilate itself). Further: the conception of a -God disturbs and humbles so long as it is believed in; but as to how -it arose there can no longer be any doubt in the present state of the -science of comparative ethnology; and with a comprehension of this -origin all belief falls to the ground. The Christian who compares his -nature with God's is like Don Quixote, who under-valued his own bravery -because his head was full of the marvellous deeds of the heroes of -the chivalric; romances,--the standard of measurement in both cases -belongs to the domain of fable. But if the idea of God is removed, so -is also the feeling of "sin" as a trespass against divine laws, as a -stain in a creature vowed to God. Then, perhaps, there still remains -that dejection which is intergrown and connected with the fear of the -punishment of worldly justice or of the scorn of men; the dejection of -the pricks of conscience, the sharpest thorn in the consciousness of -sin, is always removed if we recognise that though by our own deed we -have sinned against human descent, human laws and ordinances, still -that we have not imperilled the "eternal salvation of the Soul" and its -relation to the Godhead. And if man succeeds in gaining philosophic -conviction of the absolute necessity of all actions and their entire -irresponsibility, and absorbing this into his flesh and blood, even -those remains of the pricks of conscience vanish. - - -134. - -Now if the Christian, as we have said, has fallen into the way of -self-contempt in consequence of certain errors through a false, -unscientific interpretation of his actions and sensations, he must -notice with great surprise how that state of contempt, the pricks of -conscience and displeasure generally, does not endure, how sometimes -there come hours when all this is wafted away from his soul and he -feels himself once more free and courageous. In truth, the pleasure in -himself, the comfort of his own strength, together with the necessary -weakening through time of every deep emotion, has usually been -victorious; man loves himself once again, he feels it,--but precisely -this new love, this self-esteem, seems to him incredible, he can only -see in it the wholly undeserved descent of a stream of mercy from on -high. If he formerly believed that in every event he could recognise -warnings, menaces, punishments, and every kind of manifestation of -divine anger, he now finds divine goodness in all his experiences, ---this event appears to him to be full of love, that one a helpful -hint, a third, and, indeed, his whole happy mood, a proof that God is -merciful. As formerly, in his state of pain, he interpreted his actions -falsely, so now he misinterprets his experiences; his mood of comfort -he believes to be the working of a power operating outside of himself, -the love with which he really loves himself seems to him to be divine -love; that which he calls mercy, and the prologue to redemption, is -actually self-forgiveness, self-redemption. - - -135. - -Therefore: A certain false psychology, a certain kind of imaginative -interpretation of motives and experiences, is the necessary preliminary -for one to become a Christian and to feel the need of redemption. When -this error of reason and imagination is recognised, one ceases to be a -Christian. - - -136. - -OF CHRISTIAN ASCETICISM AND HOLINESS.--As greatly as isolated thinkers -have endeavoured to depict as a miracle the rare manifestations of -morality, which are generally called asceticism and holiness, miracles -which it would be almost an outrage and sacrilege to explain by the -light of common sense, as strong also is the inclination towards -this outrage. A mighty impulse of nature has at all times led to a -protest against those manifestations; science, in so far as it is -an imitation of nature, at least allows itself to rise against the -supposed inexplicableness and unapproachableness of these objections. -So far it has certainly not succeeded: those appearances are still -unexplained, to the great joy of the above-mentioned worshippers of the -morally marvellous. For, speaking generally, the unexplained _must_ -be absolutely inexplicable, the inexplicable absolutely unnatural, -supernatural, wonderful,--thus runs the demand in the souls of all -religious and metaphysical people (also of artists, if they should -happen to be thinkers at the same time); whilst the scientist sees -in this demand the "evil principle" in itself. The general, first -probability upon which one lights in the contemplation of holiness -and asceticism is this, that their nature is a _complicated_ one, -for almost everywhere, within the physical world as well as in the -moral, the apparently marvellous has been successfully traced back to -the complicated, the many-conditioned. Let us venture, therefore, to -isolate separate impulses from the soul of saints and ascetics, and -finally to imagine them as intergrown. - - -137. - -There is a _defiance of self,_ to the sublimest manifestation of which -belong many forms of asceticism. Certain individuals have such great -need of exercising their power and love of ruling that, in default of -other objects, or because they have never succeeded otherwise, they -finally ex-cogitate the idea of tyrannising over certain parts of their -own nature, portions or degrees of themselves. Thus many a thinker -confesses to views which evidently do not serve either to increase -or improve his reputation; many a one deliberately calls down the -scorn of others when by keeping silence he could easily have remained -respected; others contradict former opinions and do not hesitate to -be called inconsistent--on the contrary, they strive after this, and -behave like reckless riders who like a horse best when it has grown -wild, unmanageable, and covered with sweat. Thus man climbs dangerous -paths up the highest mountains in order that he may laugh to scorn his -own fear and his trembling knees; thus the philosopher owns to views -on asceticism, humility, holiness, in the brightness of which his own -picture shows to the worst possible disadvantage. This crushing of -one's self, this scorn of one's own nature, this _spernere se sperm,_ -of which religion has made so much, is really a very high degree of -vanity. The whole moral of the Sermon on the Mount belongs here; -man takes a genuine delight in doing violence to himself by these -exaggerated claims, and afterwards idolising these tyrannical demands -of his soul. In every ascetic morality man worships one part of himself -as a God, and is obliged, therefore, to diabolise the other parts. - - -138. - -Man is not equally moral at all hours, this is well known. If his -morality is judged to be the capability for great self-sacrificing -resolutions and self-denial (which, when continuous and grown habitual, -are called holiness), he is most moral in the _passions;_ the higher -emotion provides him with entirely new motives, of which he, sober -and cold as usual, perhaps does not even believe himself capable. How -does this happen? Probably because of the proximity of everything -great and highly exciting; if man is once wrought up to a state of -extraordinary suspense, he is as capable of carrying out a terrible -revenge as of a terrible crushing of his need for revenge. Under the -influence of powerful emotion, he desires in any case the great, the -powerful, the immense; and if he happens to notice that the sacrifice -of himself satisfies him as well as, or better than, the sacrifice -of others, he chooses that. Actually, therefore, he only cares about -discharging his emotion; in order to ease his tension he seizes the -enemy's spears and buries them in his breast. That there was something -great in self-denial and not in revenge had to be taught to mankind by -long habit; a Godhead that sacrificed itself was the strongest, most -effective symbol of this kind of greatness. As the conquest of the most -difficult enemy, the sudden mastering of an affection--thus this denial -_appears_; and so far it passes for the summit of morality. In reality -it is a question of the confusion of one idea with another, while the -temperament maintains an equal height, an equal level. Temperate men -who are resting from their passions no longer understand the morality -of those moments; but the general admiration of those who had the same -experiences upholds them; pride is their consolation when affection -and the understanding of their deed vanish. Therefore, at bottom even -those actions of self-denial are not moral, inasmuch as they are not -done strictly with regard to others; rather the other only provides -the highly-strung temperament with an opportunity of relieving itself -through that denial. - - -139. - -In many respects the ascetic seeks to make life easy for himself, -usually by complete subordination to a strange will or a comprehensive -law and ritual; something like the way a Brahmin leaves nothing -whatever to his own decision but refers every moment to holy precepts. -This submission is a powerful means of attaining self-mastery: man -is occupied and is therefore not bored, and yet has no incitement to -self-will or passion; after a completed deed there is no feeling of -responsibility and with it no tortures of remorse. We have renounced -our own will once and for ever, and this is easier than only renouncing -it occasionally; as it is also easier to give up a desire entirely than -to keep it within bounds. When we remember the present relation of -man to the State, we find that, even here, unconditional obedience is -more convenient than conditional. The saint, therefore, makes his life -easier by absolute renunciation of his personality, and we are mistaken -if in that phenomenon we admire the loftiest heroism of morality. -In any case it is more difficult to carry one's personality through -without vacillation and unclearness than to liberate one's self from it -in the above-mentioned manner; moreover, it requires far more spirit -and consideration. - - -140. - -After having found in many of the less easily explicable actions -manifestations of that pleasure in _emotion per se,_ I should like -to recognise also in self-contempt, which is one of the signs of -holiness, and likewise in the deeds of self-torture (through hunger and -scourging, mutilation of limbs, feigning of madness) a means by which -those natures fight against the general weariness of their life-will -(their nerves); they employ the most painful irritants and cruelties -in order to emerge for a time, at all events, from that dulness and -boredom into which they so frequently sink through their great mental -indolence and that submission to a strange will already described. - - -141. - -The commonest means which the ascetic and saint employs to render -life still endurable and amusing consists in occasional warfare with -alternate victory and defeat. For this he requires an opponent, and -finds it in the so-called "inward enemy." He principally makes use -of his inclination to vanity, love of honour and rule, and of his -sensual desires, that he may be permitted to regard his life as a -perpetual battle and himself as a battlefield upon which good and evil -spirits strive with alternating success. It is well known that sensual -imagination is moderated, indeed almost dispelled, by regular sexual -intercourse, whereas, on the contrary, it is rendered unfettered and -wild by abstinence or irregularity. The imagination of many Christian -saints was filthy to an extraordinary degree; by virtue of those -theories that these desires were actual demons raging within them -they did not feel themselves to be too responsible; to this feeling -we owe the very instructive frankness of their self-confessions. It -was to their interest that this strife should always be maintained in -one degree or another, because, as we have already said, their empty -life was thereby entertained. But in order that the strife might -seem sufficiently important and arouse the enduring sympathy and -admiration of non-saints, it was necessary that sensuality should be -ever more reviled and branded, the danger of eternal damnation was so -tightly bound up with these things that it is highly probable that for -whole centuries Christians generated children with a bad conscience, -wherewith humanity has certainly suffered a great injury. And yet here -truth is all topsy-turvy, which is particularly unsuitable for truth. -Certainly Christianity had said that every man is conceived and born -in sin, and in the insupportable superlative-Christianity of Calderon -this thought again appears, tied up and twisted, as the most distorted -paradox there is, in the well-known lines-- - - "The greatest sin of man - Is that he was ever born." - -In all pessimistic religions the act of generation was looked upon as -evil in itself. This is by no means the verdict of all mankind, not -even of all pessimists. For instance, Empedocles saw in all erotic -things nothing shameful, diabolical, or, sinful; but rather, in the -great plain of disaster he saw only one hopeful and redeeming figure, -that of Aphrodite; she appeared to him as a guarantee that the strife -should not endure eternally, but that the sceptre should one day be -given over to a gentler _dæmon._ The actual Christian pessimists had, -as has been said, an interest in the dominance of a diverse opinion; -for the solitude and spiritual wilderness of their lives they required -an ever living enemy, and a generally recognised enemy, through whose -fighting and overcoming they could constantly represent themselves to -the non-saints as incomprehensible, half--supernatural beings. But when -at last this enemy took to flight for ever in consequence of their -mode of life and their impaired health, they immediately understood -how to populate their interior with new dæmons. The rising and falling -of the scales of pride and humility sustained their brooding minds as -well as the alternations of desire and peace of soul. At that time -psychology served not only to cast suspicion upon everything human, but -to oppress, to scourge, to crucify; people _wished_ to find themselves -as bad and wicked as possible, they _sought_ anxiety for the salvation -of their souls, despair of their own strength. Everything natural with -which man has connected the idea of evil and sin (as, for instance, -he is still accustomed to do with regard to the erotic) troubles and -clouds the imagination, causes a frightened glance, makes man quarrel -with himself and uncertain and distrustful of himself. Even his dreams -have the flavour of a restless conscience. And yet in the reality -of things this suffering from what is natural is entirely without -foundation, it is only the consequence of opinions _about_ things. It -is easily seen how men grow worse by considering the inevitably-natural -as bad, and afterwards always feeling themselves made thus. It is the -trump-card of religion and metaphysics, which wish to have man evil and -sinful by nature, to cast suspicion on nature and thus really to _make_ -him bad, for he learns to feel himself evil since he cannot divest -himself of the clothing of nature. After living for long a natural -life, he gradually comes to feel himself weighed down by such a burden -of sin that supernatural powers are necessary to lift this burden, and -therewith arises the so-called need of redemption, which corresponds to -no real but only to an imaginary sinfulness. If we survey the separate -moral demands of the earliest times of Christianity it will everywhere -be found that requirements are exaggerated in order that man _cannot_ -satisfy them; the intention is not that he should become more moral, -but that he should feel himself as _sinful as possible._ If man had not -found this feeling _agreeable_--why would he have thought out such an -idea and stuck to it so long? As in the antique world an immeasurable -power of intellect and inventiveness was expended in multiplying the -pleasure of life by festive cults, so also in the age of Christianity -an immeasurable amount of intellect has been sacrificed to another -endeavour,--man must by all means be made to feel himself sinful and -thereby be excited, _enlivened, en-souled._ To excite, enliven, en-soul -at all costs--is not that the watchword of a relaxed, over-ripe, -over-cultured age? The range of all natural sensations had been gone -over a hundred times, the soul had grown weary, whereupon the saint -and the ascetic invented a new species of stimulants for life. They -presented themselves before the public eye, not exactly as an example -for the many, but as a terrible and yet ravishing spectacle, which took -place on that border-land between world and over-world, wherein at that -time all people believed they saw now rays of heavenly light and now -unholy tongues of flame glowing in the depths. The saint's eye, fixed -upon the terrible meaning of this short earthly life, upon the nearness -of the last decision concerning endless new spans of existence, this -burning eye in a half-wasted body made men of the old world tremble to -their very depths; to gaze, to turn shudderingly away, to feel anew the -attraction of the spectacle and to give way to it, to drink deep of it -till the soul quivered with fire and ague,--that was the last _pleasure -that antiquity invented_ after it had grown blunted even at the sight -of beast-baitings and human combats. - - -142. - -Now to sum up. That condition of soul in which the saint or embryo -saint rejoiced, was composed of elements which we all know well, -only that under the influence of other than religious conceptions -they exhibit themselves in other colours and are then accustomed to -encounter man's blame as fully as, with that decoration of religion -and the ultimate meaning of existence, they may reckon on receiving -admiration and even worship,--might reckon, at least, in former ages. -Sometimes the saint practises that defiance of himself which is a -near relative of domination at any cost and gives a feeling of power -even to the most lonely; sometimes his swollen sensibility leaps from -the desire to let his passions have full play into the desire to -overthrow them like wild horses under the mighty pressure of a proud -spirit; sometimes he desires a complete cessation of all disturbing, -tormenting, irritating sensations, a waking sleep, a lasting rest in -the lap of a dull, animal, and plant-like indolence; sometimes he seeks -strife and arouses it within himself, because boredom has shown him its -yawning countenance. He scourges his self-adoration with self-contempt -and cruelty, he rejoices in the wild tumult of his desires and the -sharp pain of sin, even in the idea of being lost; he understands how -to lay a trap for his emotions, for instance even for his keen love -of ruling, so that he sinks into the most utter abasement and his -tormented soul is thrown out of joint by this contrast; and finally, -if he longs for visions, conversations with the dead or with divine -beings, it is at bottom a rare kind of delight that he covets, perhaps -that delight in which all others are united. Novalis, an authority on -questions of holiness through experience and instinct, tells the whole -secret with naïve joy: "It is strange enough that the association of -lust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago draw men's attention to -their close relationship and common tendency." - - -143. - -That which gives the saint his historical value is not the thing he -_is,_ but the thing he _represents_ in the eyes of the unsaintly. It -was through the fact that errors were made about him, that the state -of his soul was _falsely interpreted,_ that men separated themselves -from him as much as possible, as from something incomparable and -strangely superhuman, that he acquired the extraordinary power which -he exercised over the imagination of whole nations and whole ages. He -did not know himself; he himself interpreted the writing of his moods, -inclinations, and actions according to an art of interpretation which -was as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual interpretation -of the Bible. The distorted and diseased in his nature, with its -combination of intellectual poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and -over-excited nerves, remained hidden from his own sight as well as from -that of his spectators. He was not a particularly good man, and still -less was he a particularly wise one; but he _represented_ something -that exceeded the human standard in goodness and wisdom. The belief in -him supported the belief in the divine and miraculous, in a religious -meaning of all existence, in an impending day of judgment. In the -evening glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over the Christian -nations, the shadowy form of the saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew -to such a height that even in our own age, which no longer believes in -God, there are still thinkers who believe in the saint. - - -144. - -It need not be said that to this description of the saint which has -been made from an average of the whole species, there may be opposed -many a description which could give a more agreeable impression. -Certain exceptions stand out from among this species, it may be through -great mildness and philanthropy, it may be through the magic of unusual -energy; others are attractive in the highest degree, because certain -wild ravings have poured streams of light on their whole being, as is -the case, for instance, with the famous founder of Christianity, who -thought he was the Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless--so -that through this idea--which we must not judge too hardly because the -whole antique world swarms with sons of God--he reached that same goal, -that feeling of complete sinlessness, complete irresponsibility, which -every one can now acquire by means of science. Neither have I mentioned -the Indian saints, who stand midway between the Christian saint and the -Greek philosopher, and in so far represent no pure type. Knowledge, -science--such as existed then--the uplifting above other men through -logical discipline and training of thought, were as much fostered by -the Buddhists as distinguishing signs of holiness as the same qualities -in the Christian world are repressed and branded as signs of unholiness. - - -[Footnote 1: Why harass with eternal designs a mind too weak to compass -them? Why do we not, as we lie beneath a lofty plane-tree or this pine -[drink while we may]? HOR., _Odes_ III. ii. 11-14.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: - - "All greatest sages of all latest ages - Will chuckle and slily agree, - 'Tis folly to wait till a fool's empty pate - Has learnt to be knowing and free: - So children of wisdom, make use of the fools - And use them whenever you can as your tools."--J.M.K. -] - -[Footnote 3: It may be remembered that the cross was the gallows of the -ancient world.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 4: This may give us one of the reasons for the religiosity -still happily prevailing in England and the United States.--J.M.K.] - - - - -FOURTH DIVISION. - - -CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS. - - - -145. - -THE PERFECT SHOULD NOT HAVE GROWN.--With regard to everything that is -perfect we are accustomed to omit the question as to how perfection has -been acquired, and we only rejoice in the present as if it had sprung -out of the ground by magic. Probably with regard to this matter we are -still under the effects of an ancient mythological feeling. It still -_almost_ seems to us (in such a Greek temple, for instance, as that of -Pæstum) as if one morning a god in sport had built his dwelling of such -enormous masses, at other times it seems as if his spirit had suddenly -entered into a stone and now desired to speak through it. The artist -knows that his work is only fully effective if it arouses the belief -in an improvisation, in a marvellous instantaneousness of origin; and -thus he assists this illusion and introduces into art those elements -of inspired unrest, of blindly groping disorder, of listening dreaming -at the beginning of creation, as a means of deception, in order so to -influence the soul of the spectator or hearer that it may believe in -the sudden appearance of the perfect. It is the business of the science -of art to contradict this illusion most decidedly, and to show up the -mistakes and pampering of the intellect, by means of which it falls -into the artist's trap. - - -146. - -THE ARTIST'S SENSE OF TRUTH.--With regard to recognition of truths, the -artist has a weaker morality than the thinker; he will on no account -let himself be deprived of brilliant and profound interpretations -of life, and defends himself against temperate and simple methods -and results. He is apparently fighting for the higher worthiness -and meaning of mankind; in reality he will not renounce the _most -effective_ suppositions for his art, the fantastical, mythical, -uncertain, extreme, the sense of the symbolical, the over-valuation -of personality, the belief that genius is something miraculous,--he -considers, therefore, the continuance of his art of creation as more -important than the scientific devotion to truth in every shape, however -simple this may appear. - - -147. - -ART AS RAISER OF THE DEAD.--Art also fulfils the task of preservation -and even of brightening up extinguished and faded memories; when it -accomplishes this task it weaves a rope round the ages and causes -their spirits to return. It is, certainly, only a phantom-life that -results therefrom, as out of graves, or like the return in dreams of -our beloved dead, but for some moments, at least, the old sensation -lives again and the heart beats to an almost forgotten time. Hence, -for the sake of the general usefulness of art, the artist himself must -be excused if he does not stand in the front rank of the enlightenment -and progressive civilisation of humanity; all his life long he has -remained a child or a youth, and has stood still at the point where he -was overcome by his artistic impulse; the feelings of the first years -of life, however, are acknowledged to be nearer to those of earlier -times than to those of the present century. Unconsciously it becomes -his mission to make mankind more childlike; this is his glory and his -limitation. - - -148. - -POETS AS THE LIGHTENERS OF LIFE.--Poets, inasmuch as they desire to -lighten the life of man, either divert his gaze from the wearisome -present, or assist the present to acquire new colours by means of a -life which they cause to shine out of the past. To be able to do this, -they must in many respects themselves be beings who are turned towards -the past, so that they can be used as bridges to far distant times -and ideas, to dying or dead religions and cultures. Actually they -are always and of necessity _epigoni._ There are, however, certain -drawbacks to their means of lightening life,--they appease and heal -only temporarily, only for the moment; they even prevent men from -labouring towards a genuine improvement in their conditions, inasmuch -as they remove and apply palliatives to precisely that passion of -discontent that induces to action. - - -149. - -THE SLOW ARROW OF BEAUTY.--The noblest kind of beauty is that which -does not transport us suddenly, which does not make stormy and -intoxicating impressions (such a kind easily arouses disgust), but -that which slowly filter into our minds, which we take away with us -almost unnoticed, and which we encounter again in our dreams; but -which, however, after having long lain modestly on our hearts, takes -entire possession of us, fills our eyes with tears and our hearts with -longing. What is it that we long for at the sight of beauty? We long to -be beautiful, we fancy it must bring much happiness with it. But that -is a mistake. - - -150. - -THE ANIMATION OF ART.--Art raises its head where creeds relax. It takes -over many feelings and moods engendered by religion, lays them to its -heart, and itself becomes deeper, more full of soul, so that it is -capable of transmitting exultation and enthusiasm, which it previously -was not able to do. The abundance of religious feelings which have -grown into a stream are always breaking forth again and desire to -conquer new kingdoms, but the growing enlightenment has shaken the -dogmas of religion and inspired a deep mistrust,--thus the feeling, -thrust by enlightenment out of the religious sphere, throws itself upon -art, in a few cases into political life, even straight into science. -Everywhere where human endeavour wears a loftier, gloomier aspect, it -may be assumed that the fear of spirits, incense, and church-shadows -have remained attached to it. - - -151. - -HOW RHYTHM BEAUTIFIES.--Rhythm casts a veil over reality; it causes -various artificialities of speech and obscurities of thought; by the -shadow it throws upon thought it sometimes conceals it, and sometimes -brings it into prominence. As shadow is necessary to beauty, so the -"dull" is necessary to lucidity. Art makes the aspect of life endurable -by throwing lover it the veil of obscure thought. - - -152. - -THE ART OF THE UGLY SOUL.--Art is confined within too narrow limits if -it be required that only the orderly, respectable, well-behaved soul -should be allowed to express itself therein. As in the plastic arts, so -also in music and poetry: there is an art of the ugly soul side by side -with the art of the beautiful soul; and the mightiest effects of art, -the crushing of souls, moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have -perhaps been best achieved precisely by that art. - - -153. - -ART MAKES HEAVY THE HEART OF THE THINKER.--How strong metaphysical -need is and how difficult nature renders our departure from it may be -seen from the fact that even in the free spirit, when he has cast off -everything metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily produce -a resounding of the long silent, even broken, metaphysical string,--it -may be, for instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony -he feels himself floating above the earth in a starry dome with the -dream of _immortality_ in his heart; all the stars seem to shine round -him, and the earth to sink farther and farther away.--If he becomes -conscious of this state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs -for the man who will lead back to him his lost darling, be it called -religion or metaphysics. In such moments his intellectual character is -put to the test. - - -154. - -PLAYING WITH LIFE.--The lightness and frivolity of the Homeric -imagination was necessary to calm and occasionally to raise the -immoderately passionate temperament and acute intellect of the Greeks. -If their intellect speaks, how harsh and cruel does life then appear! -They do not deceive themselves, but they intentionally weave lies -round life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look upon life as -a game; earnestness was too well-known to them as pain (the gods so -gladly hear the misery of mankind made the theme of song), and they -knew that through art alone misery might be turned into pleasure. As -a punishment for this insight, however, they were so plagued with the -love of romancing that it was difficult for them in everyday life to -keep themselves free from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations -have such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent withal. Probably -this occasionally drove the neighbouring nations to desperation. - - -155. - -THE BELIEF IN INSPIRATION.--It is to the interest of the artist that -there should be a belief in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations; -as if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the fundamental thought of -a philosophy shone down from heaven like a ray of grace. In reality -the imagination of the good artist or thinker constantly produces -good, mediocre, and bad, but his _judgment,_ most clear and practised, -rejects and chooses and joins together, just as we now learn from -Beethoven's notebooks that he gradually composed the most beautiful -melodies, and in a manner selected them, from many different attempts. -He who makes less severe distinctions, and willingly abandons himself -to imitative memories, may under certain circumstances become a great -improvisatore; but artistic improvisation ranks low in comparison with -serious and laboriously chosen artistic thoughts. All great men were -great workers, unwearied not only in invention but also in rejection, -reviewing, transforming, and arranging. - - -156. - -INSPIRATION AGAIN.--If the productive power has been suspended for a -length of time, and has been hindered in its outflow by some obstacle, -there comes at last such a sudden out-pouring, as if an immediate -inspiration were taking place without previous inward working, -consequently a miracle. This constitutes the familiar deception, in -the continuance of which, as we have said, the interest of all artists -is rather too much concerned. The capital has only _accumulated,_ it -has not suddenly fallen down from heaven. Moreover, such apparent -inspirations are seen elsewhere, for instance in the realm of goodness, -of virtue and of vice. - - -157. - -THE SUFFERING OF GENIUS AND ITS VALUE.--The artistic genius desires -to give pleasure, but if his mind is on a very high plane he does not -easily find any one to share his pleasure; he offers entertainment -but nobody accepts it. This gives him, in certain circumstances, a -comically touching pathos; for he has really no right to force pleasure -on men. He pipes, but none will dance: can that be tragic? Perhaps.--As -compensation for this deprivation, however, he finds more pleasure in -creating than the rest of mankind experiences in all other species -of activity. His sufferings are considered as exaggerated, because -the sound of his complaints is louder and his tongue more eloquent; -and yet _sometimes_ his sufferings are really very great; but only -because his ambition and his envy are so great. The learned genius, -like Kepler and Spinoza, is usually not so covetous and does not make -such an exhibition of his really greater sufferings and deprivations. -He can reckon with greater certainty on future fame and can afford to -do without the present, whilst an artist who does this always plays a -desperate game that makes his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in -one and the same individual are combined the genius of power and of -knowledge and the moral genius, there is added to the above-mentioned -pains that species of pain which must be regarded as the most -curious exception in the world; those extra- and super-personal -sensations which are experienced on behalf of a nation, of humanity, -of all civilisation, all suffering existence, which acquire their -value through the connection with particularly difficult and remote -perceptions (pity in itself is worth but little). But what standard, -what proof is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost imperative to -be mistrustful of all who _talk_ of feeling sensations of this kind? - - -158. - -THE DESTINY OF GREATNESS.--Every great phenomenon is followed by -degeneration, especially in the world of art. The example of the great -tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or exaggeration; all -great gifts have the fatality of crushing many weaker forces and germs, -and of laying waste all nature around them. The happiest arrangement in -the development of an art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one -another within bounds; in this strife it generally happens that light -and air are also granted to the weaker and more delicate natures. - - -159. - -ART DANGEROUS FOR THE ARTIST.--When art takes strong hold of an -individual it draws him back to the contemplation of those times when -art flourished best, and it has then a retrograde effect. The artist -grows more and more to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes -in gods and dæmons, he spiritualises all nature, hates science, is -changeable in his moods like the ancients, and longs for an overthrow -of all existing conditions which are not favourable to art, and does -this with the impetuosity and unreasonableness of a child. Now, in -himself, the artist is already a backward nature, because he halts at a -game that belongs properly to youth and childhood; to this is added the -fact that he is educated back into former times. Thus there gradually -arises a fierce antagonism between him and his contemporaries, and -a sad ending; according to the accounts of the ancients, Homer and -Æschylus spent their last years, and died, in melancholy. - - -160. - -CREATED INDIVIDUALS.--When it is said that the dramatist (and the -artist above all) _creates_ real characters, it is a fine deception and -exaggeration, in the existence and propagation of which art celebrates -one of its unconscious but at the same time abundant triumphs. As a -matter of fact, we do not understand much about a real, living man, -and we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to him this and -that character; this _very imperfect_ attitude of ours towards man -is represented by the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in this -sense "creates") outlines as _superficial_ as our knowledge of man is -superficial. There is a great deal of delusion about these created -characters of artists; they are by no means living productions of -nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too thin, they will not -bear a close inspection. And when it is said that the character of -the ordinary living being contradicts itself frequently, and that -the one created by the dramatist is the original model conceived by -nature, this is quite wrong. A genuine man is something absolutely -_necessary_ (even in those so-called contradictions), but we do not -always recognise this necessity. The imaginary man, the phantasm, -signifies something necessary, but only to those who understand a -real man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so that a few -strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great deal of light and shade -and half-light about them, amply satisfy their notions. They are, -therefore, ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary man, -because with real men they are accustomed to regard a phantasm, an -outline, an intentional abbreviation as the whole. That the painter -and the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain imagination and -delusion; whoever says this is in subjection to the eye, for this only -sees the' surface, the epidermis of the human body,--the inward body, -however, is equally a part of the idea. Plastic art wishes to make -character visible on the surface; histrionic art employs speech for -the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds. Art starts from the -natural _ignorance_ of man about his interior condition (in body and -character); it is not meant for philosophers or natural scientists. - - -161. - -THE OVER-VALUATION OF SELF IN THE BELIEF IN ARTISTS AND -PHILOSOPHERS.--We are all prone to think that the excellence of a -work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves and touches us. -But there _our own excellence_ in judgment and sensibility must have -been proved first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who -had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini, who made a greater -effect than the orator that appeared after Demosthenes introduced the -Asiatic style and gave it a predominance which lasted throughout two -centuries? This predominance during whole centuries is not a proof of -the excellence and enduring validity of a style; therefore we must -not be too certain in our good opinion of any artist,--this is not -only belief in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in the -infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment or sensation, or even -both, may be too coarse or too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are -the blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a religion proofs -of its truth; just as little as the happiness which an insane person -derives from his fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this -idea. - - -162. - -THE CULT OF GENIUS FOR THE SAKE OF VANITY.--Because we think well of -ourselves, but nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable of the -conception of one of Raphael's pictures or of a scene such as those of -one of Shakespeare's dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty for -doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a very rare case, or, -if we are religiously inclined, a grace from above. Thus the cult of -genius fosters our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we think -of it as very far removed from us, as a _miraculum,_ that it does not -wound us (even Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare a -star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are reminded of the line "die -Sterne, die begehrt man nicht".[1]) But, apart from those suggestions -of our vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so radically -different from the activity of a mechanical inventor, of an astronomer -or historian or strategist. All these forms of activity are explicable -if we realise men whose minds are active in one special direction, who -make use of everything as material, who always eagerly study their -own inward life and that of others, who find types and incitements -everywhere, who never weary in the employment of their means. Genius -does nothing but learn how to lay stones, then to build, always to -seek for material and always to work upon it. Every human activity is -marvellously complicated, and not only that of genius, but it is no -"miracle." Now whence comes the belief that genius is found only in -artists, orators, and philosophers, that they alone have "intuition" -(by which we credit them with a kind of magic glass by means of which -they see straight into one's "being")? It is clear that men only speak -of genius where the workings of a great intellect are most agreeable -to them and they have no desire to feel envious. To call any one -"divine" is as much as saying "here we have no occasion for rivalry." -Thus it is that everything completed and perfect is stared at, and -everything incomplete is undervalued. Now nobody can see how the work -of an artist has _developed_; that is its advantage, for everything of -which the development is seen is looked on coldly The perfected art of -representation precludes all thought of its development, it tyrannises -as present perfection. For this reason artists of representation are -especially held to be possess of genius, but not scientific men. In -reality, however, the former valuation and the latter under-valuation -are only puerilities of reason. - - -163. - -THE EARNESTNESS OF HANDICRAFT.--Do not talk of gifts, of inborn -talents! We could mention great men of all kinds who were but little -gifted. But they _obtained_ greatness, became "geniuses" (as they are -called), through qualities of the lack of which nobody who is conscious -of them likes to speak. They all had that thorough earnestness for work -which learns first how to form the different parts perfectly before it -ventures to make a great whole; they gave themselves time for this, -because they took more pleasure in doing small, accessory things well -than in the effect of a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for -becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the carrying out of the -recipe presupposes qualities which we are in the habit of overlooking -when we say, "I have not sufficient talent." Make a hundred or more -sketches of novel-plots, none more than two pages long, but of such -clearness that every word in them is necessary; write down anecdotes -every day until you learn to find the most pregnant, most effective -form; never weary of collecting and delineating human types and -characters; above all, narrate things as often as possible and listen -to narrations with a sharp eye and ear for the effect upon other people -present; travel like a landscape painter and a designer of costumes; -take from different sciences everything that is artistically effective, -if it be well represented; finally, meditate on the motives for human -actions, scorn not even the smallest point of instruction on this -subject, and collect similar matters by day and night. Spend some ten -years in these various exercises: then the creations of your study may -be allowed to see the light of day. But what do most people do, on the -contrary? They do not begin with the part, but with the whole. Perhaps -they make one good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards their -work grows worse and worse, for good, natural reasons. But sometimes, -when intellect and character are lacking for the formation of such an -artistic career, fate and necessity take the place of these qualities -and lead the future master step by step through all the phases of his -craft. - - -164. - -THE DANGER AND THE GAIN IN THE CULT OF GENIUS.--The belief in great, -superior, fertile minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently, -connected with that wholly or partly religious superstition that -those spirits are of superhuman origin and possess certain marvellous -faculties, by means of which they obtained their knowledge in ways -quite different from the rest of mankind. They are credited with -having an immediate insight into the nature of the world, through -a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as it were, and it is -believed that, without the trouble and severity of science, by virtue -of this marvellous prophetic sight, they could impart something final -and decisive about mankind and the world. So long as there are still -believers in miracles in the world of knowledge it may perhaps be -admitted that the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom, -inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great minds they obtain the -best discipline and schooling for their own minds during the period of -development. On the other hand, it may at least be questioned whether -the superstition of genius, of its privileges and special faculties, -is useful for a genius himself when it implants itself in him. In any -case it is a dangerous sign when man shudders at his own self, be it -that famous Cæsarian shudder or the shudder of genius which applies to -this case, when the incense of sacrifice, which by rights is offered -to a God alone, penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that he -begins to waver and to look upon himself as something superhuman. The -slow consequences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the exceptional -rights, the belief that mere intercourse with him confers a favour, -and frantic rage at any attempt to compare him with others or even -to place him below them and to bring into prominence whatever is -unsuccessful in his work. Through the fact that he ceases to criticise -himself one pinion after another falls out of his plumage,--that -superstition undermines the foundation of his strength and even makes -him a hypocrite after his power has failed him. For great minds it -is, therefore, perhaps better when they come to an understanding about -their strength and its source, when they comprehend what purely human -qualities are mingled in them, what a combination they are of fortunate -conditions: thus once it was continual energy, a decided application -to individual aims, great personal courage, and then the good fortune -of an education, which at an early period provided the best teachers, -examples, and methods. Assuredly, if its aim is to make the greatest -possible _effect,_ abstruseness has always done much for itself and -that gift of partial insanity; for at all times that power has been -admired and envied by means of which men were deprived of will and -imbued with the fancy that they were preceded by supernatural leaders. -Truly, men are exalted and inspired by the belief that some one among -them is endowed with supernatural powers, and in this respect insanity, -as Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings to mankind. In a -few rare cases this form of insanity may also have been the means -by which an all-round exuberant nature was kept within bounds; in -individual life the imaginings of frenzy frequently exert the virtue of -remedies which are poisons in themselves; but in every "genius" that -believes in his own divinity the poison shows itself at last in the -same proportion as the "genius" grows old; we need but recollect the -example of Napoleon, for it was most assuredly through his faith in -himself and his star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he grew -to that mighty unity which distinguished him from all modern men, until -at last, however, this faith developed into an almost insane fatalism, -robbed him of his quickness of comprehension and penetration, and was -the cause of his downfall. - - -165. - -GENIUS AND NULLITY.--It is precisely the _original_ artists, those who -create out of their own heads, who in certain circumstances can bring -forth complete _emptiness_ and husk, whilst the more dependent natures, -the so-called talented ones, are full of memories of all manner of -goodness, and even in a state of weakness produce something tolerable. -But if the original ones are abandoned by themselves, memory renders -them no assistance; they become empty. - - -166. - -THE PUBLIC.--The people really demands nothing more from tragedy than -to be deeply affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally; the -artist, on the contrary, who sees the new tragedy, takes pleasure in -the clever technical inventions and tricks, in the management and -distribution of the material, in the novel arrangement of old motives -and old ideas. His attitude is the æsthetic attitude towards a work of -art, that of the creator; the one first described, with regard solely -to the material, is that of he people. Of the individual who stands -between the two nothing need be said: he is neither "people" nor -artist, and does not know what he wants--therefore his pleasure is also -clouded and insignificant. - - -167. - -THE ARTISTIC EDUCATION OF THE PUBLIC.--If the same _motif_ is not -employed in a hundred ways by different masters, the public never -learns to get beyond their interest in the subject; but at last, when -it is well acquainted with the _motif_ through countless different -treatments, and no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or -excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy the various shades -and delicate new inventions in its treatment. - - -168. - -THE ARTIST AND HIS FOLLOWERS MUST KEEP IN STEP.--The progress from one -grade of style to another must be so slow that not only the artists but -also the auditors and spectators can follow it and know exactly what is -going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear that great chasm between -the artist, who creates his work upon a height apart, and the public, -who cannot rise up to that height and finally sinks discontentedly -deeper. For when the artist no longer raises his public it rapidly -sinks downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more dangerous in -proportion to the height to which genius has carried it, like the -eagle, out of whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up into the -clouds falls to its destruction. - - -169. - -THE SOURCE OF THE COMIC ELEMENT.--If we consider that for many -thousands of years man was an animal that was susceptible in the -highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden and unexpected had -to find him ready for battle, perhaps even ready for death; that even -later, in social relations, all security was based on the expected, -on custom in thought and action, we need not be surprised that at -everything sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if it occurs without -danger or injury, man becomes exuberant and passes over into the very -opposite of fear--the terrified, trembling, crouching being shoots -upward, stretches itself: man laughs. This transition from momentary -fear into short-lived exhilaration is called the _Comic._ On the other -hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes quickly from great enduring -exuberance into great fear; but as amongst mortals great and lasting -exuberance is much rarer than the cause for fear, there is far more -comedy than tragedy in the world; we laugh much offener than we are -agitated. - - -170. - -THE ARTIST'S AMBITION.--The Greek artists, the tragedians for instance, -composed in order to conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined -without rivalry,--the good Hesiodian Eris, Ambition, gave wings to -their genius. This ambition further demanded that their work should -achieve the greatest excellence _in their own eyes,_ as they understood -excellence, _without any regard_ for the reigning taste and the -general opinion about excellence in a work of art; and thus it was -long before Æschylus and Euripides achieved any success, until at -last they _educated_ judges of art, who valued their work according -to the standards which they themselves appointed. Hence they strove -for victory over rivals according to their own valuation, they really -wished to _be_ more excellent; they demanded assent from without to -this self-valuation, the confirmation of this verdict. To achieve -honour means in this case "to make one's self superior to others, and -to desire that this should be recognised publicly." Should the former -condition be wanting, and the latter nevertheless desired, it is then -called _vanity._ Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then it -is named _pride_. - - -171. - -WHAT IS NEEDFUL TO A WORK OF ART.--Those who talk so much about the -needful factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are artists they -do so _in majorem artis gloriam,_ if they are laymen, from ignorance. -The form of a work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts and is, -therefore, their mode of talking, is always somewhat uncertain, like -all kinds of speech. The sculptor can add or omit many little traits, -as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in music, a performer or -conductor. These many little traits and finishing touches afford him -pleasure one day and none the next, they exist more for the sake of the -artist than the art; for he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats -and playthings to prevent him from becoming morose with the severity -and self-restraint which the representation of the dominant idea -demands from him. - - -172. - -TO CAUSE THE MASTER TO BE FORGOTTEN.--The pianoforte player who -executes the work of a master will have played best if he has made his -audience forget the master, and if it seemed as if he were relating -a story from his own life or just passing through some experience. -Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one will abhor the -garrulity with which he talks about his own life. Therefore he must -know how to influence his hearer's imagination favourably towards -himself. Hereby are explained all the weaknesses and follies of "the -virtuoso." - - -173. - -_CORRIGER LA FORTUNE._--There are unfortunate accidents in the lives -of great artists, which compel the painter, for instance, to sketch -out his most important picture only as a passing thought, or such as -obliged Beethoven to leave behind him only the insufficient pianoforte -score of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat). In these cases -the artist of a later day must endeavour to fill out the life of the -great man,--of all orchestral effects, would call into life that -symphony which has fallen into the piano-trance. - - -174. - -REDUCING.--Many things, events, or persons, cannot bear treatment on -a small scale. The Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-knack; -great size is necessary to it. But more seldom still does anything -that is naturally small bear enlargement; for which reason biographers -succeed far oftener in representing a great man as small than a small -one as great. - - -175. - -SENSUOUSNESS IN PRESENT-DAY ART.--Artists nowadays frequently -miscalculate when they count on the sensuous effect of their works, for -their spectators or hearers have no longer a fully sensuous nature, -and, quite contrary to the artist's intention, his work produces in -them a "holiness" of feeling which is closely related to boredom. Their -sensuousness begins, perhaps, just where that of the artist ceases; -they meet, therefore, only at one point at the most. - - -176. - -SHAKESPEARE AS A MORALIST.--Shakespeare meditated much on the passions, -and on account of his temperament had probably a close acquaintance -with many of them (dramatists are in general rather wicked men). He -could, however not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put his -observations thereon into the mouths of impassioned figures, which -is contrary to nature, certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in -thought that they cause all others to seem poor in comparison and -readily arouse a general aversion to them. Schiller's reflections -(which are almost always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are -just theatrical Reflections, and as such are very effective; whereas -Shakespeare's reflections do honour to his model, Montaigne, and -contain quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on that account -are too remote and refined for the eyes of the theatrical public, and -are consequently ineffective. - - -177. - -SECURING A GOOD HEARING.--It is not sufficient to know how to play -well; one must also know how to secure a good hearing. A violin in the -hand of the greatest master gives only a little squeak when the place -where it is heard is too large; the master may then be mistaken for any -bungler. - - -178. - -THE INCOMPLETE AS THE EFFECTIVE.--Just as figures in relief make such -a strong impression on the imagination because they seem in the act -of emerging from the wall and only stopped by some sudden hindrance; -so the relief-like, incomplete representation of a thought, or a -whole philosophy, is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive -amplification,--more is left for the investigation of the onlooker, he -is incited to the further study of that which stands out before him in -such strong light and shade; he is prompted to think out the subject, -and even to overcome the hindrance which hitherto prevented it from -emerging clearly. - - -179. - -AGAINST THE ECCENTRIC.--When art arrays itself in the most shabby -material it is most easily recognised as art. - - -180. - -COLLECTIVE INTELLECT.--A good author possesses not only his own -intellect, but also that of his friends. - - -181. - -DIFFERENT KINDS OF MISTAKES.--The misfortune of acute and clear authors -is that people consider them as shallow and therefore do not devote any -effort to them; and the good fortune of obscure writers is that the -reader makes an effort to understand them and places the delight in his -own zeal to their credit. - - -182. - -RELATION TO SCIENCE.--None of the people have any real interest in -a science, who only begin to be enthusiastic about it when they -themselves lave made discoveries in it. - - -183. - -THE KEY.--The single thought on which an eminent man sets a great -value, arousing the derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a -key to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is nothing _more_ than a -piece of old iron. - - -184. - -UNTRANSLATABLE.--It is neither the best nor the worst parts of a book -which are untranslatable. - - -185. - -AUTHORS' PARADOXES.--The so-called paradoxes of an author to which a -reader objects are often not in the author's book at all, but in the -reader's head. - - -186. - -WIT.--The wittiest authors produce a scarcely noticeable smile. - - -187. - -ANTITHESIS.--Antithesis is the narrow gate through which error is -fondest of sneaking to the truth. - - -188. - -THINKERS AS STYLISTS.--Most thinkers write badly, because they -communicate not only their thoughts, but also the thinking of them. - - -189. - -THOUGHTS IN POETRY.--The poet conveys his thoughts ceremoniously in the -vehicle of rhythm, usually because they are not able to go on foot. - - -190. - -THE SIN AGAINST THE READER'S INTELLECT.--When an author renounces his -talent in order merely to put himself on a level with the reader, he -commits the only deadly sin which the latter will never forgive, should -he notice anything of it. One may say everything that is bad about a -person, but in the manner _in which_ it is said one must know how to -revive his vanity anew. - - -191. - -THE LIMITS OF UPRIGHTNESS.--Even the most upright author lets fall a -word too much when he wishes to round off a period. - - -192. - -THE BEST AUTHOR,--The best author will be he who is ashamed to become -one. - - -193. - -DRACONIAN LAW AGAINST AUTHORS.--One should regard authors as criminals -who only obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,--that would be -a remedy for books becoming too rife. - - -194. - -THE FOOLS OF MODERN CULTURE.--The fools of mediæval courts correspond -to our _feuilleton_ writers; they are the same kind of men, -semi-rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes there only for -the purpose of lessening the pathos of the outlook with fancies and -chatter, and of drowning with their clamour the far too deep and solemn -chimes of great events; they were formerly in the service of princes -and nobles, now they are in the service of parties (since a large -portion of the old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people with -their prince still survives in party-feeling and party-discipline). -Modern literary men, however, are generally very similar to the -_feuilleton_ writers, they are the "fools of modern culture," whom -one judges more leniently when one does not regard them as fully -responsible beings. To look upon writing as a regular profession should -justly be regarded as a form of madness. - - -195. - -AFTER THE EXAMPLE OF THE GREEKS.--It is a great hindrance to knowledge -at present that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling, all -words have become vague and inflated. The higher stage of culture, -which is under the sway (though not under the tyranny) of knowledge, -requires great sobriety of feeling and thorough concentration of -words--on which points the Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an -example to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing mark of all modern -writings, and even when they are simply written the expressions therein -are still _felt_ as _too_ eccentric. Careful reflection, conciseness, -coldness, plainness, even carried intentionally to the farthest -limits,--in a word, suppression of feeling and taciturnity,--these -are the only remedies. For the rest, this cold manner of writing and -feeling is now very attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is -a new danger therein. For intense cold is as good a stimulus as a high -degree of warmth. - - -196. - -GOOD NARRATORS, BAD EXPLAINERS.--In good narrators there is often -found an admirable psychological sureness and logicalness, as far as -these qualities can be observed in the actions of their personages, -in positively ludicrous contrast to their inexperienced psychological -reasoning, so that their culture appears to be as extraordinarily high -one moment as it seems regrettably defective the next. It happens far -too frequently that they give an evidently false explanation of their -own heroes and their actions,--of this there is no doubt, however -improbable the thing may appear. It is quite likely that the greatest -pianoforte player has thought but little about the technical conditions -and the special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tractability of -each finger (dactylic ethics), and makes big mistakes whenever he -speaks of such things. - - -197. - -THE WRITINGS OF ACQUAINTANCES AND THEIR READERS.--We read the writings -of our acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double sense, inasmuch -as our perception constantly whispers, "That is something of himself, -a remembrance of his inward being, his experiences, his talents," and -at the same time another kind of perception endeavours to estimate the -profit of the work in itself, what valuation it merits apart from its -author, how far it will enrich knowledge. These two manners of reading -and estimating interfere with each other, as may naturally be supposed. -And a conversation with a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge -when both think only of the matter under consideration and forget that -they are friends. - - -198. - -RHYTHMICAL SACRIFICE.--Good writers alter the rhythm of many a period -merely because they do not credit the general reader with the ability -to comprehend the measure followed by the period in its first version; -thus they make it easier for the reader, by giving the preference to -the better known rhythms.. This regard for the rhythmical incapacity -of the modern reader has already called forth many a sigh, for much -has been sacrificed to it. Does not the same thing happen to good -musicians? - - -199. - -THE INCOMPLETE AS AN ARTISTIC STIMULUS.--The incomplete is often -more effective than perfection, and this is the case with eulogies. -To effect their purpose a stimulating incompleteness is necessary, -as an irrational element, which calls up a sea before the hearer's -imagination, and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, _i.e._ the -limits of the object of praise. If the well-known merits of a person -are referred to and described at length and in detail, it always gives -rise to the suspicion that these are his only merits. The perfect -eulogist takes his stand above the person praised, he appears to -_overlook_ him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening effect. - - -200. - -PRECAUTIONS IN WRITING AND TEACHING.--Whoever has once written and has -been seized with the passion for writing learns from almost all that he -does and experiences that which is literally communicable. He thinks -no longer of himself, but of the author and his public; he desires -insight into things; but not for his own use. He who teaches is mostly -incapable of doing anything for his own good: he is always thinking of -the good of his scholars, and all knowledge delights him only in so -far as he is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard himself as a -medium of knowledge, and above all as a means thereto, so that he has -lost all serious consideration for himself. - - -201. - -THE NECESSITY FOR BAD AUTHORS.--There will always be a need of bad -authors; for they meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped, immature -age--these have their requirements as well as mature readers. If human -life were of greater length, the number of mature individuals would be -greater than that of the immature, or at least equally great; but, as -it is, by far the greater number die too young: _i.e._ there are always -many more undeveloped intellects with bad taste. These demand, with the -greater impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their needs, and they -_insist_ on having bad authors. - - -202. - -Too NEAR AND TOO FAR.--The reader and the author very often do not -understand each other, because the author knows his theme too well and -finds it almost slow, so that he omits the examples, of which he knows -hundreds; the reader, however, is interested in the subject, and is -liable to consider it as badly proved if examples are lacking. - - -203. - -A VANISHED PREPARATION FOR ART.--Of everything that was practised in -public schools, the thing of greatest value was the exercise in Latin -style,--this was an exercise in art, whilst all other occupations -aimed only at the acquirement of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put -German composition before it, for there is no typical German style -developed by public oratory; but if there is a desire to advance -practice in thought by means of German composition, then it is -certainly better for the time being to pay no attention to style, to -separate the practice in thought, therefore, from the practice in -reproduction. The latter should confine itself to the various modes -of presenting a given subject, and should not concern itself with the -independent finding of a subject. The mere presentment of given subject -was the task of the Latin style, for which the old teachers possessed a -long vanished delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to write well -in a modern language had to thank this practice for the acquirement -(now we are obliged to go to school to the older French writers). But -yet more: he obtained an idea of the loftiness and difficulty of form, -and was prepared for art in the only right way: by practice. - - -204. - -DARKNESS AND OVER-BRIGHTNESS SIDE BY SIDE.--Authors who, in general, -do not understand how to express their thoughts clearly are fond of -choosing, in detail, the strongest, most exaggerated distinctions and -superlatives,--thereby is produced an effect of light, which is like -torchlight in intricate forest paths. - - -205. - -LITERARY PAINTING.--An important object will be best described if the -colours for the painting are taken out of the object itself, as a -chemist does, and then employed like an artist, so that the drawing -develops from the outlines and transitions of the colours. Thus the -painting acquires something of the entrancing natural element which -gives such importance to the object itself. - - -206. - -BOOKS WHICH TEACH HOW TO DANCE.--There are authors who, by representing -the impossible as possible, and by talking of morality and cleverness -as if both were merely moods and humours assumed at will, produce -a feeling of exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and were -compelled to dance from sheer, inward delight. - - -207. - -UNFINISHED THOUGHTS.--Just as not only manhood, but also youth and -childhood have a value _per se,_ and are not to be looked upon merely -as passages and bridges, so also unfinished thoughts have their value. -For this reason we must not torment a poet with subtle explanations, -but must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his horizon, as if the way -to further thoughts were still open. We stand on the threshold; we wait -as for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well of profundity -were about to be discovered. The poet anticipates something of the -thinker's pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, an makes us -covetous, so that we give chase to it; but it flutters past our head -and exhibits the loveliest butterfly-wings,--and yet it escapes us. - - -208. - -THE BOOK GROWN ALMOST INTO A HUMAN BEING.--Every author is surprised -anew at the way in which his book, as soon as he has sent it out, -continues to live a life of its own; it seems to him as if one part -of an insect had been cut off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he -forgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above the view expressed -therein, perhaps even he understands it no longer, and has lost that -impulse upon which he soared at the time he conceived the book; -meanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames life, pleases, horrifies, -inspires new works, becomes the soul of designs and actions,--in -short, it lives like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and yet -is no human being. The happiest fate is that of the author who, as an -old man, is able to say that all there was in him of life-inspiring, -strengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and feelings still -lives on in his writings, and that he himself now only represents the -gray ashes, whilst the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And -if we consider that every human action, not only a book, is in some -way or other the cause of other actions, decisions, and thoughts; that -everything that happens is inseparably connected with everything -that is going to happen, we recognise the real _immortality,_ that of -movement,--that which has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in -the general union of all existence, like an insect within a piece of -amber. - - -209. - -JOY IN OLD AGE.--The thinker, as likewise the artist, who has put his -best self into his works, feels an almost malicious joy when he sees -how mind and body are being slowly damaged and destroyed by time, as if -from a dark corner he were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing -all the time that it was empty and his treasures in safety. - - -210. - -QUIET FRUITFULNESS.--The born aristocrats of the mind are not in too -much of a hurry; their creations appear and fall from the tree on some -quiet autumn evening, without being rashly desired, instigated, or -pushed aside by new matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar, -and betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a man _is_ something, it -is not really necessary for him to do anything--and yet he does a great -deal. There is a human species higher even than wie "productive" man. - - -211. - -ACHILLES AND HOMER.--It is always like the case of Achilles and -Homer,--the one _has_ the experiences and sensations, the other -_describes_ them. A genuine author only puts into words the feelings -and adventures of others, he is an artist, and divines much from the -little he has experienced. Artists are by no means creatures of great -passion; but they frequently _represent_ themselves as such with the -unconscious feeling that their depicted passion will be better believed -in if their own life gives credence to their experience in these -affairs. They need only let themselves go, not control themselves, and -give free play to their anger and their desires, and every one will -immediately cry out, "How passionate he is!" But the deeply stirring -passion that consumes and often destroys the individual is another -matter: those who have really experienced it do not describe it in -dramas, harmonies or romances. Artists are frequently _unbridled_ -individuals, in so far as they are not artists, but that is a different -thing. - - -212. - -OLD DOUBTS ABOUT THE EFFECT OF ART.--Should pity and fear really be -unburdened through tragedy, as Aristotle would have it, so that the -hearers return home colder and quieter? Should ghost-stories really -make us less fearful and superstitious? In the case of certain physical -processes, in the satisfaction of love, for instance, it is true -that with the fulfilment of a need there follows an alleviation and -temporary decrease in the impulse. But fear and pity are not in this -sense the needs of particular organs which require to be relieved. -And in time every instinct is even _strengthened_ by practice in -its satisfaction, in spite of that periodical mitigation. It might -be possible that in each single case pity and fear would be soothed -and relieved by tragedy; nevertheless, they might, on the whole, be -increased by tragic influences, and Plato would be right in saying that -tragedy makes us altogether more timid and susceptible. The tragic poet -himself would then of necessity acquire a gloomy and fearful view of -the world, and a yielding, irritable, tearful soul; it would also agree -with Plato's view if the tragic poets, and likewise the entire part of -the community that derived particular pleasure from them, degenerated -into ever greater licentiousness and intemperance. But what right, -indeed, has our age to give an answer to that great question of Plato's -as to the moral influence of art? If we even had art,--where have we an -influence, _any kind_ of an art-influence? - - -213. - -PLEASURE IN NONSENSE.--How can we take pleasure in nonsense? But -wherever there is laughter in the world this is the case: it may even -be said that almost everywhere where there is happiness, there is -found pleasure in nonsense. The transformation of experience into its -opposite, of the suitable into the unsuitable, the obligatory into the -optional (but in such a manner that this process produces no injury -and is only imagined in jest), is a pleasure; for it temporarily -liberates us from the yoke of the obligatory, suitable and experienced, -in which we usually find our pitiless masters; we play and laugh when -the expected (which generally causes fear and expectancy) happens -without bringing any injury. It is the pleasure felt by slaves in the -Saturnalian feasts. - - -214. - -THE ENNOBLING OF REALITY.--Through the fact that in the aphrodisiac -impulse men discerned a godhead and with adoring gratitude felt it -working within themselves, this emotion has in the course of time -become imbued with higher conceptions, and has thereby been materially -ennobled. Thus certain nations, by virtue of this art of idealisation, -have created great aids to culture out of diseases,--the Greeks, -for instance, who in earlier centuries suffered from great nervous -epidemics (like epilepsy and St. Vitus' Dance), and developed out of -them the splendid type of the Bacchante. The Greeks, however, enjoyed -an astonishingly high degree of health--their secret was, to revere -even disease as a god, if it only possessed _power_. - - -215. - -Music.--Music by and for itself is not so portentous for our inward -nature, so deeply moving, that it ought to be looked upon as the -_direct_ language of the feelings; but its ancient union with poetry -has infused so much symbolism into rhythmical movement, into loudness -and softness of tone, that we now _imagine_ it speaks directly _to_ and -comes _from_ the inward nature. Dramatic music is only possible when -the art of harmony has acquired an immense range of symbolical means, -through song, opera, and a hundred attempts at description by sound. -"Absolute music" is either form _per se,_ in 'the rude condition of -music, when playing in time and with various degrees of strength gives -pleasure, or the symbolism of form which speaks to the understanding -even without poetry, after the two arts were joined finally together -after long development and the musical form had been woven about with -threads of meaning and feeling. People who are backward in musical -development can appreciate a piece of harmony merely as execution, -whilst those who are advanced will comprehend it symbolically. No music -is deep and full of meaning in itself, it does not speak of "will," of -the "thing-in-itself"; that could be imagined by the intellect only in -an age which had conquered for musical symbolism the entire range of -inner life. It was the intellect itself that first _gave_ this meaning -to sound, just as it also gave meaning to the relation between lines -and masses in architecture, but which in itself is quite foreign to -mechanical laws. - - -216. - -GESTURE AND SPEECH.--Older than speech is the imitation of gestures, -which is carried on unconsciously and which, in the general repression -of the language of gesture and trained control of the muscles, is -still so great that we cannot look at a face moved by emotion without -feeling an agitation of our own face (it may be remarked that feigned -yawning excites real yawning in any one who sees it). The imitated -gesture leads the one who imitates back to the sensation it expressed -in the face or body of the one imitated. Thus men learned to understand -one another, thus the child still learns to understand the mother. -Generally speaking, painful sensations may also have been expressed -by gestures, and the pain which caused them (for instance, tearing -the hair, beating the breast, forcible distortion and straining of -the muscles of the face). On the other hand, gestures of joy were -themselves joyful and lent themselves easily to the communication of -the understanding; (laughter, as the expression of the feeling when -being tickled, serves also for the expression of other pleasurable -sensations). As soon as men understood each other by gestures, -there could be established a _symbolism_ of gestures; I mean, an -understanding could be arrived at respecting the language of accents, -so that first _accent_ and gesture (to which it was symbolically added) -were produced, and later on the accent alone. In former times there -happened very frequently that which now happens in the development of -music, especially of dramatic music,--while music, without explanatory -dance and pantomime (language of gesture), is at first only empty -sound, but by long familiarity with that combination of music and -movement the ear becomes schooled into instant interpretation of the -figures of sound, and finally attains a height of quick understanding, -where it has no longer any need of visible movement and _understands_ -the sound-poet without it. It is then called absolute music, that -is music in which, without further help, everything is symbolically -understood. - - -217. - -THE SPIRITUALISING OF HIGHER ART.--By virtue of extraordinary -intellectual exercise through the art-development of the new music, our -ears have been growing more intellectual. For this reason we can now -endure a much greater volume of sound, much more "noise," because we -are far better practised in listening for the _sense_ in it than were -our ancestors. As a matter of fact, all our senses have been somewhat -blunted, because they immediately look for the sense; that is, they -ask what "it means" and not what "it is,"--such a blunting betrays -itself, for instance, in the absolute dominion of the temperature of -sounds; for ears which still make the finer distinctions, between -_eis_ and _des,_ for instance, are now amongst the exceptions. In -this respect our ear has grown coarser. And then the ugly side of the -world, the one originally hostile to the senses, has been conquered -for music; its power has been immensely widened, especially in the -expression of the noble, the terrible, and the mysterious: our music -now gives utterance to things which had formerly no tongue. In the -same way certain painters have rendered the eye more intellectual, and -have gone far beyond that which was formerly called pleasure in colour -and form. Here, too, that side of the world originally considered as -ugly has been conquered by the artistic intellect. What results from -all this? The more capable of thought that eye and ear become, the -more they approach the limit where they become senseless, the seat of -pleasure is moved into the brain, the organs of the senses themselves -become dulled and weak, the symbolical takes more and more the place -of the actual,--and thus we arrive at barbarism in this way as surely -as in any other. In the meantime we may say: the world is uglier than -ever, but it _represents_ a more beautiful world than has ever existed. -But the more the amber-scent of meaning is dispersed and evaporated, -the rarer become those who perceive it, and the remainder halt at -what is ugly and endeavour to enjoy it direct, an aim, however, which -they never succeed in attaining. Thus, in Germany there is a twofold -direction of musical development, here a throng of ten thousand with -ever higher, finer demands, ever listening more and more for the "it -means," and there the immense countless mass which yearly grows more -incapable of understanding what is important even in the form of -sensual ugliness, and which therefore turns ever more willingly to what -in music is ugly and foul in itself, that is, to the basely sensual. - - -218. - -A STONE IS MORE OF A STONE THAN FORMERLY.--As a general rule we no -longer understand architecture, at least by no means in the same way -as we understand music. We have outgrown the symbolism of lines and -figures, just as we are no longer accustomed to the sound-effects of -rhetoric, and have not absorbed this kind of mother's milk of culture -since our first moment of life. Everything in a Greek or Christian -building originally had a meaning, and referred to a higher order of -things; this feeling of inexhaustible meaning enveloped the edifice -like a mystic veil. Beauty was only a secondary consideration in -the system, without in any way materially injuring the fundamental -sentiment of the mysteriously-exalted, the divinely and magically -consecrated; at the most, beauty _tempered horror_--but this horror was -everywhere presupposed. What is the beauty of a building now? The same -thing as the beautiful face of a stupid woman, a kind of mask. - - -219. - -THE RELIGIOUS SOURCE OF THE NEWER MUSIC.--Soulful music arose out of -the Catholicism re-established after the Council of Trent, through -Palestrina, who endowed the newly-awakened, earnest, and deeply -moved spirit with sound; later on, in Bach, it appeared also in -Protestantism, as far as this had been deepened by the Pietists and -released from its originally dogmatic character. The supposition -and necessary preparation for both origins is the familiarity with -music, which existed during and before the Renaissance, namely that -learned occupation with music, which was really scientific pleasure -in the masterpieces of harmony and voice-training. On the other hand, -the opera must have preceded it, wherein the layman made his protest -against a music that had grown too learned and cold, and endeavoured -to re-endow Polyhymnia with a soul. Without the change to that deeply -religious sentiment, without the dying away of the inwardly moved -temperament, music would have remained learned or operatic; the -spirit of the counter-reformation is the spirit of modern music (for -that pietism in Bach's music is also a kind of counter-reformation). -So deeply are we indebted to the religious life. Music was the -counter-reformation in the field of art; to this belongs also the -later painting of the Caracci and Caravaggi, perhaps also the baroque -style, in _any_ case more than the architecture of the Renaissance -or of antiquity. And we might still ask: if our newer music could -move stones, would it build them up into antique architecture? I very -much doubt it. For that which predominates in this music, affections, -pleasure in exalted, highly-strained sentiments, the desire to be alive -at any cost, the quick change of feeling, the strong relief-effects of -light and shade, the combination of the ecstatic and the naïve,--all -this has already reigned in the plastic arts and created new laws -of style:--but it was neither in the time of antiquity nor of the -Renaissance. - - -220. - -THE BEYOND IN ART.--It is not without deep pain that we acknowledge -the fact that in their loftiest soarings, artists of all ages have -exalted and divinely transfigured precisely those ideas which we now -recognise as false; they are the glorifiers of humanity's religious -and philosophical errors, and they could not have been this without -belief in the absolute truth of these errors. But if the belief in such -truth diminishes at all, if the rainbow colours at the farthest ends of -human knowledge and imagination fade, then this kind of art can never -re-flourish, for, like the _Divina Commedia,_ Raphael's paintings, -Michelangelo's frescoes, and Gothic cathedrals, they indicate not only -a cosmic but also a metaphysical meaning in the work of art. Out of all -this will grow a touching legend that such an art and such an artistic -faith once existed. - - -221. - -REVOLUTION IN POETRY.--The strict limit which the French dramatists -marked out with regard to unity of action, time and place, construction -of style, verse and sentence, selection of words and ideas, was -a school as important as that of counterpoint and fugue in the -development of modern music or that of the Gorgianic figures in Greek -oratory. Such a restriction may appear absurd; nevertheless there is -no means of getting out of naturalism except by confining ourselves -at first to the strongest (perhaps most arbitrary) means. Thus we -gradually learn to walk gracefully on the narrow paths that bridge -giddy abysses, and acquire great suppleness of movement as a result, -as the history of music proves to our living eyes. Here we see how, -step by step, the fetters get looser, until at last they may appear to -be altogether thrown off; this _appearance_ is the highest achievement -of a necessary development in art. In the art of modern poetry there -existed no such fortunate, gradual emerging from self-imposed fetters. -Lessing held up to scorn in Germany the French form, the only modern -form of art, and pointed to Shakespeare; and thus the steadiness of -that unfettering was lost and a spring was made into naturalism--that -is, back into the beginnings of art. From this Goethe endeavoured to -save himself, by always trying to limit himself anew in different ways; -but even the most gifted only succeeds by continuously experimenting, -if the thread of development has once been broken. It is to the -unconsciously revered, if also repudiated, model of French tragedy -that Schiller owes his comparative sureness of form, and he remained -fairly independent of Lessing (whose dramatic attempts he is well -known to have rejected). But after Voltaire the French themselves -suddenly lacked the great talents which would have led the development -of tragedy out of constraint to that apparent freedom; later on -they followed the German example and made a spring into a sort of -Rousseau-like state of nature and experiments. It is only necessary -to read Voltaire's "Mahomet" from time to time in order to perceive -clearly what European culture has lost through that breaking down of -tradition. Once for all, Voltaire was the last of the great dramatists -who with Greek proportion controlled his manifold soul, equal even to -the greatest storms of tragedy,--he was able to do what no German -could, because the French nature is much nearer akin to the Greek than -is the German; he was also the last great writer who in the wielding -of prose possessed the Greek ear, Greek artistic conscientiousness, -and Greek simplicity and grace; he was, also, one of the last men able -to combine in himself the greatest freedom of mind and an absolutely -unrevolutionary way of thinking without being inconsistent and -cowardly. Since that time the modern spirit, with its restlessness and -its hatred of moderation and restrictions, has obtained the mastery on -all sides, let loose at first by the fever of revolution, and then once -more putting a bridle on itself when it became filled with fear and -horror at itself,--but it was the bridle of rigid logic, no longer that -of artistic moderation. It is true that through that unfettering for a -time we are able to enjoy the poetry of all nations, everything that -has sprung up in hidden places, original, wild, wonderfully beautiful -and gigantically irregular, from folk-songs up to the "great barbarian" -Shakespeare; we taste the joys of local colour and costume, hitherto -unknown to all artistic nations; we make liberal use of the "barbaric -advantages" of our time, which Goethe accentuated against Schiller in -order to place the formlessness of his _Faust_ in the most favourable -light. But for how much longer? The encroaching flood of poetry of all -styles and all nations _must_ gradually sweep away that magic garden -upon which a quiet and hidden growth would still have been possible; -all poets _must_ become experimenting imitators, daring copyists, -however great their primary strength may be. Eventually, the public, -which has lost the habit of seeing the actual artistic fact in the -_controlling_ of depicting power, in the organising mastery over all -art-means, _must_ come ever more and more to value power for power's -sake, colour for colour's sake, idea for idea's sake, inspiration for -inspiration's sake; accordingly it will not enjoy the elements and -conditions of the work of art, unless _isolated,_ and finally will -make the very natural demand that the artist _must_ deliver it to them -isolated. True, the "senseless" fetters of Franco-Greek art have been -thrown off, but unconsciously we have grown accustomed to consider all -fetters, all restrictions as senseless;--and so art moves towards its -liberation, but, in so doing, it touches--which is certainly highly -edifying--upon all the phases of its beginning, its childhood, its -incompleteness, its sometime boldness and excesses,--in perishing -it interprets its origin and growth. One of the great ones, whose -instinct may be relied on and whose theory lacked nothing but thirty -years _more_ of practice, Lord Byron, once said: that with regard to -poetry in general, the more he thought about it the more convinced -he was that one and all we are entirely on a wrong track, that we are -following an inwardly false revolutionary system, and that either our -own generation or the next will yet arrive at this same conviction. -It is the same Lord Byron who said that he "looked upon Shakespeare -as the very worst model, although the most extraordinary poet." And -does not Goethe's mature artistic insight in the second half of his -life say practically the same thing?--that insight by means of which -he made such a bound in advance of whole generations that, generally -speaking, it may be said that Goethe's influence has not yet begun, -that his time has still to come. Just because his nature held him fast -for a long time in the path of the poetical revolution, just because -he drank to the dregs of whatsoever new sources, views and expedients -had been indirectly discovered through that breaking down of tradition, -of all that had been unearthed from under the ruins of art, his later -transformation and conversion carries so much weight; it shows that -he felt the deepest longing to win back the traditions of art, and to -give in fancy the ancient perfection and completeness to the abandoned -ruins and colonnades of the temple, with the imagination of the eye at -least, should the strength of the arm be found too weak to build where -such tremendous powers were needed even to destroy. Thus he lived in -art as in the remembrance of the true art, his poetry had become an -aid to remembrance, to the understanding of old and long-departed ages -of art. With respect to the strength of the new age, his demands could -not be satisfied; but the pain this occasioned was amply balanced by -the joy that they have _been_ satisfied once, and that we ourselves can -still participate in this satisfaction. Not individuals, but more or -less ideal masks; no reality, but an allegorical generality; topical -characters, local colours toned down and rendered mythical almost to -the point of invisibility; contemporary feeling and the problems of -contemporary society reduced to the simplest forms, stripped of their -attractive, interesting pathological qualities, made _ineffective_ in -every other but the artistic sense; no new materials and characters, -but the old, long-accustomed ones in constant new animation and -transformation; that is art, as Goethe _understood_ it later, as the -Greeks and even the French _practised_ it. - - -222. - -WHAT REMAINS OF ART.--It is true that art has a much greater value in -the case of certain metaphysical hypotheses, for instance when the -belief obtains that the character is unchangeable and that the essence -of the world manifests itself continually in all character and action; -thus the artist's work becomes the symbol of the _eternally constant,_ -while according to our views the artist can only endow his picture with -temporary value, because man on the whole has developed and is mutable, -and even the individual man has nothing fixed and constant. The same -thing holds good with another metaphysical hypothesis: assuming that -our visible world were only a delusion, as metaphysicians declare, -then art would come very near to the real world, for there would then -be far too much similarity between the world of appearance and the -dream-world of the artist; and the remaining difference would place -the meaning of art higher even than the meaning of nature, because -art would represent the same forms, the types and models of nature. -But those suppositions are false; and what position does art retain -after this acknowledgment? Above all, for centuries it has taught us -to look upon life in every shape with interest and pleasure and to -carry our feelings so far that at last we exclaim, "Whatever it may -be, life is good." This teaching of art, to take pleasure in existence -and to regard human life as a piece of nature, without too vigorous -movement, as an object of regular development,--this teaching has grown -into us; it reappears as an all-powerful need of knowledge. We could -renounce art, but we should not therewith forfeit the ability it has -taught us,--just as we have given up religion, but not the exalting and -intensifying of temperament acquired through religion. As the plastic -arts and music are the standards of that wealth of feeling really -acquired and obtained through religion, so also, after a disappearance -of art, the intensity and multiplicity of the joys of life which it had -implanted in us would still demand satisfaction. The scientific man is -the further development of the artistic man. - - -223. - -THE AFTER-GLOW OF ART.--Just as in old age we remember our youth and -celebrate festivals of memory, so in a short time mankind will stand -towards art: its relation will be that of a _touching memory_ of the -joys of youth. Never, perhaps, in former ages was art dealt with so -seriously and thoughtfully as now when it appears to be surrounded -by the magic influence of death. We call to mind that Greek city in -southern Italy, which once a year still celebrates its Greek feasts, -amidst tears and mourning, that foreign barbarism triumphs ever more -and more over the customs its people brought with them into the land; -and never has Hellenism been so much appreciated, nowhere has this -golden nectar been drunk with so great delight, as amongst these fast -disappearing Hellenes. The artist will soon come to be regarded as a -splendid relic, and to him, as to a wonderful stranger on whose power -and beauty depended the happiness of former ages, there will be paid -such honour as is not often enjoyed by one of our race. The best in us -is perhaps inherited from the sentiments of former times, to which it -is hardly possible for us now to return by direct ways; the sun has -already disappeared, but the heavens of our life are still glowing and -illumined by it, although we can behold it no longer. - - -[Footnote 1: The allusion is to Goethe's lines: - - _Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,_ - _Man freut sich ihrer Pracht._ - - - We do not want the stars themselves, - Their brilliancy delights our hearts.--J.M.K. -] - - - - -FIFTH DIVISION. - - -THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE. - - - -224. - -ENNOBLEMENT THROUGH DEGENERATION.--History teaches that a race of -people is best preserved where the greater number hold one common -spirit in consequence of the similarity of their accustomed and -indisputable principles: in consequence, therefore, of their common -faith. Thus strength is afforded by good and thorough customs, thus -is learnt the subjection of the individual, and strenuousness of -character becomes a birth gift and afterwards is fostered as a habit. -The danger to these communities founded on individuals of strong and -similar character is that gradually increasing stupidity through -transmission, which follows all stability like its shadow. It is on -the more unrestricted, more uncertain and morally weaker individuals -that depends the _intellectual progress_ of such communities, it is -they who attempt all that is new and manifold. Numbers of these perish -on account of their weakness, without having achieved any specially -visible effect; but generally, particularly when they have descendants, -they flare up and from time to time inflict a wound on the stable -element of the community. Precisely in this sore and weakened place the -community is _inoculated_ with something new; but its general strength -must be great enough to absorb and assimilate this new thing into its -blood. Deviating natures are of the utmost importance wherever there -is to be progress. Every wholesale progress must be preceded by a -partial weakening. The strongest natures _retain_ the type, the weaker -ones help it to _develop._ Something similar happens in the case of -individuals;'a deterioration, a mutilation, even a vice and, above all, -a physical or moral loss is seldom without its advantage. For instance, -a sickly man in the midst of a warlike and restless race will perhaps -have more chance of being alone and thereby growing quieter and wiser, -the one-eyed man will possess a stronger eye, the blind man will have a -deeper inward sight and will certainly have a keener sense of hearing. -In so far it appears to me that the famous Struggle for Existence is -not the only point of view from which an explanation can be given of -the progress or strengthening of an individual or a race. Rather must -two different things converge: firstly, the multiplying of stable -strength through mental binding in faith and common feeling; secondly, -the possibility of attaining to higher aims, through the fact that -there are deviating natures and, in consequence, partial weakening and -wounding of the stable strength; it is precisely the weaker nature, as -the more delicate and free, that makes all progress at all possible. -A people that is crumbling and weak in any one part, but as a whole -still strong and healthy, is able to absorb the infection of what is -new and incorporate it to its advantage. The task of education in a -single individual is this: to plant him so firmly and surely that, as -a whole, he can no longer be diverted from his path. Then, however, -the educator must wound him, or else make use of the wounds which fate -inflicts, and when pain and need have thus arisen, something new and -noble can be inoculated into the wounded places. With regard to the -State, Machiavelli says that, "the form of Government is of very small -importance, although halfeducated people think otherwise. The great aim -of State-craft should be duration, which out-weighs all else, inasmuch -as it is more valuable than liberty." It is only with securely founded -and guaranteed duration that continual development and ennobling -inoculation are at all possible. As a rule, however, authority, the -dangerous companion of all duration, will rise in opposition to this. - - -225. - -FREE-THINKER A RELATIVE TERM.--We call that man a free-thinker who -thinks otherwise than is expected of him in consideration of his -origin, surroundings, position, and office, or by reason of the -prevailing contemporary views. He is the exception, fettered minds are -the rule; these latter reproach him, saying that his free principles -either have their origin in a desire to be remarkable or else cause -free actions to inferred,--that is to say, actions which are not -compatible with fettered morality. Sometimes it is also said that -the cause of such and such free principles may be traced to mental -perversity and extravagance; but only malice speaks thus, nor does -it believe what it says, but wishes thereby to do an injury, for the -free-thinker; usually bears the proof of his greater goodness and -keenness of intellect written in his face so plainly that the fettered -spirits understand it well enough. But the two other derivations -of free-thought are honestly intended; as a matter of fact, many -free-thinkers are created in one or other of these ways. For this -reason, however, the tenets to which they attain in this manner might -be truer and more reliable than those of the fettered spirits. In the -knowledge of truth, what really matters is the _possession_ of it, -not the impulse under which it was sought, the way in which it was -found. If the free-thinkers are right then the fettered spirits are -wrong, and it is a matter of indifference whether the former have -reached truth through immorality or the latter hitherto retained hold -of untruths through morality. Moreover, it is not essential to the -free-thinker that he should hold more correct views, but that he should -have liberated himself from what was customary, be it successfully or -disastrously. As a rule, however, he will have truth, or at least the -spirit of truth-investigation, on his side; he demands reasons, the -others demand faith. - - -226. - -THE ORIGIN OF FAITH.--The fettered spirit does not take up his position -from conviction, but from habit; he is a Christian, for instance, not -because he had a comprehension of different creeds and could take -his choice; he is an Englishman, not because he decided for England, -but he found Christianity and England ready-made and accepted them -without any reason, just as one who is born in a wine-country becomes -a wine-drinker. Later on, perhaps, as he was a Christian and an -Englishman, he discovered a few reasons in favour of his habit; these -reasons may be upset, but he is not therefore upset in his whole -position. For instance, let a fettered spirit be obliged to bring -forward his reasons against bigamy and then it will be seen whether his -holy zeal in favour of monogamy is based upon reason or upon custom. -The adoption of guiding principles without reasons is called _faith._ - - -227. - -CONCLUSIONS DRAWN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES AND TRACED BACK TO REASON AND -UN-REASON.--All states and orders of society, professions, matrimony, -education, law: all these find strength and duration only in the faith -which the fettered spirits repose in them,--that is, in the absence of -reasons, or at least in the averting of inquiries as to reasons. The -restricted spirits do not willingly acknowledge this, and feel that -it is a _pudendum._ Christianity, however, which was very simple in -its intellectual ideas, remarked nothing of this _pudendum,_ required -faith and nothing but faith, and passionately repulsed the demand -for reasons; it pointed to the success of faith: "You will soon feel -the advantages of faith," it suggested, "and through faith shall ye -be saved." As an actual fact, the State pursues the same course, and -every father brings up his son in the same way: "Only believe this," -he says, "and you will soon feel the good it does." This implies, -however, that the truth of an opinion is proved by its personal -usefulness; the wholesomeness of a doctrine must be a guarantee for -its intellectual surety and solidity. It is exactly as if an accused -person in a court of law were to say, "My counsel speaks the whole -truth, for only see what is the result of his speech: I shall be -acquitted." Because the fettered spirits retain their principles on -account of their usefulness, they suppose that the free spirit also -seeks his own advantage in his views and only holds that to be true -which is profitable to him. But as he appears to find profitable just -the contrary of that which his compatriots or equals find profitable, -these latter assume that his principles are dangerous to them; they say -or feel, "He must not be right, for he is injurious to us." - - -228. - -THE STRONG, GOOD CHARACTER.--The restriction of views, which habit has -made instinct, leads to what is called strength of character. When -any one acts from few but always from the same motives, his actions -acquire great energy; if these actions accord with the principles of -the fettered spirits they are recognised, and they produce, moreover, -in those who perform them the sensation of a good conscience. Few -motives, energetic action, and a good conscience compose what is called -strength of character. The man of strong character lacks a knowledge -of the many possibilities and directions of action; his intellect is -fettered and restricted, because in a given case it shows him, perhaps, -only two possibilities; between these two he must now of necessity -choose, in accordance with his whole nature, and he does this easily -and quickly because he has not to choose between fifty possibilities. -The educating surroundings aim at fettering every individual, by always -placing before him the smallest number of possibilities. The individual -is always treated by his educators as if he were, indeed, something -new, but should become a _duplicate._ If he makes his first appearance -as something unknown, unprecedented, he must be turned into something -known and precedented. In a child, the familiar manifestation of -restriction is called a good character; in placing itself on the side -of the fettered spirits the child first discloses its awakening common -feeling; with this foundation of common sentiment, he will eventually -become useful to his State or rank. - - -229. - -THE STANDARDS AND VALUES OF THE FETTERED SPIRITS.--There are four -species of things concerning which the restricted spirits say they -are in the right. Firstly: all things that last are right; secondly: -all things that are not burdens to us are right; thirdly: all things -that are advantageous for us are right; fourthly: all things for which -we have made sacrifices are right. The last sentence, for instance, -explains why a war that was begun in opposition to popular feeling -is carried on with enthusiasm directly a sacrifice has been made for -it. The free spirits, who bring their case before the forum of the -fettered spirits, must prove that free spirits always existed, that -free-spiritism is therefore enduring, that it will not become a burden, -and, finally, that on the whole they are an advantage to the fettered -spirits. It is because they cannot convince the restricted spirits on -this last point that they profit nothing by having proved the first and -second propositions. - - -230. - -_ESPRIT FORT._--Compared with him who has tradition on his side and -requires no reasons for his actions, the free spirit is always weak, -especially in action; for he is acquainted with too many motives and -points of view, and has, therefore, an uncertain and unpractised hand. -What means exist of making him _strong in spite of this,_ so that he -will, at least, manage to survive, and will not perish ineffectually? -What is the source of the strong spirit (_esprit fort_)! This is -especially the question as to the production of genius. Whence comes -the energy, the unbending strength, the endurance with which the one, -in opposition to accepted ideas, endeavours to obtain an entirely -individual knowledge of the world? - - -231. - -THE RISE OF GENIUS.--The ingenuity with which a prisoner seeks the -means of freedom, the most cold-blooded and patient employment of every -smallest advantage, can teach us of what tools Nature sometimes makes -use in order to produce Genius,--a word which I beg will be understood -without any mythological and religious flavour; she, Nature, begins it -in a dungeon and excites to the utmost its desire to free itself. Or -to give another picture: some one who has completely _lost his way_ -in a wood, but who with unusual energy strives to reach the open in -one direction or another, will sometimes discover a new path which -nobody knew previously, thus arise geniuses, who are credited with -originality. It has already been said that mutilation, crippling, -or the loss of some important organ, is frequently the cause of the -unusual development of another organ, because this one has to fulfil -its own and also another function. This explains the source of many a -brilliant talent. These general remarks on the origin of genius may be -applied to the special case, the origin of the perfect free spirit. - - -232. - -CONJECTURE AS TO THE ORIGIN OF FREE-SPIRITISM.--Just as the glaciers -increase when in equatorial regions the sun shines upon the seas -with greater force than hitherto, so may a very strong and spreading -free-spiritism be a proof that somewhere or other the force of feeling -has grown extraordinarily. - - -233. - -THE VOICE OF HISTORY.--In general, history _appears_ to teach the -following about the production of genius: it ill-treats and torments -mankind--calls to the passions of envy, hatred, and rivalry--drives -them to desperation, people against people, throughout whole centuries! -Then, perhaps, like a stray spark from the terrible energy thereby -aroused, there flames up suddenly the light of genius; the will, like -a horse maddened by the rider's spur, thereupon breaks out and leaps -over into another domain. He who could attain to a comprehension of the -production of genius, and desires to carry out practically the manner -in which Nature usually goes to work, would have to be just as evil and -regardless as Nature itself. But perhaps we have not heard rightly. - - -234. - -THE VALUE OF THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.--It is possible that the -production of genius is reserved to a limited period of mankind's -history. For we must not expect from the future everything that -very defined conditions were able to produce; for instance, not the -astounding effects of religious feeling. This has had its day, and -much that is very? good can never grow again, because it could grow -out of that alone. There will never again be a horizon of life and -culture that is bounded by religion. Perhaps even the type of the -saint is only possible with that certain narrowness of intellect, -which apparently has completely disappeared. And thus the greatest -height of intelligence has perhaps been reserved for a single age; -it appeared--and appears, for we are still in that age--when an -extraordinary, long-accumulated energy of will concentrates itself, -as an exceptional case, upon _intellectual_ aims. That height will no -longer exist when this wildness and energy cease to be cultivated. -Mankind probably approaches nearer to its actual aim in the middle of -its road, in the middle time of its existence than at the end. It may -be that powers with which, for instance, art is a condition, die out -altogether; the pleasure in lying, in the undefined, the symbolical, -in intoxication, in ecstasy might fall into disrepute. For certainly, -when life is ordered in the perfect State, the present will provide -no more motive for poetry, and it would only be those persons who had -remained behind who would ask for poetical unreality. These, then, -would assuredly look longingly backwards to the times of the imperfect -State, of half-barbaric society, to _our_ times. - - -235. - -GENIUS AND THE IDEAL STATE IN CONFLICT.--The Socialists demand a -comfortable life for the greatest possible number. If the lasting house -of this life of comfort, the perfect State, had really been attained, -then this life of comfort would have destroyed the ground out of which -grow the great intellect and the mighty individual generally, 11 mean -powerful energy. Were this State reached, mankind would have grown too -weary to be still capable of producing genius. Must we not hence wish -that life should retain its forcible character, and that wild forces -and energies should continue, to be called forth afresh? But warm and -sympathetic hearts desire precisely the _removal_ of that wild and -forcible character, and the warmest hearts we can imagine desire it -the most passionately of all, whilst all the time its passion derived -its fire, its warmth, its very existence precisely from that wild -and forcible character; the warmest heart, therefore, desires the -removal of its own foundation, the destruction of itself,--that is, -it desires something illogical, it is not intelligent. The highest -intelligence and the warmest heart cannot exist together in one -person, and the wise man who passes judgment upon life looks beyond -goodness and only regards it as something which is not without value -in the general summing-up of life. The wise man must _oppose_ those -digressive wishes of unintelligent goodness, because he has an interest -in the continuance of his type and in the eventual appearance of the -highest intellect; at least, he will not advance the founding of the -"perfect State," inasmuch as there is only room in it for wearied -individuals. Christ, on the contrary, he whom we may consider to have -had the warmest heart, advanced the process of making man stupid, -placed himself on the side of the intellectually poor, and retarded -the production of the greatest intellect, and this was consistent. -His opposite, the man of perfect wisdom,--this may be safely -prophesied--will just as necessarily hinder the production of a Christ. -The State is a wise arrangement for the protection of one individual -against another; if its ennobling is exaggerated the individual will at -last be weakened by it, even effaced, --thus the original purpose of -the State will be most completely frustrated. - - -236. - -THE ZONES OF CULTURE.--It may be figuratively said that the ages of -culture correspond to the zones of the various climates, only that they -lie one behind another and not beside each other like the geographical -zones. In comparison with the temperate zone of culture, which it -is our object to enter, the past, speaking generally, gives the -impression of a _tropical_ climate. Violent contrasts, sudden changes -between day and night, heat and colour-splendour, the reverence of -all that was sudden, mysterious, terrible, the rapidity with which -storms broke: everywhere that lavish abundance of the provisions of -nature; and opposed to this, in our culture, a clear but by no means -bright sky, pure but fairly unchanging air, sharpness, even cold at -times; thus the two zones are contrasts to each other. When we see -how in that former zone the most raging passions are suppressed and -broken down with mysterious force by metaphysical representations, -we feel as if wild tigers were being crushed before our very eyes in -the coils of mighty serpents; our mental climate lacks such episodes, -our imagination is temperate, even in dreams there does not happen -to us what former peoples saw waking. But should we not rejoice at -this change, even granted that artists are essentially spoiled by the -disappearance of the tropical culture and find us non-artists a little -too timid? In so far artists are certainly right to deny "progress," -for indeed it is doubtful whether the last three thousand years show an -advance in the arts. In the same way, a metaphysical philosopher like -Schopenhauer would have no cause to acknowledge progress with a regard -to metaphysical philosophy and religion if he glanced back over the -last four thousand years. For us, however, the _existence_ even of the -temperate zones of culture is progress. - - -237. - -RENAISSANCE AND REFORMATION.--The Italian Renaissance contained within -itself all the positive forces to which we owe modern culture. Such -were the liberation of thought, the disregard of authorities, the -triumph of education over the darkness of tradition, enthusiasm for -science and the scientific past of mankind, the unfettering of the -Individual, an ardour for truthfulness and a dislike of delusion -and mere effect (which ardour blazed forth in an entire company of -artistic characters, who with the greatest moral purity required from -themselves perfection in their works, and nothing but perfection); -yes, the Renaissance had positive forces, which have, _as yet,_ never -become so mighty again in our modern culture. It was the Golden Age -of the last thousand years, in spite of all its blemishes and vices. -On the other hand, the German Reformation stands out as an energetic -protest of antiquated spirits, who were by no means tired of mediæval -views of life, and who received the signs of its dissolution, the -extraordinary flatness and alienation of the religious life, with -deep dejection instead of with the rejoicing that would have been -seemly. With their northern strength and stiff-neckedness they threw -mankind back again, brought about the counter-reformation, that is, -a Catholic Christianity of self-defence, with all the violences of a -state of siege, and delayed for two or three centuries the complete -awakening and mastery of the sciences; just as they probably made for -ever impossible the complete inter-growth of the antique and the modern -spirit. The great task of the Renaissance could not be brought to a -termination, this was prevented by the protest of the contemporary -backward German spirit (which, for its salvation, had had sufficient -sense in the Middle Ages to cross the Alps again and again). It was -the chance of an extraordinary constellation of politics that Luther -was preserved, and that his protest; gained strength, for the Emperor -protected him in order to employ him as a weapon against the Pope, and -in the same way he was secretly favoured by the Pope in order to use -the Protestant princes as a counter-weight against the Emperor. Without -this curious counter-play of intentions, Luther would have been burnt -like Huss,--and the morning sun of enlightenment would probably have -risen somewhat earlier, and with a splendour more beauteous than we can -now imagine. - - -238. - -JUSTICE AGAINST THE BECOMING GOD.-- When the entire history of culture -unfolds itself to our gaze, as a confusion of evil and noble, of true -and false ideas, and we feel almost seasick at the sight of these -tumultuous waves, we then under stand what comfort resides in the -conception of a _becoming God._ This Deity is unveiled ever more and -more throughout the changes and fortunes of mankind; it is not all -blind mechanism, a senseless and aimless confusion of forces. The -deification of the process of being is a metaphysical outlook, seen as -from a lighthouse overlooking the sea of history, in which a far-too -historical generation of scholars found their comfort. This must not -arouse anger, however erroneous the view may be. Only those who, like -Schopenhauer, deny development also feel none of the misery of this -historical wave, and therefore, because they know nothing of that -becoming God and the need of His supposition, they should in justice -withhold their scorn. - - -239. - -THE FRUITS ACCORDING TO THEIR SEASONS.--Every better future that -is desired for mankind is necessarily in many respects also a worse -future, for it is foolishness to suppose that a new, higher grade of -humanity will combine in itself all the good points of former grades, -and must produce, for instance, the highest form of art. Rather has -every season its own advantages and charms, which exclude those of -the other seasons. That which has grown out of religion and in its -neighbourhood cannot grow again if this has been destroyed; at the -most, straggling and belated off-shoots may lead to deception on that -point, like the occasional outbreaks of remembrance of the old art, a -condition that probably betrays the feeling of loss and deprivation, -but which is no proof of the power from which a new art might be born. - - -240. - -THE INCREASING SEVERITY OF THE WORLD.--The higher culture an -individual attains, the less field there is left for mockery and scorn. -Voltaire thanked Heaven from his heart for the invention of marriage -and the Church, by which it had so well provided for our cheer. But he -and his time, and before him the sixteenth century, had exhausted their -ridicule on this theme; everything that is now made fun of on this -theme is out of date, and above all too cheap to tempt a purchaser. -Causes are now inquired after; ours is an age of seriousness. Who -cares now to discern, laughingly, the difference between reality and -pretentious sham, between that which man _is_ and that which he wishes -to represent; the feeling of this contrast has quite a different effect -if we seek reasons. The more thoroughly any one understands life, -the less he will mock, though finally, perhaps, he will mock at the -"thoroughness of his understanding." - - -241. - -THE GENIUS OF CULTURE.--If any one wished to imagine a genius of -culture, what would it be like? It handles as its tools falsehood, -force, and thoughtless selfishness so surely that I could only be -called an evil, demoniacal being but its aims, which are occasionally -transparent, are great and good. It is a centaur, half-beast, half-man, -and, in addition, has angel's wings upon its head. - - -242. - -THE MIRACLE-EDUCATION.--Interest in Education will acquire great -strength only from the moment when belief in a God and His care is -renounced, just as the art of healing you only flourish when the -belief in miracle-cures ceased. So far, however, there is universal -belief in the miracle-education; out of the greatest disorder and -confusion of aims and unfavourableness of conditions, the most -fertile and mighty men have been seen to grow; could this happen -naturally? Soon these cases will be more closely looked into, more -carefully examined; but miracles will never be discovered. In similar -circumstances countless persons perish constantly; the few saved have, -therefore, usually grown stronger, because they endured these bad -conditions by virtue of an inexhaustible inborn strength, and this -strength they had also exercised and increased by fighting against -these circumstances; thus the miracle is explained. An education that -no longer believes in miracles must pay attention to three things: -first, how much energy is inherited? secondly, by what means can -new energy be aroused? thirdly, how can the individual be adapted -to so many and manifold claims of culture without being disquieted -and destroying his personality,--in short, how can the individual be -initiated into the counterpoint of private and public culture, how can -he lead the melody and at the same time Accompany it? - - -243. - -THE FUTURE OF THE PHYSICIAN.--There is now no profession which would -admit of such an enhancement as that of the physician; that is, after -the spiritual physicians the so-called pastors, are no longer allowed -to practise their conjuring tricks to public applause, and a cultured -person gets out of their way. The highest mental development of a -physician has not yet been reached, even if he understands the best -and newest methods, is practised in them, and knows how to draw those -rapid conclusions from effects to causes for which the diagnostics are -celebrated; besides this, he must possess a gift of eloquence that -adapts itself to every individual and draws his heart out of his body; -a manliness, the sight of which alone drives away all despondency (the -canker of all sick people), the tact and suppleness of a diplomatist -in negotiations between such as have need of joy for their recovery -and such as, for reasons of health, must (and can) give joy; the -acuteness of a detective and an attorney to divine the secrets of -a soul without betraying them,--in short, a good physician now has -need of all the artifices and artistic privileges of every other -professional class. Thus equipped, he is then ready to be a benefactor -to the whole of society, by increasing good works, mental joys and -fertility, by preventing evil thoughts, projects and villainies (the -evil source of which is so often the belly), by the restoration of a -mental and physical aristocracy (as a maker and hinderer of marriages), -by judiciously checking all so-called soul-torments and pricks of -conscience. Thus from a "medicine man" he becomes a saviour, and -yet need work no miracle, neither is he obliged to let himself be -crucified. - - -244. - -IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF INSANITY.--The sum of sensations, knowledge -and experiences, the whole burden of culture, therefore, has become -so great that an overstraining of nerves and powers of thought is a -common danger, indeed the cultivated classes of European countries -are throughout neurotic, and almost every one of their great families -is on the verge of insanity in one of their branches. True, health -is now sought in every possible way; but in the main a diminution of -that tension of feeling, of that oppressive burden of culture, is -needful, which, even though it might be bought at a heavy sacrifice, -would at least give us room for the great hope of a _new Renaissance._ -To Christianity, to the philosophers, poets, and musicians we owe an -abundance of deeply emotional sensations; in order that these may not -get beyond our control we must invoke the spirit of science, which -on the whole makes us somewhat colder and more sceptical, and in -particular cools the faith in final and absolute truths; it is chiefly -through Christianity that it has grown so wild. - - -245. - -THE BELL-FOUNDING OF CULTURE.--Culture has been made like a bell, -within a covering of coarser, commoner material, falsehood, violence, -the boundless extension of every individual "I," of every separate -people--this was the covering. Is it time to take it off? Has the -liquid set, have the good and useful impulses, the habits of the nobler -nature become so certain and so general that they no longer require to -lean on metaphysics and the errors of religion, no longer have need of -hardnesses and violence as powerful bonds between man and man, people -and people? No sign from any God can any longer help us to answer this -question; our own insight must decide. The earthly rule of man must be -taken in hand by man himself, his "omniscience" must watch over the -further fate of culture with a sharp eye. - - -246. - -THE CYCLOPES OF CULTURE.--Whoever has seen those furrowed basins which -once contained glaciers, will hardly deem it possible that a time -will come when the same spot will be a valley of woods and meadows -and streams. It is the same in the history of mankind; the wildest -forces break the way, destructively at first, but their activity was -nevertheless necessary in order that later on a milder civilisation -might build up its house These terrible energies--that which is called -Evil--are the cyclopic architects and road-makers of humanity. - - -247. - -THE CIRCULATION OF HUMANITY.--It is possible that all humanity is only -a phase of development of a certain species of animal of limited -duration. Man may have grown out of the ape and will return to the -ape again,[1] without anybody taking an interest in the ending of -this curious comedy. Just as with the decline of Roman civilisation -and its most important cause, the spread of Christianity, there was a -general uglification of man within the Roman Empire, so, through the -eventual decline of general culture, there might result a far greater -uglification and finally an animalising of man till he reached the ape. -But just because we are able to face this prospect, we shall perhaps be -able to avert such an end. - - -248. - -THE CONSOLING SPEECH OF A DESPERATE ADVANCE.--Our age gives the -impression of an intermediate condition; the old ways of regarding the -world, the old cultures still partially exist, the new are not yet -sure and customary and hence are without decision and consistency. It -appears as if everything would become chaotic, as if the old were being -lost, the new worthless and ever becoming weaker. But this is what the -soldier feels who is learning to march; for a time he is more uncertain -and awkward, because his muscles are moved sometimes according to the -old system and sometimes according to the new, and neither gains a' -decisive victory. We waver, but it is necessary not to lose courage -and give up what we have newly gained. Moreover, we _cannot_ go back -to the old, we _have_ burnt our boats; there remains nothing but to -be brave whatever happen.--_March ahead,_ only get forward! Perhaps -our behaviour looks like _progress_; but if not, then the words -of Frederick the Great may also be applied to us, and indeed as a -consolation: "_Ah, mon cher Sulzer, vous ne connaissez pas assez cette -race maudite, à laquelle nous appartenons._" - - -249. - -SUFFERING FROM PAST CULTURE.--Whoever has solved the problem of culture -suffers from a feeling similar to that of one who has inherited -unjustly-gotten riches, or of a prince who reigns thanks to the -violence of his ancestors. He thinks of their origin with grief and is -often ashamed, often irritable. The whole sum of strength, joy, vigour, -which he devotes to his possessions, is often balanced by a deep -weariness, he cannot forget their origin. He looks despondingly at the -future; he knows well that his successors will suffer from the past as -he does. - - -250. - -MANNERS.--Good manners disappear in proportion as the influence of -a Court and an exclusive aristocracy lessens; this decrease can be -plainly observed from decade to decade by those who have an eye -for public behaviour, which grows visibly more vulgar. No one any -longer knows how to court and flatter intelligently; hence arises the -ludicrous fact that in cases where we _must_ render actual homage -(to a great statesman or artist, for instance), the words of deepest -feeling, of simple, peasant-like honesty, have to be borrowed, owing to -the embarrassment resulting from the lack of grace and wit. Thus the -public ceremonious meeting of men appears ever more clumsy, but more -full of feeling and honesty without really being so. But must there -always be a decline in manners? It appears to me, rather, that manners -take a deep curve and that we are approaching their lowest point. When -society has become sure of its intentions and principles, so that they -have a moulding effect (the manners we have learnt from former moulding -conditions are now inherited and always more weakly learnt), there will -then be company manners, gestures and social expressions, which must -appear as necessary and simply natural because they are intentions -and principles. The better division of time and work, the gymnastic -exercise transformed into the accompaniment of all beautiful leisure, -increased and severer meditation, which brings wisdom and suppleness -even to the body, will bring all this in its train. Here, indeed, we -might think with a smile of our scholars, and consider whether, as a -matter of fact, they who wish to be regarded as the forerunners of that -new culture are distinguished by their better manners? This is hardly -the case; although their spirit may be willing enough their flesh is -weak. The past of culture is still too powerful in their muscles, they -still stand in a fettered position, and are half worldly priests and -half dependent educators of the upper classes, and besides this they -have been rendered crippled and lifeless by the pedantry of science and -by antiquated, spiritless methods. In any case, therefore, they are -physically, and often three-fourths mentally, still the courtiers of an -old, even antiquated culture, and as such are themselves antiquated; -the new spirit that occasionally inhabits these old dwellings often -serves only to make them more uncertain and frightened. In them there -dwell the ghosts of the past as well as the ghosts of the future; -what wonder if they do not wear the best expression or show the most -pleasing behaviour? - - -251. - -THE FUTURE OF SCIENCE.--To him who works and seeks in her, Science -gives much pleasure,--to him who _learns_ her facts, very little. But -as all important truths of science must gradually become commonplace -and everyday matters, even this small amount of pleasure ceases, just -as we have long ceased to take pleasure in learning the admirable -multiplication table. Now if Science goes on giving less pleasure in -herself, and always takes more pleasure in throwing suspicion on the -consolations of metaphysics, religion and art, that greatest of all -sources of pleasure, to which mankind owes almost its whole humanity, -becomes impoverished. Therefore a higher culture must give man a -double brain, two brain-chambers, so to speak, one to feel science -and the other to feel non-science, which can lie side by side, without -confusion, divisible, exclusive; this is a necessity of health. In one -part lies the source of strength, in the other lies the regulator; -it must be heated with illusions, onesidednesses, passions; and the -malicious and dangerous consequences of over-heating must be averted -by the help of conscious Science. If this necessity of the higher -culture is not satisfied, the further course of human development can -almost certainly be foretold: the interest in what is true ceases as it -guarantees less pleasure; illusion, error, and imagination reconquer -step by step the ancient territory, because they are united to -pleasure; the ruin of science: the relapse into barbarism is the next -result; mankind must begin to weave its web afresh after having, like -Penelope, destroyed it during the night. But who will assure us that it -will always find the necessary strength for this? - - -252. - -THE PLEASURE IN DISCERNMENT.--Why is discernment, that essence of the -searcher and the philosopher, connected with pleasure? Firstly, and -above all, because thereby we become conscious of our strength, for -the same reason that gymnastic exercises, even without spectators, are -enjoyable. Secondly, because in the course of knowledge we surpass -older ideas and their representatives, and become, or believe ourselves -to be, conquerors. Thirdly, because even a very little new knowledge -exalts us above _every one,_ and makes us feel we are the only ones -who know the subject aright. These are the three most important -reasons of the pleasure, but there are many others, according to the -nature of the discerner. A not inconsiderable index of such is given, -where no one would look for it, in a passage of my parenetic work -on Schopenhauer,[2] with the arrangement of which every experienced -servant of knowledge may be satisfied, even though he might wish to -dispense with the ironical touch that seems to pervade those pages. -For if it be true that for the making of a scholar "a number of very -human impulses and desires must be thrown together," that the scholar -is indeed a very noble but not a pure metal, and "consists of a -confused blending of very different impulses and attractions," the -same thing may be said equally of the making and nature of the artist, -the philosopher and the moral genius--and whatever glorified great -names there may be in that list. _Everything_ human deserves ironical -consideration with respect to its _origin,_--therefore irony is so -_superfluous_ in the world. - - -253. - -FIDELITY AS A PROOF OF VALIDITY.--It is a perfect sign of a sound -theory if during _forty years_ its originator does not mistrust it; but -I maintain that there has never yet been a philosopher who has not -eventually deprecated the philosophy of his youth. Perhaps, however, -he has not spoken publicly of this change of opinion, for reasons of -ambition, or, what is more probable in noble natures, out of delicate -consideration for his adherents. - - -254. - -THE INCREASE OF WHAT IS INTERESTING.--In the course of higher education -everything becomes interesting to man, he knows how to find the -instructive side of a thing quickly and to put his finger on the place -where it can fill up a gap in his ideas, or where it may verify a -thought. Through this boredom disappears more and more, and so does -excessive excitability of temperament. Finally he moves among men like -a botanist among plants, and looks upon himself as a phenomenon, which -only greatly excites his discerning instinct. - - -255. - -THE SUPERSTITION OF THE SIMULTANEOUS.--Simultaneous things hold -together, it is said. A relative dies far away, and at the same time -we dream about him,--Consequently! But countless relatives die and we -do not dream about them. It is like shipwrecked people who make vows; -afterwards, in the temples, we do not see the votive tablets of those -who perished. A man dies, an owl hoots, a clock stops, all at one hour -of the night,--must there not be some connection? Such an intimacy -with nature as this supposition implies is flattering to mankind. This -species of superstition is found again in a refined form in historians -and delineators of culture, who usually have a kind of hydrophobic -horror of all that senseless mixture, in which individual and national -life is so rich. - - -256. - -ACTION AND NOT KNOWLEDGE EXERCISED BY SCIENCE.--The value of strictly -pursuing science for a time does not lie precisely in its results, -for these, in proportion to the ocean of what is worth knowing, are -but an infinitesimally small drop. But it gives an additional energy, -decisiveness, and toughness of endurance; it teaches how to attain an -_aim suitably._ In so far it is very valuable, with a view to all that -is done later on, to have once been a scientific man. - - -257. - -THE YOUTHFUL CHARM OF SCIENCE.--The search for truth still retains -the charm of being in strong contrast to gray and now tiresome error; -but this charm is gradually disappearing. It is true we still live in -the youthful age of science and are accustomed to follow truth as a -lovely girl; but how will it be when one day she becomes an elderly, -ill-tempered looking woman? In almost all sciences the fundamental -knowledge is either found in earliest times or is still being sought; -what a different attraction this exerts compared to that time when -everything essential has been found and there only remains for the -seeker a scanty gleaning (which sensation may be learnt in several -historical disciplines). - - -258. - -THE STATUE OF HUMANITY.--The genius of culture fares as did Cellini -when his statue of Perseus was being cast; the molten mass threatened -to run short, but it _had_ to suffice, so he flung in his plates and -dishes, and whatever else his hands fell upon. In the same way genius -flings in errors, vices, hopes, ravings, and other things of baser as -well as of nobler metal, for the statue of humanity must emerge and be -finished; what does it matter if commoner material is used here and -there? - - -259. - -A MALE CULTURE.--The Greek culture of the classic age is a male -culture. As far as women are concerned, Pericles expresses everything -in the funeral speech: "They are best when they are as little spoken -of as possible amongst men." The erotic relation of men to youths -was the necessary and sole preparation, to a degree unattainable to -our comprehension, of all manly education (pretty much as for a long -time all higher education of women was only attainable through love -and marriage). All idealism of the strength of the Greek nature threw -itself into that relation, and it is probable that never since have -young men been treated so attentively, so lovingly, so entirely with -a view to their welfare (_virtus_) as in the fifth and sixth centuries -B.C.--according to the beautiful saying of Hölderlin: "_denn liebend -giebt der Sterbliche vom Besten."_[3] The higher the light in which -this relation was regarded, the lower sank intercourse with woman; -nothing else was taken into consideration than the production of -children and lust; there was no intellectual intercourse, not even real -love-making. If it be further remembered that women were even excluded -from contests and spectacles of every description, there only remain -the religious cults as their sole higher occupation. For although in -the tragedies Electra and Antigone were represented, this was only -_tolerated_ in art, but not liked in real life,--just as now we cannot -endure anything pathetic in _life_ but like it in art. The women had no -other mission than to produce beautiful, strong bodies, in which the -father's character lived on as unbrokenly as possible, and therewith -to counteract the increasing nerve-tension of such a highly developed -culture. This kept the Greek culture young for a relatively long time; -for in the Greek mothers the Greek genius always returned to nature. - - -260. - -THE PREJUDICE IN FAVOUR OF GREATNESS.--It is clear that men overvalue -everything great and prominent. This arises from the conscious or -unconscious idea that they deem it very useful when one person throws -all his strength into one thing and makes himself into a monstrous -organ. Assuredly, an _equal_ development of all his powers is more -useful and happier for man; for every talent is a vampire which sucks -blood and strength from other powers, and an exaggerated production can -drive the most gifted almost to madness. Within the circle of the arts, -too, extreme natures excite far too much attention; but a much lower -culture is necessary to be captivated by them. Men submit from habit to -everything that seeks power. - - -261. - -THE TYRANTS OF THE MIND.--It is only where the ray of myth falls that -the life of the Greeks shines; otherwise it is gloomy. The Greek -philosophers are now robbing themselves of this myth; is it not as if -they wished to quit the sunshine for shadow and gloom? Yet no plant -avoids the light; and, as a matter of fact, those philosophers were -only seeking a _brighter_ sun; the myth--was not pure enough, not -shining enough for them. They found this light in their knowledge, -in that which each of them called his "truth." But in those times -knowledge shone with a greater glory; it was still young and knew but -little of all the difficulties and dangers of its path; it could still -hope to reach in one single bound the central point of all being, -and from thence to solve the riddle of the world. These philosophers -had a firm belief in themselves and their "truth," and with it they -overthrew all their neighbours and predecessors; each one was a -warlike, violent _tyrant._ The happiness in believing themselves the -possessors of truth was perhaps never greater in the world, but neither -were the hardness, the arrogance, and the tyranny and evil of such a -belief. They were tyrants, they were that, therefore, which every Greek -wanted to be, and which every one was if he _was able._ Perhaps Solon -alone is an exception; he tells in his poems how he disdained personal -tyranny. But he did it for love of his works, of his law-giving; -and to be a law-giver is a sublimated form of tyranny. Parmenides -also made laws. Pythagoras and Empedocles probably did the same; -Anaximander founded a city. Plato was the incarnate wish to become -the greatest philosophic law-giver and founder of States; he appears -to have suffered terribly over the non-fulfilment of his nature, and -towards his end his soul was filled with the bitterest gall. The more -the Greek philosophers lost in power the more they suffered inwardly -from this bitterness and malice; when the various sects fought for -their truths in the street, then first were the souls of these wooers -of truth completely clogged through envy and spleen; the tyrannical -element then raged like poison within their bodies. These many petty -tyrants would have liked to devour each other; there survived not a -single spark of love and very little joy in their own knowledge. The -saying that tyrants are generally murdered and that their descendants -are short-lived, is true also of the tyrants of the mind. Their history -is short and violent, and their after-effects break off suddenly. It -may be said of almost all great Hellenes that they appear to have come -too late: it was thus with Æschylus, with Pindar, with Demosthenes, -with Thucydides: one generation--and then it is passed for ever. That -is the stormy and dismal element in Greek history. We now, it is true, -admire the gospel of the tortoises. To think historically is almost the -same thing now as if in all ages history had been made according to the -theory "The smallest possible amount in the longest possible time!" Oh! -how quickly Greek history runs on! Since then life has never been so -extravagant--so unbounded. I cannot persuade myself that the history of -the Greeks followed that natural course for which it is so celebrated. -They were much too variously gifted to be _gradual_ the orderly manner -of the tortoise when running a race with Achilles, and that is called -natural development. The Geeks went rapidly forward, but equally -rapidly downwards; the movement of the whole machine is so intensified -that a single stone thrown amid its wheels was sufficient to break it. -Such a stone, for instance, was Socrates; the hitherto so wonderfully -regular, although certainly too rapid, development of the philosophical -science was destroyed in one night. It is no idle question whether -Plato, had he remained free from the Socratic charm, would not have -discovered a still higher type of the philosophic man, which type -is for ever lost to us. We look into the ages before him as into a -sculptor's workshop of such types. The fifth and sixth centuries B.C. -seemed to promise something more and higher even than they produced; -they stopped short at promising and announcing. And yet there is hardly -a greater loss than the loss of a type, of a new, hitherto undiscovered -highest _possibility of the philosophic life:_--Even of the older -type the greater number are badly transmitted; it seems to me that -all philosophers, from Thales to Democritus, are remarkably difficult -to recognise, but whoever succeeds in imitating these figures walks -amongst specimens of the mightiest and purest type. This ability is -certainly rare, it was even absent in those later Greeks, who occupied -themselves with the knowledge of the older philosophy; Aristotle, -especially, hardly seems to have had eyes in his head when he stands -before these great ones. And thus it appears as if these splendid -philosophers had lived in vain, or as if they had only been intended -to prepare the quarrelsome and talkative followers of the Socratic -schools. As I have said, here is a gap, a break in development; some -great misfortune must have happened, and the only statue which might -have revealed the meaning and purpose of that great artistic training -was either broken or unsuccessful; what actually happened has remained -for ever a secret of the workshop. - -That which happened amongst the Greeks--namely, that every great -thinker who believed himself to be in possession of the absolute truth -became a tyrant, so that even the mental history of the Greeks acquired -that violent, hasty and dangerous character shown by their political -history,--this type of event was not therewith exhausted, much that is -similar has happened even in more modern times, although gradually -becoming rarer and now but seldom showing the pure, naïve conscience -of the Greek philosophers. For on the whole, opposition doctrines and -scepticism now speak too powerfully, too loudly. The period of mental -tyranny is past. It is true that in the spheres of higher culture there -must always be a supremacy, but henceforth this supremacy lies in the -hands of the _oligarchs of the mind._ In spite of local and political -separation they form a cohesive society, whose members _recognise and -acknowledge_ each other, whatever public opinion and the verdicts of -review and newspaper writers who influence the masses may circulate in -favour of or against them. Mental superiority, which formerly divided -and embittered, nowadays generally _unites;_ how could the separate -individuals assert themselves and swim through life on their own -course, against all currents, if they did not see others like them -living here and there under similar conditions, and grasped their hands -in the struggle as much against the ochlocratic character of the half -mind and half culture as against the occasional attempts to establish -a tyranny with the help of the masses? Oligarchs are necessary to each -other, they are each other's best joy, they understand their signs, but -each is nevertheless free, he fights and conquers in _his_ place and -perishes rather than submit. - - -262. - -HOMER.--The greatest fact in Greek culture remains this, that Homer -became so early Pan-Hellenic. All mental and human freedom to which -the Greeks attained is traceable to this fact. At the same time -it has actually been fatal to Greek culture, for Homer levelled, -inasmuch as he centralised, and dissolved the more serious instincts -of independence. From time to time there arose from the depths of -Hellenism an opposition to Homer: but he always remained victorious. -All great mental powers have an oppressing effect as well as a -liberating one; but it certainly makes a difference whether it is Homer -or the Bible or Science that tyrannises over mankind. - - -263. - -TALENTS.--In such a highly developed humanity as the present, each -individual naturally has access to many talents. Each has an _inborn -talent,_ but only in a few is that degree of toughness, endurance, and -energy born and trained that he really becomes a talent, _becomes_ what -he _is,_ that is, that he discharges it in works and actions. - - -264. - -THE WITTY PERSON EITHER OVERVALUED OR UNDERVALUED.--Unscientific but -talented people value every mark of intelligence, whether it be on -a true or a false track; above all, they want the person with whom -they have intercourse to entertain them with his wit, to spur them -on, to inflame them, to carry them away in seriousness and play, and -in any case to be a powerful amulet to protect them against boredom. -Scientific natures, on the other hand, know that the gift of possessing -all manner of notions should be strictly controlled by the scientific -spirit: it is not that which shines, deludes and excites, but the often -insignificant truth that is the fruit which he knows how to shake down -from the tree of knowledge. Like Aristotle, he is not permitted to make -any distinction between the "bores" and the "wits," his _dæmon_ leads -him through the desert as well as through tropical vegetation, in order -that he may only take pleasure in the really actual, tangible, true. In -insignificant scholars this produces a general disdain and suspicion of -cleverness, and, on the other hand, clever people frequently have an -aversion to science, as have, for instance, almost all artists. - - -265. - -SENSE IN SCHOOL.--School has no task more important than to teach -strict thought, cautious judgment, and logical conclusions, hence -it must pay no attention to what hinders these operations, such as -religion, for instance. It can count on the fact that human vagueness, -custom, and need will later on unstring the bow of all-too-severe -thought. But so long as its influence lasts it should enforce that -which is the essential and distinguishing point in man: "Sense and -Science, the _very highest_ power of man"--as Goethe judges. The great -natural philosopher, Von Baer, thinks that the superiority of all -Europeans, when compared to Asiatics, lies in the trained capability -of giving reasons for that which they believe, of which the latter are -utterly incapable. Europe went to the school of logical and critical -thought, Asia still fails to know how to distinguish between truth -and fiction, and is not Conscious whether its convictions spring from -individual observation and systematic thought or from imagination. -Sense in the school has made Europe what it is; in the Middle Ages -it was on the road to become once more a part and dependent of -Asia,--forfeiting, therefore, the scientific mind which it owed to the -Greeks. - - -266. - -THE UNDERVALUED EFFECT OF PUBLIC SCHOOL TEACHING.--The value of a -public school is seldom sought in those things which are really learnt -there and are carried away never to be lost, but in those things which -are learnt and which the pupil only acquires against his will, in order -to get rid of them again as soon as possible. Every educated person -acknowledges that the reading of the classics, as now practised, is -monstrous proceeding carried on before you people are ripe enough for -it by teachers who with every word, often by their appearance alone, -throw a mildew on a good author. But therein lies the value, generally -unrecognised, of these teachers who speak _the abstract language of the -higher culture,_ which, though dry and difficult to understand, is yet -a sort of higher gymnastics of the brain; and there is value in the -constant recurrence in their language of ideas, artistic expressions, -methods and allusions which the young people hardly ever hear in the -conversations of their relatives and in the street. Even if the pupils -only _hear,_ their intellect is involuntarily trained to a scientific -mode of regarding things. It is not possible to emerge from this -discipline entirely untouched by its abstract character, and to remain -a simple child of nature. - - -267. - -LEARNING MANY LANGUAGES.--The learning of many languages fills the -memory with words instead of with facts and thoughts, and this is a -vessel which, with every person, can only contain a certain limited -amount of contents. Therefore the learning of many languages is -injurious, inasmuch as it arouses a belief in possessing dexterity and, -as a matter of fact, it lends a kind of delusive importance to social -intercourse. It is also indirectly injurious in that it opposes the -acquirement of solid knowledge and the intention to win the respect of -men in an honest way. Finally, it is the axe which is laid to the root -of a delicate sense of language in our mother-tongue, which thereby -is incurably injured and destroyed. The two nations which produced -the greatest stylists, the Greeks and the French, learned no foreign -languages. But as human intercourse must always grow more cosmopolitan, -and as, for instance, a good merchant in London must now be able to -read and write eight languages, the learning of many tongues has -certainly become a necessary evil; but which, when finally carried to -an extreme, will compel mankind to find a remedy, and in some far-off -future there will be a new language, used at first as a language of -commerce, then as a language of intellectual intercourse generally, -then for all, as surely as some time or other there will be aviation. -Why else should philology have studied the laws of languages for a -whole century, and have estimated the necessary, the valuable, and the -successful portion of each separate language? - - -268. - -THE WAR HISTORY OF THE INDIVIDUAL.--In a single human life that -passes through many styles of culture we find that struggle condense -which would otherwise have been played out between two generations, -between father and son; the closeness of the relationship _sharpens_ -this struggle, because each party ruthlessly drags in the familiar -inward nature of the other party; and thus this struggle in the single -individual becomes most _embittered \_ here every new phase disregards -the earlier ones with cruel injustice and misunderstanding of their -means and aims. - - -269. - -A QUARTER OF AN HOUR EARLIER.--A mark is found occasionally whose views -are beyond his time, but only to such an extent that he anticipates the -common views of the next decade. He possesses public opinion before it -is public; that is, he has fallen into the arms of a view that deserves -to be trivial a quarter of an hour sooner than other people. But his -fame is usually far noisier than the fame of those who are really great -and prominent. - - -270. - -THE ART OF READING.--Every strong tendency is one-sided; it approaches -the aim of the straight line and, like this, is exclusive, that is, -it does not touch many other aims, as do weak parties and natures -in their wave-like rolling to-and-fro; it must also be forgiven to -philologists that they are one-sided. The restoration and keeping pure -of texts, besides their explanation, carried on in common for hundreds -of years, has finally enabled the right methods to be found; the whole -of the Middle Ages was absolutely incapable of a strictly philological -explanation, that is, of the simple desire to comprehend what an -author says--it _was_ an achievement, finding these methods, let it -not be undervalued! Through this all science first acquired continuity -and steadiness, so that the art of reading rightly, which is called -philology, attained its summit. - - -271. - -THE ART OF REASONING.--The greatest advance that men have made lies -in their acquisition of the art to _reason rightly._ It is not so -very natural, as Schopenhauer supposes when he says, "All are capable -of reasoning but few of judging," it is learnt late and has not yet -attained supremacy. False conclusion are the rule in older ages; and -the mythologies of all peoples, their magic and their superstition, -their religious cult and their law are the inexhaustible sources of -proof of this theory. - - -272. - -PHASES OF INDIVIDUAL CULTURE.--Th strength and weakness of mental -productiveness depend far less on inherited talents than on the -accompanying amount of _elasticity._ Most educated young people of -thirty turn round at this solstice of their lives and are afterwards -disinclined for new mental turnings. Therefore, for the salvation -of a constantly increasing culture, a new generation is immediately -necessary, which will not do very much either, for in order to come up -with the father's culture the son must exhaust almost all the inherited -energy which the father himself possessed at that stage of life when -his son was born; with the little addition he gets further on (for as -here the road is being traversed for the second time progress is--a -little quicker; in order to learn that which the father knew, the son -does not consume quite so much strength). Men of great elasticity, like -Goethe, for instance, get through almost more than four generations in -succession would be capable of; but then they advance too quickly, so -that the rest of mankind only comes up with them in the next century, -and even then perhaps not completely, because the exclusiveness of -culture and the consecutiveness of development have been weakened by -the frequent interruptions. Men catch up more quickly with the ordinary -phases of intellectual culture which has been acquired in the course -of history. Nowadays they begin to acquire culture as religiously -inclined children, and perhaps about their tenth year these sentiments -attain to their highest point, and are then changed into weakened forms -(pantheism), whilst they draw near to science; they entirely pass -by God, immortality, and such-like things, but are overcome by the -witchcraft of a metaphysical philosophy. Eventually they find even this -unworthy of belief; art, on the contrary, seems to vouchsafe more and -more, so that for a time metaphysics is metamorphosed and continues to -exist either as a transition to art or as an artistically transfiguring -temperament. But the scientific sense grows more imperious and conducts -man to natural sciences and history, and particularly to the severest -methods of knowledge, whilst art has always a milder and less exacting -meaning. All this usually happens within the first thirty years of a -man's life. It is the recapitulation of a _pensum,_ for which humanity -had laboured perhaps thirty thousand years. - - -273. - -RETROGRADED, NOT LEFT BEHIND.--Whoever, in the present day, still -derives his development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives -for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics and art, has -assuredly gone back a considerable distance and begins his race with -other modern men under unfavourable conditions; he apparently loses -time and space. But because he stays in those domains where ardour and -energy are liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic stream -out of an inexhaustible source, he goes forward all the more quickly as -soon as he has freed himself at the right moment from those dominators; -his feet are winged, his breast has learned quieter, longer, and more -enduring breathing. He has only retreated in order to have sufficient -room to leap; thus something terrible and threatening may lie in this -retrograde movement. - - -274. - -A PORTION OF OUR EGO AS AN ARTISTIC OBJECT.--It is a sign of -superior culture consciously to retain and present a true picture of -certain phases of development which commoner men live through almost -thoughtlessly and then efface from the tablets of their souls: this is -a higher species of the painter's art which only the few understand. -For this it is necessary to isolate those phases artificially. -Historical studies form the qualification for this painting, for they -constantly incite us in regard to a portion of history, a people, -or a human life, to imagine for ourselves a quite distinct horizon -of thoughts, a certain strength of feelings, the prominence of this -or the obscurity of that. Herein consists the historic sense, that -out of given instances we can quickly reconstruct such systems of -thoughts and feelings, just as we can mentally reconstruct a temple -out of a few pillars and remains of walls accidentally left standing. -The next result is that we understand our fellow-men as belonging to -distinct systems and representatives of different cultures--that is, as -necessary, but as changeable; and, again, that we can separate portions -of our own development and put them down independently. - - -275. - -CYNICS AND EPICUREANS.--The cynic recognises the connection between -the multiplied and stronger pains of the more highly cultivated man -and the abundance of requirements; he comprehends, therefore, that -the multitude of opinions about what is beautiful, suitable, seemly -and pleasing, must also produce very rich sources of enjoyment, but -also of displeasure. In accordance with this view he educates himself -backwards, by giving up many of these opinions and withdrawing from -certain demands of culture; he thereby gains a feeling of freedom -and strength; and gradually, when habit has made his manner of life -endurable, his sensations of displeasure are, as a matter of fact, -rarer and weaker than those of cultivated people, and approach those of -the domestic animal; moreover, he experiences everything with the charm -of contrast, and--he can also scold to his heart's content; so that -thereby he again rises high above the sensation-range of the animal. -The Epicurean has the same point of view as the cynic; there is usually -only a difference of temperament between them. Then the Epicurean makes -use of his higher culture to render himself independent of prevailing -opinions, he raises himself above them, whilst the cynic only remains -negative. He walks, as it were, in wind-protected, well-sheltered, -half-dark paths, whilst over him, in the wind, the tops of the trees -rustle and show him how violently agitated is the world out there. The -cynic, on the contrary, goes, as it were, naked into the rushing of the -wind and hardens himself to the point of insensibility. - - -276. - -MICROCOSM AND MACROCOSM OF CULTURE.--The best discoveries about -culture man makes within himself when he finds two heterogeneous powers -ruling therein. Supposing some one were living as much in love for -the plastic arts or for music as he was carried away by the spirit of -science, and that he were to regard it as impossible for him to end -this contradiction by the destruction of one and complete liberation of -the other power, there would therefore remain nothing for him to do -but to erect around himself such a large edifice of culture that those -two powers might both dwell within it, although at different ends, -whilst between them there dwelt reconciling, intermediary powers, with -predominant strength to quell, in case of need, the rising conflict. -But such an edifice of culture in the single individual will bear a -great resemblance to the culture of entire periods, and will afford -consecutive analogical teaching concerning it. For wherever the great -architecture of culture manifested itself it was its mission to compel -opposing powers to agree, by means of an overwhelming accumulation of -other less unbearable powers, without thereby oppressing and fettering -them. - - -277. - -HAPPINESS AND CULTURE.--We are moved at the sight of our childhood's -surroundings,--the arbour, the church with its graves, the pond and -the wood,--all this we see again with pain. We are seized with pity -for ourselves; for what have we not passed through since then! And -everything here is so silent, so eternal, only we are so changed, so -moved; we even find a few human beings, on whom Time has sharpened his -teeth no more than on an oak tree,--peasants, fishermen, woodmen--they -are unchanged. Emotion and self-pity at the sight of lower culture is -the sign of higher culture; from which the conclusion may be drawn that -happiness has certainly not been increased by it. Whoever wishes to -reap happiness and comfort in life should always avoid higher culture. - - -278. - -THE SIMILE OF THE DANCE.--It must now be regarded as a decisive sign of -great culture if some one possesses sufficient strength and flexibility -to be as pure and strict in discernment as, in other moments, to be -capable of giving poetry, religion, and metaphysics a hundred paces' -start and then feeling their force and beauty. Such a position amid -two such different demands is very difficult, for science urges the -absolute supremacy of its methods, and if this insistence is not -yielded to, there arises the other danger of a weak wavering between -different impulses. Meanwhile, to cast a glance, in simile at least, on -a solution of this difficulty, it may be remembered that _dancing_ is -not the same as a dull reeling to and fro between different impulses. -High culture will resemble a bold dance,--wherefore, as has been said, -there is need of much strength and suppleness. - - -279. - -OF THE RELIEVING OF LIFE.--A primary way of lightening life is the -idealisation of all its occurrences; and with the help of painting we -should make it quite clear to ourselves what idealising means. The -painter requires that the spectator should not observe too closely or -too sharply, he forces him back to a certain distance from whence -to make his observations; he is obliged to take for granted a fixed -distance of the spectator from the picture,--he must even suppose an -equally certain amount of sharpness of eye in his spectator; in such -things he must on no account waver. Every one, therefore, who desires -to idealise his life must not look at it too closely, and must always -keep his gaze at a certain distance. This was a trick that Goethe, for -instance, understood. - - -280. - -AGGRAVATION AS RELIEF, AND _VICE VERSA._--Much that makes life more -difficult in certain grades of mankind serves to lighten it in a -higher grade, because such people have become familiar with greater -aggravations of life. The contrary also happens; for instance, religion -has a double face, according to whether a man looks up to it to relieve -him of his burden and need, or looks down upon it as-upon fetters laid -on him to prevent him from soaring too high into the air. - - -281. - -THE HIGHER CULTURE IS NECESSARILY MISUNDERSTOOD.--He who has strung his -instrument with only two strings, like the scholars who, besides the -_instinct of knowledge_ possess only an acquired _religious_ instinct, -does not understand people who can play upon more strings. It lies -in the nature of the higher, _many-stringed_ culture that it should -always be falsely interpreted by the lower; an example of this is when -art appears as a disguised form of the religious. People who are only -religious understand even science as a searching after the religious -sentiment, just as deaf mutes do not know what music is, unless it be -visible movement. - - -282. - -LAMENTATION.--It is, perhaps, the advantages of our epoch that bring -with them a backward movement and an occasional undervaluing of the -_vita contemplativa._ But it must be acknowledged that our time is -poor in the matter of great moralists, that Pascal, Epictetus, Seneca, -and Plutarch are now but little read, that work and industry--formerly -in the following of the great goddess Health--sometimes appear to -rage like a disease. Because time to think and tranquillity in -thought are lacking, we no longer ponder over different views, but -content ourselves with hating them. With the enormous acceleration of -life, mind and eye grow accustomed to a partial and false sight and -judgment, and all people are like travellers whose only acquaintance -with countries and nations is derived from the railway. An independent -and cautious attitude of knowledge is looked upon almost as a kind of -madness; the free spirit is brought into disrepute, chiefly through -scholars, who miss their thoroughness and ant-like industry in his -art of regarding things and would gladly banish him into one single -corner of science, while it has the different and higher mission of -commanding the battalion rear-guard of scientific and learned men from -an isolated position, and showing them the ways and aims of culture. A -song of lamentation such as that which has just been sung will probably -have its own period, and will cease of its own accord on a forcible -return of the genius of meditation. - - -283. - -THE CHIEF DEFICIENCY OF ACTIVE PEOPLE.--Active people are usually -deficient in the higher activity, I mean individual activity. They are -active as officials, merchants, scholars, that is as a species, but not -as quite distinct separate and _single_ individuals; in this respect -they are idle. It is the misfortune of the active that their activity -is almost always a little senseless. For instance, we must not ask the -money-making banker the reason of his restless activity, it is foolish. -The active roll as the stone rolls, according to the stupidity of -mechanics. All mankind is divided, as it was at all times and is still, -into slaves and freemen; for whoever has not two-thirds of his day -for himself is a slave, be he otherwise whatever he likes, statesman, -merchant, official, or scholar. - - -284. - -IN FAVOUR OF THE IDLE.--As a sign that the value of a contemplative -life has decreased, scholars now vie with active people in a sort of -hurried enjoyment, so that they appear to value this mode of enjoying -more than that which really pertains to them, and which, as a matter -of fact, is a far greater enjoyment. Scholars are ashamed of _otium._ -But there is one noble thing about idleness and idlers. If idleness -is really the _beginning_ of all vice, it finds itself, therefore, at -least in near neighbourhood of all the virtues; the idle man is still -a better man than the active. You do not suppose that in speaking of -idleness and idlers I am alluding to you, you sluggards? - - -285. - -MODERN UNREST.--Modern restlessness increases towards the west, so -that Americans look upon the inhabitants of Europe as altogether -peace-loving and enjoying beings, whilst in reality they swarm about -like wasps and bees. This restlessness is so great that the higher -culture cannot mature its fruits, it is as if the seasons followed each -other too quickly. For lack of rest our civilisation is turning into -a new barbarism. At no period have the active, that is, the restless, -been of _more_ importance. One of the necessary corrections, therefore, -which must be undertaken in the character of humanity is to strengthen -the contemplative element on a large scale. But every individual who -is quiet and steady in heart and head already has the right to believe -that he possesses not only a good temperament, but also a generally -useful virtue, and even fulfils a higher mission by the preservation of -this virtue. - - -286. - -To WHAT EXTENT THE ACTIVE MAN IS LAZY.--I believe that every one must -have his own opinion about everything concerning which opinions are -possible, because he himself is a peculiar, unique thing, which assumes -towards all other things a new and never hitherto existing attitude. -But idleness, which lies at the bottom of the active man's soul, -prevents him from drawing water out of his own well. Freedom of opinion -is like health; both are individual, and no good general conception can -be set up of either of them. That which is necessary for the health of -one individual is the cause of disease in another, and many means and -ways to the freedom of the spirit are for more highly developed natures -the ways and means to confinement. - - -287. - -_CENSOR VITÆ_--Alternations of love and hatred for a long period -distinguish the inward condition of a man who desires to be free in his -judgment of life; he does not forget, and bears everything a grudge, -for good and evil. At last, when the whole tablet of his soul is -written full of experiences, he will not hate and despise existence, -neither will he love it, but will regard it sometimes with a joyful, -sometimes with a sorrowful eye, and, like nature, will be now in a -summer and now in an autumn mood. - - -288. - -THE SECONDARY RESULT.--Whoever earnestly desires to be free will -therewith and without any compulsion lose all inclination for faults -and vices; he will also be more rarely overcome by anger and vexation. -His will desires nothing more urgently than to discern, and the means -to do this,--that is, the permanent condition in which he is best able -to discern. - - -289. - -THE VALUE OF DISEASE.--The man who is bed-ridden often perceives that -he is usually ill of his position, business, or society, and through -them has lost all self-possession. He gains this piece of knowledge -from the idleness to which his illness condemns him. - - -290. - -SENSITIVENESS IN THE COUNTRY.--If there are no firm, quiet lines on -the horizon of his life, a species of mountain and forest line, man's -inmost will itself becomes restless, inattentive, and covetous, as is -the nature of a dweller in towns; he has no happiness and confers no -happiness. - - -291. - -PRUDENCE OF THE FREE SPIRITS.--Free-thinkers, those who live by -knowledge alone, will soon attain the supreme aim of their life and -their ultimate position towards society and State, and will gladly -content themselves, for instance, with a small post or an income that -is just sufficient to enable them to live; for they will arrange to -live in such a manner that a great change of outward prosperity, even -an overthrow of the political order, would not cause an overthrow -of their life. To all these things they devote as little energy as -possible in order that with their whole accumulated strength, and with -a long breath, they may dive into the element of knowledge. Thus they -can hope to dive deep and be able to see the bottom. Such a spirit -seizes only the point of an event, he does not care for things in the -whole breadth and prolixity of their folds, for he does not wish to -entangle himself in them. He, too, knows the weekdays of restraint, of -dependence and servitude. But from time to time there must dawn for -him a Sunday of liberty, otherwise he could not endure life. It is -probable that even his love for humanity will be prudent and somewhat -short-winded, for he desires to meddle with the world of inclinations -and of blindness only as far as is necessary for the purpose of -knowledge. He must trust that the genius of justice will say something -for its disciple and protege if accusing voices were to call him poor -in love. In his mode of life and thought there is a _refined heroism,_ -which scorns to offer itself to the great mob-reverence, as its -coarser brother does, and passes quietly through and out of the world. -Whatever labyrinths it traverses, beneath whatever rocks its stream has -occasionally worked its way--when it reaches the light it goes clearly, -easily, and almost noiselessly on its way, and lets the sunshine strike -down to its very bottom. - - -292. - -FORWARD.--And thus forward upon the path of wisdom, with a firm step -and good confidence! However you may be situated, serve yourself as a -source of experience! Throw off the displeasure at your nature, forgive -yourself your own individuality, for in any case you have in yourself -a ladder with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to knowledge. -The age into which with grief you feel yourself thrown thinks you happy -because of this good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall still -have experiences which men of later ages will perhaps be obliged to -forego. Do not despise the fact of having been religious; consider -fully how you have had a genuine access to art. Can you not, with the -help of these experiences, follow immense stretches of former humanity -with a clearer understanding? Is not that ground which sometimes -displeases you so greatly, that ground of clouded thought, precisely -the one upon which have grown many of the most glorious fruits of older -civilisations? You must have loved religion and art as you loved mother -and nurse,--otherwise you cannot be wise. But you must be able to see -beyond them, to outgrow them; if you, remain under their ban you do -not understand them. You must also be familiar with history and that -cautious play with the balances: "On the one hand--on the other hand." -Go back, treading in the footsteps made by mankind in its great and -painful journey through the desert of the past, and you will learn most -surely whither it is that all later humanity never can or may go again. -And inasmuch as you wish with all your strength to see in advance how -the knots of the future are tied, your own life acquires the value of -an instrument and means of knowledge. It is within your power to see -that all you have experienced, trials, errors, faults, deceptions, -passions, your love and your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim. -This aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-links yourself, -and from this necessity to draw a conclusion as to the necessity in -the progress of general culture. When your sight has become strong -enough to see to the bottom of the dark well of your nature and your -knowledge, it is possible that in its mirror you may also behold the -far-away visions of future civilisations. Do you think that such a life -with such an aim is too wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable? -Then you have still to learn that no honey is sweeter than that of -knowledge, and that the overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as -an udder from which you shall draw milk for your refreshment. And only -when old age approaches will you rightly perceive how you listened to -the voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole world through -pleasure; the same life which has its zenith in age has also its zenith -in wisdom, in that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyfulness; you -meet them both, old age and wisdom, upon one ridge of life,--it was -thus intended by Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger, that -the mists of death approach. Towards the light is your last movement; a -joyful cry of knowledge is your last sound. - - -[Footnote 1: This may remind one of Gobineau's more jocular saying: -"_Nous ne descendons pas du singe, mais nous y allons._"--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: This refers to his essay, "Schopenhauer as Educator," in -_Thoughts Out of Season,_ vol. ii. of the English edition.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 3: For it is when loving that mortal man gives of his -best.--J.M.K.] - - - - -SIXTH DIVISION. - - -MAN IN SOCIETY. - - - -293. - -WELL-MEANT DISSIMULATION.--In intercourse with men a well-meant -dissimulation is often necessary, as if we did not see through the -motives of their actions. - - -294. - -COPIES.--We not unfrequently meet with copies of prominent persons; and -as in the case of pictures, so also here, the copies please more than -the originals. - - -295. - -THE PUBLIC SPEAKER.--One may speak with the greatest appropriateness, -and yet so that everybody cries out to the contrary,--that is to say, -when one does not speak to everybody. - - -296. - -WANT OF CONFIDENCE.--Want of confidence among friends is a fault that -cannot be censured without becoming incurable. - - -297. - -THE ART OF GIVING.--To have to refuse a gift, merely because it has not -been offered in the right way, provokes animosity against the giver. - - -298. - -THE MOST DANGEROUS PARTISAN.--In every party there is one who, by his -far too dogmatic expression of the party-principles, excites defection -among the others. - - -299. - -ADVISERS OF THE SICK.--Whoever gives advice to a sick person acquires -a feeling of superiority over him, whether the advice be accepted or -rejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick persons hate advisers more -than their sickness. - - -300. - -DOUBLE NATURE OF EQUALITY.--The rage for equality may so manifest -itself that we seek either to draw all others down to ourselves (by -belittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or ourselves and all others -upwards (by recognition, assistance, and congratulation). - - -301. - -AGAINST EMBARRASSMENT.--The best way to relieve and calm very -embarrassed people is to give them decided praise. - - -302. - -PREFERENCE FOR CERTAIN VIRTUES.--We set no special value on the -possession of a virtue until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in -our adversary. - - -303. - -WHY WE CONTRADICT.--We often contradict an opinion when it is really -only the tone in which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us. - - -304. - -CONFIDENCE AND INTIMACY.--Whoever proposes to command the intimacy of -a person is usually uncertain of possessing his confidence. Whoever is -sure of a person's confidence attaches little value to intimacy with -him. - - -305. - -THE EQUILIBRIUM OF FRIENDSHIP.--The right equilibrium of friendship -in our relation to other men is sometimes restored when we put a few -grains of wrong on our own side of the scales. - - -306. - -THE MOST DANGEROUS PHYSICIANS.--The most dangerous physicians are those -who, like born actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect art -of imposture. - - -307. - -WHEN PARADOXES ARE PERMISSIBLE.--In order to interest clever persons in -a theory, it is sometimes only necessary to put it before them in the -form of a prodigious paradox. - - -308. - -HOW COURAGEOUS PEOPLE ARE WON OVER.--Courageous people are persuaded to -a course of action by representing it as more dangerous than it really -is. - - -309. - -COURTESIES.--We regard the courtesies show us by unpopular persons as -offences. - - -310. - -KEEPING PEOPLE WAITING.--A sure way of exasperating people and of -putting bad thoughts into their heads is to keep them waiting long. -That makes them immoral. - - -311. - -AGAINST THE CONFIDENTIAL.--Persons who give us their full confidence -think they hay thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake people -acquire no rights through gifts. - - -312. - -A MODE OF SETTLEMENT.--It often suffices to give a person whom we have -injured an opportunity to make a joke about us to give him personal -satisfaction, and even to make him favourably disposed to us. - - -313. - -THE VANITY OF THE TONGUE.--Whether man conceals his bad qualities -and vices, or frankly acknowledges them, his vanity in either case -seeks its advantage thereby,--only let it be observed how nicely he -distinguishes those from whom he conceals such qualities from those -with whom he is frank and honest. - - -314. - -CONSIDERATE.--To have no wish to offend or injure any one may as well -be the sign of a just as of a timid nature. - - -315. - -REQUISITE FOR DISPUTATION.--He who cannot put his thoughts on ice -should not enter into the heat of dispute. - - -316. - -INTERCOURSE AND PRETENSION.--We forget our pretensions when we are -always conscious of being amongst meritorious people; being alone -implants presumption in us. The young are pretentious, for they -associate with their equals, who are all ciphers but would fain have a -great significance. - - -317. - -MOTIVES OF AN ATTACK.--One does not attack a person merely to hurt -and conquer him, but perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own -strength. - - -318. - -FLATTERY.--Persons who try by means of flattery to put us off our -guard in intercourse with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like a -sleeping-draught, which, when it does not send the patient to sleep, -keeps him all the wider awake. - - -319. - -A GOOD LETTER-WRITER.--A person who does not write books, thinks much, -and lives in unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-writer. - - -320. - -THE UGLIEST OF ALL.--It may be doubted whether a person who has -travelled much has found anywhere in the world uglier places than those -to be met with in the human face. - - -321. - -THE SYMPATHETIC ONES.--Sympathetic natures, ever ready to help in -misfortune, are seldom those that participate in joy; in the happiness -of others they have nothing to occupy them, they are superfluous, they -do not feel themselves in possession of their superiority, and hence -readily show their displeasure. - - -322. - -THE RELATIVES OF A SUICIDE.--The relatives of a suicide take it in -ill part that he did not remain alive out of consideration for their -reputation. - - -323. - -INGRATITUDE FORESEEN.--He who makes a large gift gets no gratitude; for -the recipient is already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift. - - -324. - -IN DULL SOCIETY.--Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts -himself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show -one's wit. - - -325. - -THE PRESENCE OF WITNESSES.--We are doubly willing to jump into the -water after some one who has fallen in, if there are people present who -have not the courage to do so. - - -326. - -BEING SILENT.--For both parties in a controversy, the most disagreeable -way of retaliating is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor usually -regards the silence as a sign of contempt. - - -327. - -FRIENDS' SECRETS.--Few people will not expose the private affairs of -their friends when at a loss for a subject of conversation. - - -328. - -HUMANITY.--The humanity of intellectual celebrities consists in -courteously submitting to unfairness in intercourse with those who are -I not celebrated. - - -329. - -THE EMBARRASSED.--People who do not feel sure of themselves in society -seize every opportunity of publicly showing their superiority to close -friends, for instance by teasing them. - - -330. - -THANKS.--A refined nature is vexed by knowing that some one owes it -thanks, a coarse nature by knowing that it owes thanks to some one. - - -331. - -A SIGN OF ESTRANGEMENT.--The surest sign of the estrangement of the -opinions of two persons is when they both say something ironical to -each other and neither of them feels the irony. - - -332. - -PRESUMPTION IN CONNECTION WITH MERIT.--Presumption in connection with -merit offends us even more than presumption in persons devoid of merit, -for merit in itself offends us. - - -333. - -DANGER IN THE VOICE.--In conversation we are sometimes confused by the -tone of our own voice, and misled to make assertions that do not at all -correspond to our opinions. - - -334. - -IN CONVERSATION.--Whether in conversation with others we mostly agree -or mostly disagree with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in -both cases. - - -335. - -FEAR OF OUR NEIGHBOUR.--We are afraid of the animosity of our -neighbour, because we are apprehensive that he may thereby discover our -secrets. - - -336. - -DISTINGUISHING BY BLAMING.--Highly respected persons distribute even -their blame in such fashion that they try to distinguish us therewith. -It is intended to remind us of their serious interest in us. We -misunderstand them entirely when we take their blame literally and -protest against it; we thereby offend them and estrange ourselves from -them. - - -337. - -INDIGNATION AT THE GOODWILL OF OTHERS.--We are mistaken as to the -extent to which we think we are hated or feared; because,' though we -ourselves know very well the extent of our divergence from a person, -tendency, or party, those others know us only superficially, and can, -therefore, only hate us superficially. We often meet with goodwill -which is inexplicable to us; but when we comprehend it, it shocks us, -because it shows that we are not considered with sufficient Seriousness -or importance. - - -338. - -THWARTING VANITIES.--When two persons meet whose vanity is equally -great, they have afterwards a bad impression of each other because -each has been so occupied with the impression he wished to produce on -the other that the other has made no impression upon him; at last it -becomes clear to them both that their efforts have been in vain, and -each puts the blame on the other. - - -339. - -IMPROPER BEHAVIOUR AS A GOOD SIGN.--A superior mind takes pleasure in -the tactlessness, pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious -youths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses which have not yet -carried a rider, but, in a short time, will be so proud to carry one. - - -340. - -WHEN IT IS ADVISABLE TO SUFFER WRONG.--It is well to put up with -accusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the -accuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted -and perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person -may always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may -eventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most -intolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual -may also take place in whole classes of society. - - -341. - -Too LITTLE HONOURED.--Very conceited persons, who have received -less consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to -deceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle -psychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured. -Should they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn, -they give way to all the greater fury. - - -342. - -PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS RE--ECHOING IN SPEECH.--By the manner in which -people make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo -of the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything -else; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using -their arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords, -and with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women, -on the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat -at the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children. - - -343. - -THE NARRATOR.--He who gives an account of something readily betrays -whether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes -to excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will -exaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not -usually tell his story so well, because he does not think so much -about his subject as about himself. - - -344. - -THE RECITER.--He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his -own character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and -scenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while -in ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit -pathos or scurrility. - - -345. - -A COMEDY SCENE IN REAL LIFE.--Some one conceives an ingenious idea on -a theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should -hear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the -company at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously -pushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way, -finding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost -breathless--and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of -his mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion? - - -346. - -UNINTENTIONALLY DISCOURTEOUS.--When a person treats another with -unintentional discourtesy,--for instance, not greeting him because not -recognising him,--he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his -own sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced in -the other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is -pained by the thought of having injured him,--vanity, fear, or pity may -therefore be aroused; perhaps all three together. - - -347. - -A MASTERPIECE OF TREACHERY.--To express a tantalising distrust of a -fellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very -moment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece -of wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels -him for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real -traitor has thus acquired a free hand. - - -348. - -To INJURE AND TO BE INJURED.--It is far pleasanter to injure -and afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant -forgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and -afterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he -does not wish to be considered inhuman, _must_ forgive; his enjoyment -of the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this -constraint. - - -349. - -IN A DISPUTE.--When we contradict another's opinion and at the same -time develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion -usually disturbs the natural attitude of our own which appears more -intentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated. - - -350. - -AN ARTIFICE.--He who wants to get another to do something difficult -must on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth -his plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye -betrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off -quickly, and allow him no time to put in a word. - - -351. - -PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE AFTER SOCIAL GATHERINGS.--Why does our conscience -prick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated -serious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not -spoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken, -because, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,--in short, -because we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it. - - -352. - -WE ARE MISJUDGED.--He who always listens to hear how he is judged is -always vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us -("who know us best"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour -in a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us -rightly? The judgments of the indifferent wound us deeply, because -they sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some -one hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know -ourselves, how great is then our vexation! - - -353. - -THE TYRANNY OF THE PORTRAIT.--Artists and statesmen, who out of -particular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an -event, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should -afterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway -that a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in -their representation of him. - - -354. - -RELATIVES AS THE BEST FRIENDS.--The Greeks, who knew so well what a -friend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely -philosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly -(and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised -as worthy of solution,--these same Greeks have designated _relatives_ -by an expression which is the superlative of the word "friend." This is -inexplicable to me. - - -355. - -MISUNDERSTOOD HONESTY.--When any one quotes himself in conversation -("I then said," "I am accustomed to say"), it gives the impression of -presumption; whereas it often proceeds from quite an opposite source; -or at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the -present moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment. - - -356. - -THE PARASITE.--It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a -person prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually -with a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be -obliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than -in men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons). - - -357. - -ON THE ALTAR OF RECONCILIATION.--There are circumstances under which -one can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming -hostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he -gladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a -reconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was -formerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any -price. - - -358. - -PRESUMPTION IN DEMANDING PITY.--There are people who, when they have -been in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall -all be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied -because they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human -presumption extend. - - -359. - -BAIT.--"Every man has his price"--that is not true. But perhaps -every one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will -snap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only -necessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble, -charitable, and self-denying--and to what cause could this glamour not -be given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of _their_ soul; others have -different ones. - - -360. - -THE ATTITUDE IN PRAISING.--When good friends praise a gifted person he -often appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill, -but in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved -towards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun -or shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it -would grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person. - - -361. - -THE EXPERIENCE OF SOCRATES.--If one has become a master in one thing, -one has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most -other things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already -experienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association -with masters disagreeable. - - -362. - -A MEANS OF DEFENCE.--In warring against stupidity, the most just and -gentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking -the proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for -a stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said, -their character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of -protection than they injure their opponents by it. - - -363. - -CURIOSITY.--If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for -the good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the -unfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps -there is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal -love. - - -364. - -DISAPPOINTMENT IN SOCIETY.--One man wishes to be interesting for -his opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his -acquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness--and they all meet -with disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks -himself the only play that is to be taken into account. - - -365. - -THE DUEL.--It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour -that if a man has such susceptible feelings that he does not care to -live when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a -right to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With -regard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be -remonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its -greatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness -ever existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood -stand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular -duel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would -be in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious -in their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible. - - -366. - -NOBLENESS AND GRATITUDE.--A noble soul will be pleased to owe -gratitude, and will not anxiously avoid opportunities of coming under -obligation; it will also be moderate afterwards in the expression of -its gratitude: baser souls, on the other hand, are unwilling to be -under any obligation, or are afterwards immoderate in their expressions -of thanks and altogether too devoted. The latter is, moreover, also the -case with persons of mean origin or depressed circumstances; to show -_them_ a favour seems to them a miracle of grace. - - -367. - -OCCASIONS OF ELOQUENCE.--In order to talk well one man needs a person -who is decidedly and avowedly his superior to talk to, while another -can only find absolute freedom of speech and happy turns of eloquence -before one who is his inferior. In both cases the cause is the same; -each of them talks well only when he talks _sans gêne_--the one because -in the presence of something higher he does not feel the impulse of -rivalry and competition, the other because he also lacks the same -impulse in the presence of something lower. Now there is quite another -type of men, who talk well only when debating, with the intention of -conquering. Which of the two types is the more aspiring: the one that -talks well from excited ambition, or the one that talks badly or not at -all from precisely the same motive? - - -368. - -THE TALENT FOR FRIENDSHIP.--Two types are distinguished amongst -people who have a special faculty for friendship. The one is ever -on the ascent, and for every phase of his development he finds a -friend exactly suited to him. The series of friends which he thus -acquires is seldom a consistent one, and is sometimes at variance -and in contradiction, entirely in accordance with the fact that the -later phases of his development neutralise or prejudice the earlier -phases. Such a man may jestingly be called a _ladder._ The other type -is represented by him who exercises an attractive influence on very -different characters and endowments, so that he wins a whole circle of -friends; these, however, are thereby brought voluntarily into friendly -relations with one another in spite of all differences. Such a man -may be called a _circle,_ for this homogeneousness of such different -temperaments and natures must somehow be typified in him. Furthermore, -the faculty for having good friends is greater in many people than the -faculty for being a good friend. - - -369. - -TACTICS IN CONVERSATION.--After a conversation with a person one is -best pleased with him I when one has had an opportunity of exhibiting -one's intelligence and amiability in all its glory. Shrewd people who -wish to impress a person favourably make use of this circumstance, -they provide him with the best opportunities for making a good I -joke, and so on in conversation. An amusing conversation might be -imagined between two very shrewd persons, each wishing to impress the -other favourably, and therefore each throwing to the other the finest -chances in conversation, which neither of them accepted, so that the -conversation on the whole might turn out spiritless and unattractive -because each assigned to the other the opportunity of being witty and -charming. - - -370. - -DISCHARGE OF INDIGNATION.--The man who meets with a failure -attributes this failure rather to the ill-will of another than to -fate. His irritated feelings are alleviated by thinking that a person -and not a thing is the cause of his failure; for he can revenge himself -on persons, but is obliged to swallow down the injuries of fate. -Therefore when anything has miscarried with a prince, those about him -are accustomed to point out some individual as the ostensible cause, -who is sacrificed in the interests of all the courtiers; for otherwise -the prince's indignation would vent itself on them all, as he can take -no revenge on the Goddess of Destiny herself. - - -371. - -ASSUMING THE COLOURS OF THE ENVIRONMENT.--Why are likes and dislikes -so contagious that we can hardly live near a very sensitive person -without being filled, like a hogshead, with his _fors_ and _againsts_? -In the first place, complete forbearance of judgment is very difficult, -and sometimes absolutely intolerable to our vanity; it has the same -appearance as poverty of thought and sentiment, or as timidity and -unmanliness; and so we are, at least, driven on to take a side, perhaps -contrary to our environment, if this attitude gives greater pleasure -to our pride. As a rule, however,--and this is the second point,--we -are not conscious of the transition from indifference to liking or -disliking, but we gradually accustom ourselves to the sentiments of -our environment, and because sympathetic agreement and acquiescence -are so agreeable, we soon wear all the signs and party-colours of our -surroundings. - - -372. - -IRONY.--Irony is only permissible as a pedagogic expedient, on the part -of a teacher when dealing with his pupils; its purpose is to humble -and to shame, but in the wholesome way that causes good resolutions -to spring up and teaches people to show honour and gratitude, as they -would to a doctor, to him who has so treated them. The ironical man -pretends to be ignorant, and does it so well that the pupils conversing -with him are deceived, and in their firm belief in their own superior -knowledge they grow bold and expose all their weak points; they lose -their cautiousness and reveal themselves as they are,--until all of -a sudden the light which they have held up to the teacher's face -casts its rays back very humiliatingly upon themselves. Where such a -relation, as that between teacher and pupil, does not exist, irony is a -rudeness and a vulgar conceit. All ironical writers count on the silly -species of human beings, who like to feel Ithemselves superior to all -others in common with the author himself, whom they look upon as the -?mouthpiece of their arrogance. Moreover, the habit of irony, like that -of sarcasm, spoils the character; lit gradually fosters the quality of -a malicious superiority; one finally grows like a snappy dog, that has -learnt to laugh as well as to bite. - - -373. - -ARROGANCE.--There is nothing one should so guard against as the growth -of the weed called arrogance, which spoils all one's good harvest; -for there is arrogance in cordiality, in showing honour, in kindly -familiarity, in caressing, in friendly counsel, in acknowledgment of -faults, in sympathy for others,--and all these fine things arouse -aversion when the weed in question grows up among them. The arrogant -man--that is to say, he who desires to appear more than he is _or -passes for_--always miscalculates. It is true that he obtains a -momentary success, inasmuch as those with whom he is' arrogant -generally give him the amount of honour that he demands, owing to fear -or for the sake of convenience; but they take a bad revenge for it, -inasmuch as they subtract from the value which they hitherto attached -to him just as much as he demands above that amount. There is nothing -for which men ask to be paid dearer than for humiliation. The arrogant -man can make his really great merit so suspicious and small in the eyes -of others that they tread on it with dusty feet. If at all, we should -only allow ourselves a _proud_ manner where we are quite sure of not -being misunderstood and considered as arrogant; as, for instance, with -friends and wives. For in social intercourse there is no greater folly -than to acquire a reputation for arrogance; it is still worse than not -having learnt to deceive politely. - - -374. - -_TÊTE-À-TÊTE_--Private conversation is the perfect conversation, -because everything the one' person says receives its particular -colouring, its tone, and its accompanying gestures _out of strict -consideration for the other person_ engaged in the conversation, it -therefore corresponds to what takes place in intercourse by letter, -viz., that one and the same person exhibits ten kinds of psychical -expression, according as he writes now to this individual and now to -that one. In duologue there is only a single refraction of thought; -the person conversed with produces it, as the mirror in whom we want -to behold our thoughts anew in their finest form. But how is it when -there are two or three, or even more persons conversing with one? -Conversation then necessarily loses something of its individualising -subtlety, different considerations thwart and neutralise each other; -the style which pleases one does not suit the taste of another. In -intercourse with several individuals a person is therefore to withdraw -within himself and represent facts as they are; but he has also to -remove from the subjects the pulsating ether of humanity which makes -conversation one of the pleasantest things in the world. Listen only -to the tone in which those who mingle with whole groups of men are in -the habit of speaking; it is as if the fundamental base of all speech -were, "It is _myself_; I say this, so make what you will of it!" That -is the reason why clever ladies usually leave a singular, painful, and -forbidding impression on those who have met them in society; it is -the talking to many people, before many people, that robs them of all -intellectual amiability and shows only their conscious dependence on -themselves, their tactics, and their intention of gaining a public -victory in full light; whilst in a private conversation the same ladies -become womanly again, and recover their intellectual grace and charm. - - -375. - -POSTHUMOUS FAME.--There is sense in hoping for recognition in a distant -future only when we take it for granted that mankind will remain -essentially unchanged, and that whatever is great is not for one age -only but will be looked upon as great for all time. But this is an -error. In all their sentiments and judgments concerning what is good -and beautiful mankind have greatly changed; it is mere fantasy to -imagine one's self to be a mile ahead, and that the whole of mankind is -coming _our_ way. Besides, a scholar who is misjudged may at present -reckon with certainty that his discovery will be made by others, and -that, at best, it will be allowed to him later on by some historian -that he also already knew this or that but was not in a position to -secure the recognition of his knowledge. Not to be recognised, is -always interpreted by posterity as lack of power. In short, one should -not so readily speak in favour of haughty solitude. There are, however, -exceptional cases; but it is chiefly our faults, weakness, and follies -that hinder the recognition of our great qualities. - - -376. - -OF FRIENDS.--Just consider with thyself how different are the feelings, -how divided are the opinions of even the nearest acquaintances; how -even the same opinions in thy friend's mind have quite a different -aspect and strength from what they have in thine own; and how manifold -are the occasions which arise for misunderstanding and hostile -severance. After all this thou wilt say to thyself, "How insecure -is the ground upon which all our alliances and friendships rest, -how liable to cold downpours and bad weather, how lonely is every -creature!" When a person recognises this fact, and, in addition, that -all opinions and the nature and strength of them in his fellow-men -are just as necessary and irresponsible as their actions; when his -eye learns to see this internal necessity of opinions, owing to the -indissoluble interweaving of character, occupation, talent, and -environment,--he will perhaps get rid of the bitterness and sharpness -of the feeling with which the sage exclaimed, "Friends, there are no -friends!" Much rather will he make the confession to himself:--Yes, -there are friends, but they were drawn towards thee by error and -deception concerning thy character; and they must have learnt to be -silent in order to remain thy friends; for such human relationships -almost always rest on the fact that some few things are never said, -are never, indeed, alluded to; but if these pebbles are set rolling -friendship follows afterwards and is broken. Are there any who would -not be mortally injured if they were to learn what their most intimate -friends really knew about them? By getting a knowledge of ourselves, -and by looking upon our nature as a changing sphere of opinions and -moods, and thereby learning to despise ourselves a little, we recover -once more our equilibrium with the rest of mankind. It is true that -we have good reason to despise each of our acquaintances, even the -greatest of them; but just as good reason to turn this feeling against -ourselves. And so we will bear with each other, since we bear with -ourselves; and perhaps there will come to each a happier hour, when he -will exclaim: - - "Friends, there are really no friends!" thus cried - th' expiring old sophist; - "Foes, there is really no foe!"--thus shout I, - the incarnate fool. - - - - -SEVENTH DIVISION. - - -WIFE AND CHILD. - - - -377. - -THE PERFECT WOMAN.--The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than -the perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of -animals furnishes grounds in support of this theory. - - -378. - -FRIENDSHIP AND MARRIAGE.--The best friend will probably get the best -wife, because a good marriage is based on talent for friendship. - - -379. - -THE SURVIVAL OF THE PARENTS.--The undissolved dissonances in the -relation of the character and sentiments of the parents survive in the -nature of the child and make up the history of its inner sufferings. - - -380. - -INHERITED FROM THE MOTHER.--Every one bears within him an image of -woman, inherited from his mother: it determines his attitude towards -women as a whole, whether to honour, despise, or remain generally -indifferent to them. - - -381. - -CORRECTING NATURE.--Whoever has not got a good father should procure -one. - - -382. - -FATHERS AND SONS.--Fathers have much to do to make amends for having -sons. - - -383. - -THE ERROR OF GENTLEWOMEN.--Gentle-women think that a thing does not -really exist when it is not possible to talk of it in society. - - -384. - -A MALE DISEASE.--The surest remedy for the male disease of -self-contempt is to be loved by a sensible woman. - - -385. - -A SPECIES OF JEALOUSY.--Mothers are readily jealous of the friends -of sons who are particularly successful. As a rule a mother loves -_herself_ in her son more than the son. - - -386. - -RATIONAL IRRATIONALITY.--In the maturity of life and intelligence the -feeling comes over a man that his father did wrong in begetting him. - - -387. - -MATERNAL EXCELLENCE.--Some mothers need happy and honoured children, -some need unhappy ones,--otherwise they cannot exhibit their maternal -excellence. - - -388. - -DIFFERENT SIGHS.--Some husbands have sighed over the elopement of their -wives, the greater number, however, have sighed because nobody would -elope with theirs. - - -389. - -LOVE MATCHES.--Marriages which are contracted for love (so-called -love-matches) have error for their father and need (necessity) for -their mother. - - -390. - -WOMEN'S FRIENDSHIPS.--Women can enter into friendship with a man -perfectly well; but in order to maintain it the aid of a little -physical antipathy is perhaps required. - - -391. - -ENNUI.--Many people, especially women, never feel ennui because they -have never learnt to work properly. - - -392. - -AN ELEMENT OF LOVE.--In all feminine love something of maternal love -also comes to light. - - -393. - -UNITY OF PLACE AND DRAMA.--If married couples did not live together, -happy marriages would be more frequent. - - -394. - -THE USUAL CONSEQUENCES OF MARRIAGE.--All intercourse which does not -elevate a person, debases him, and _vice versa;_ hence men usually -sink a little when they marry, while women are somewhat elevated. -Over-intellectual men require marriage in proportion as they are -opposed to it as to a repugnant medicine. - - -395. - -LEARNING TO COMMAND.--Children of unpretentious families must be taught -to command, just as much as other children must be taught to obey. - - -396. - -WANTING TO BE IN LOVE.--Betrothed couples who have been matched by -convenience often exert themselves _to fall in love,_ to avoid the -reproach of cold, calculating expediency. In the same manner those who -become converts to Christianity for their advantage exert themselves to -become genuinely pious; because the religious cast of countenance then -becomes easier to them. - - -397. - -No STANDING STILL IN LOVE.--A musician who _loves_ the slow _tempo_ -will play the same pieces ever more slowly. There is thus no standing -still in any love. - - -398. - -MODESTY.--Women's modesty usually increases with their beauty.[1] - - -399. - -MARRIAGE ON A GOOD BASIS.--A marriage in which each wishes to realise -an individual aim by means of the other will stand well; for instance, -when the woman wishes to become famous through the man and the man -beloved through the woman. - - -400. - -PROTEUS-NATURE.--Through love women actually become what they appear to -be in the imagination of their lovers. - - -401. - -To LOVE AND TO POSSESS.--As a rule women love a distinguished man to -the extent that they wish to possess him exclusively. They would gladly -keep him under lock and key, if their vanity did not forbid, but vanity -demands that he should also appear distinguished before others. - - -402. - -THE TEST OF A GOOD MARRIAGE.--The goodness of a marriage is proved by -the fact that it can stand an "exception." - - -403. - -BRINGING ANYONE ROUND TO ANYTHING.--One may make any person so weak and -weary by disquietude, anxiety, and excess of work or thought that he -no longer resists anything that appears complicated, but gives way to -it,--diplomatists and women know this. - - -404. - -PROPRIETY AND HONESTY.--Those girls who mean to trust exclusively to -their youthful charms for their provision in life, and whose cunning -is further prompted by worldly mothers, have just the same aims as -courtesans, only they are wiser and less honest. - - -405. - -MASKS.--There are women who, wherever one examines them, have no -inside, but are mere masks. A man is to be pitied who has connection -with such almost spectre-like and necessarily unsatisfactory creatures, -but it is precisely such women who know how to excite a man's desire -most strongly; he seeks for their soul, and seeks evermore. - - -406. - -MARRIAGE AS A LONG TALK.--In entering on a marriage one should ask -one's self the question, "Do you think you will pass your time well -with this woman till your old age?" All else in marriage is transitory; -talk, however, occupies most of the time of the association. - - -407. - -GIRLISH DREAMS.--Inexperienced girls flatter themselves with the notion -that it is in their power to make a man happy; later on they learn that -it is equivalent to underrating a man to suppose that he needs only a -girl to make him happy. Women's vanity requires a man to be something -more than merely a happy husband. - - -408. - -THE DYING-OUT OF FAUST AND MARGUERITE.--According to the very -intelligent remark of a scholar, the educated men of modern Germany -resemble somewhat a mixture of Mephistopheles and Wagner, but are not -at all like Faust, whom our grandfathers (in their youth at least) -felt agitating within them. To them, therefore,--to continue the -remark,--Marguerites are not suited, for two reasons. And because the -latter are no longer desired they seem to be dying out. - - -409. - -CLASSICAL EDUCATION FOR GIRLS.--For goodness' sake let us not give our -classical education to girls! An education which, out of ingenious, -inquisitive, ardent youths, so frequently makes--copies of their -teacher! - - -410. - -WITHOUT RIVALS.--Women readily perceive in a man whether his soul -has already been taken possession of; they wish to be loved without -rivals, and find fault with the objects of his ambition, his -political tasks, his sciences and arts, if he have a passion for such -things. Unless he be distinguished thereby,--then, in the case of a -love-relationship between them, women look at the same time for an -increase of _their own_ distinction; under such circumstances, they -favour the lover. - - -411. - -THE FEMININE INTELLECT.--The intellect of women manifests itself as -perfect mastery, presence of mind, and utilisation of all advantages. -They transmit it as a fundamental quality to their children, and the -father adds thereto the darker background of the will. His influence -determines as it were the rhythm and harmony with which the new life -is to be performed; but its melody is derived from the mother. For -those who know how to put a thing properly: women have intelligence, -men have character and passion. This does not contradict the fact -that men actually achieve so much more with their intelligence: they -have deeper and more powerful impulses; and it is these which carry -their understanding (in itself something passive) to such an extent. -Women are often silently surprised at the great respect men pay to -their character. When, therefore, in the choice of a partner men seek -specially for a being of deep and strong character, and women for a -being of intelligence, brilliancy, and presence of mind, it is plain -that at bottom men seek for the ideal man, and women for the ideal -woman,--consequently not for the complement but for the completion of -their own excellence. - - -412. - -HESIOD'S OPINION CONFIRMED.--It is a sign of women's wisdom that they -have almost always known how to get themselves supported, like drones -in a bee-hive. Let us just consider what this meant originally, and -why men do not depend upon women for their support. Of a truth it -is because masculine vanity and reverence are greater than feminine -wisdom; for women have known how to secure for themselves by their -subordination the greatest advantage, in fact, the upper hand. Even the -care of children may originally have been used by the wisdom of women -as an excuse for withdrawing themselves as much as possible from work. -And at present they still understand when they are really active (as -house-keepers, for instance) how to make a bewildering fuss about it, -so that the merit of their activity is usually ten times over-estimated -by men. - - -413. - -LOVERS AS SHORT-SIGHTED PEOPLE.--A pair of powerful spectacles has -sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love; and whoever has had -sufficient imagination to represent a face or form twenty years older, -has probably gone through life not much disturbed. - - -414. - -WOMEN IN HATRED.--In a state of hatred women are more dangerous -than men; for one thing, because they are hampered by no regard for -fairness when their hostile feelings have been aroused; but let their -hatred develop unchecked to its utmost consequences; then also, -because they are expert in finding sore spots (which every man and -every party possess), and pouncing upon them: for which purpose their -dagger-pointed intelligence is of good service (whilst men, hesitating -at the sight of wounds, are often generously and conciliatorily -inclined). - - -415. - -LOVE.--The love idolatry which women practise is fundamentally and -originally an intelligent device, inasmuch as they increase their -power by all the idealisings of love and exhibit themselves as so much -the more desirable in the eyes of men. But by being accustomed for -centuries to this exaggerated appreciation of love, it has come to pass -that they have been caught in their own net and have forgotten the -origin of the device. They themselves are now still more deceived than -the men, and on that account also suffer more from the disillusionment -which, almost necessarily, enters into the life of every woman--so far, -at any rate, as she has sufficient imagination and intelligence to be -able to be deceived and undeceived. - - -416. - -THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMEN.--Can women be at all just, when they are -so accustomed to love and to be immediately biased for or against? -For that reason they are also less interested in things and more in -individuals: but when they are interested in things they immediately -become their partisans, and thereby spoil their pure, innocent effect. -Thus there arises a danger, by no means small, in entrusting politics -and certain portions of science to them (history, for instance). For -what is rarer than a woman who really knows what science is? Indeed the -best of them cherish in their breasts a secret scorn for science, as if -they were somehow superior to it. Perhaps all this can be changed in -time; but meanwhile it is so. - - -417. - -THE INSPIRATION IN WOMEN'S JUDGMENTS.--The sudden decisions, for -or against, which women are in the habit of making, the flashing -illumination of personal relations caused by their spasmodic -inclinations and aversions,--in short, the proofs of feminine injustice -have been invested with a lustre by men who are in love, as if all -women had inspirations of wisdom, even without the Delphic cauldron and -the laurel wreaths; and their utterances are interpreted and duly set -forth as Sibylline oracles for long afterwards. When one considers, -however, that for every person and for every cause something can be -said in favour of it but equally also something against it, that -things are not only two-sided, but also three and four-sided, it is -almost difficult to be entirely at fault in such sudden decisions; -indeed, it might be said that the nature of things has been so arranged -that women should always carry their point.[2] - - -418. - -BEING LOVED.--As one of every two persons in love is usually the one -who loves, the other the one who is loved, the belief has arisen that -in every love-affair there is a constant amount of love; and that -the more of it the one person monopolises the less is left for the -other. Exceptionally it happens that the vanity of each of the parties -persuades him or her that it is _he_ or _she_ who must be loved; so -that both of them wish to be loved: from which cause many half funny, -half absurd scenes take place, especially in married life. - - -419. - -CONTRADICTIONS IN FEMININE MINDS.--Owing to the fact that women are -so much more personal than objective, there are tendencies included -in the range of their ideas which are logically in contradiction to -one another; they are accustomed in turn to become enthusiastically -fond just of the representatives of these tendencies and accept their -systems in the lump; but in such wise that a dead place originates -wherever a new personality afterwards gets the ascendancy. It may -happen that the whole philosophy in the mind of an old lady consists of -nothing but such dead places. - - -420. - -WHO SUFFERS THE MORE?--After a personal dissension and quarrel between -a woman and a man the latter party suffers chiefly from the idea of -having wounded the other, whilst the former suffers chiefly from the -idea of not having wounded the other sufficiently; so she subsequently -endeavours by tears, sobs, and discomposed mien, to make his heart -heavier. - - -421. - -AN OPPORTUNITY FOR FEMININE MAGNANIMITY.--If we could disregard the -claims of custom in our thinking we might consider whether nature and -reason do not suggest several marriages for men, one after another: -perhaps that, at the age of twenty-two, he should first marry an -older girl who is mentally and morally his superior, and can be his -leader through all the dangers of the twenties (ambition, hatred, -self-contempt, and passions of all kinds). This woman's affection -would subsequently change entirely into maternal love, and she would -not only submit to it but would encourage the man in the most salutary -manner, if in his thirties he contracted an alliance with quite a young -girl whose education he himself should take in hand. Marriage is a -necessary institution for the twenties; a useful, but not necessary, -institution for the thirties; for later life it is often harmful, and -promotes the mental deterioration of the man. - - -422. - -THE TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD.--Perhaps it not infrequently happens -that noble men with lofty aims have to fight their hardest battle -in childhood; by having perchance to carry out their principles in -opposition to a base-minded father addicted to feigning and falsehood, -or living, like Lord Byron, in constant warfare with a childish and -passionate mother. He who has had such an experience will never be able -to forget all his life who has been his greatest and most dangerous -enemy. - - -423. - -PARENTAL FOLLY.--The grossest mistakes in judging a man are made by -his parents,--this is a fact, but how is it to be explained? Have -the parents too much experience of the child and cannot any longer -arrange this experience into a unity? It has been noticed that it -is only in the earlier period of their sojourn in foreign countries -that travellers rightly grasp the general distinguishing features of -a people; the better they come to know it, they are the less able to -see what is typical and distinguishing in a people. As soon as they -grow short-sighted their eyes cease to be long-sighted. Do parents, -therefore, judge their children falsely because they have never stood -far enough away from them? The following is quite another explanation: -people are no longer accustomed to reflect on what is close at hand and -surrounds them, but just accept it. Perhaps the usual thoughtlessness -of parents is the reason why they judge so wrongly when once they are -compelled to judge their children. - - -424. - -THE FUTURE OF MARRIAGE.--The noble and liberal-minded women who take as -their mission the education and elevation of the female sex, should not -overlook one point of view: Marriage regarded in its highest aspect, -as, the spiritual friendship of two persons of opposite sexes, and -accordingly such as is hoped for in future, contracted for the purpose -of producing and educating a new generation,--such marriage, which -only makes use of the sensual, so to speak, as a rare and occasional -means to a higher purpose, will, it is to be feared, probably need a -natural auxiliary, namely, _concubinage._ For if, on the grounds of -his health, the wife is also to serve for the sole satisfaction of the -man's sexual needs, a wrong perspective, opposed to the aims indicated, -will have most influence in the choice of a wife. The aims referred to: -the production of descendants, will be accidental, and their successful -education highly improbable. A good wife, who has to be friend, helper, -child-bearer, mother, family-head and manager, and has even perhaps -to conduct her own business and affairs separately from those of the -husband, cannot at the same time be a concubine; it would, in general, -be asking too much of her. In the future, therefore, a state of things -might take place the opposite of what existed at Athens in the time -of Pericles; the men, whose wives were then little more to them than -concubines, turned besides to the Aspasias, because they longed for the -charms of a companionship gratifying both to head and heart, such as -the grace and intellectual suppleness of women could alone provide. All -human institutions, just like marriage, allow only a moderate amount of -practical idealising, failing which coarse remedies immediately become -necessary. - - -425. - -THE "STORM AND STRESS" PERIOD of WOMEN.--In the three or four civilised -countries of Europe, it is possible, by several centuries of education, -to make out of women anything we like,--even men, not in a sexual -sense, of course, but in every other. Under such influences they will -acquire all the masculine virtues and forces, at the same time, of -course, they must also have taken all the masculine weaknesses and -vices into the bargain: so much, as has been said, we can I command. -But how shall we endure the intermediate state thereby induced, which -may even last two or three centuries, during which feminine follies -and injustices, woman's original birthday endowment, will still -maintain the ascendancy over all that has been otherwise gained and -acquired? This will be the time when indignation will be the peculiar -masculine passion; indignation, because all arts and sciences have been -overflowed and choked by an unprecedented dilettanteism, philosophy -talked to death by brain-bewildering chatter, politics more fantastic -and partisan than ever, and society in complete disorganisation, -because the conservatrices of ancient customs have become ridiculous -to themselves, and have endeavoured in every way to place themselves -outside the pale of custom. If indeed women had their greatest power in -custom, where will they have to look in order to reacquire a similar -plenitude of power after having renounced custom? - - -426. - -FREE-SPIRIT AND MARRIAGE.--Will free-thinkers live with women? In -general, I think that, like the prophesying birds of old, like the -truth-thinkers and truth-speakers of the present, they must prefer _to -fly alone._ - - -427. - -THE HAPPINESS OF MARRIAGE.--Everything to which we are accustomed draws -an ever-tightening cobweb-net around us; and presently We notice that -the threads have become cords, and that we ourselves sit in the middle -like a spider that has here got itself caught and must feed on its own -blood. Hence the free spirit hates all rules and customs, all that is -permanent and definitive, hence he painfully tears asunder again and -again the net around him, though in consequence thereof he will suffer -from numerous wounds, slight and severe; for he must break off every -thread _from himself,_ from his body and soul. He must learn to love -where he has hitherto hated, and _vice versa._ Indeed, it must not be -a thing impossible for him to sow dragon's teeth in the same field in -which he formerly scattered the abundance of his bounty. From this it -can be inferred whether he is suited for the happiness of marriage. - - -428. - -TOO INTIMATE.--When we live on too intimate terms with a person it -is as if we were again and again handling a good engraving with our -fingers; the time comes when we have soiled and damaged paper in our -hands, and nothing more. A man's soul also gets worn out by constant -handling; at least, it eventually _appears_ so to us--never again do we -see its original design and beauty. We always lose through too familiar -association with women and friends; and sometimes we lose the pearl of -our life thereby. - - -429. - -THE GOLDEN CRADLE.--The free spirit will always feel relieved when he -has finally resolved to shake off the motherly care and guardianship -with which women surround him. What harm will a rough wind, from which -he has been so anxiously protected, do him? Of what consequence is a -genuine disadvantage, loss, misfortune, sickness, illness, fault, or -folly more or less in his life, compared with the bondage of the golden -cradle, the peacock's-feather fan, and the oppressive feeling that he -must, in addition, be grateful because he is waited on and spoiled like -a baby? Hence it is that the milk which is offered him by the motherly -disposition of the women about him can so readily turn into gall. - - -430. - -A VOLUNTARY VICTIM.--There is nothing by, which able women can -so alleviate the lives of their husbands, should these be great -and famous, as by becoming, so to speak, the receptacle for the -general disfavour and occasional ill-humour of the rest of mankind. -Contemporaries are usually accustomed to overlook many mistakes, -follies, and even flagrant injustices in their great men if only they -can find some one to maltreat and kill, as a proper victim for the -relief of their feelings. A wife not infrequently has the ambition to -present herself for this sacrifice, and then the husband may indeed -feel satisfied,--he being enough of an egoist to have such a voluntary -storm, rain, and lightning-conductor beside him. - - -431. - -AGREEABLE ADVERSARIES.--The natural inclination, of women towards -quiet, regular, happily tuned existences and intercourse, the oil-like -and calming effect of their influence upon the sea of life, operates -unconsciously against the heroic inner impulse of the free spirit. -Without knowing it, women act as if they were taking away the stones -from the path of the wandering mineralogist in order that he might not -strike his foot against them--when he has gone out for the very purpose -of striking against them. - - -432. - -THE DISCORD OF TWO CONCORDS.--Woman wants to serve, and finds her -happiness therein; the free spirit does not want to be served, and -therein finds his happiness. - - -433. - -XANTIPPE.--Socrates found a wife such as he required,--but he -would not have sought her had he known her sufficiently well; even -the heroism of his free spirit would not have gone so far. As a -matter of fact, Xantippe forced him more and more into his peculiar -profession, inasmuch as she made house and home doleful and dismal -to him; she taught him to live in the streets and wherever gossiping -and idling went on, and thereby made him the greatest Athenian -street-dialectician, who had, at last, to compare himself to a gad-fly -which a god had set on the neck of the beautiful horse Athens to -prevent it from resting. - - -434. - -BLIND TO THE FUTURE.--Just as mothers have senses and eye only for -those pains of their children that are evident to the senses and eye, -so the wives of men of high aspirations cannot accustom themselves to -see their husbands suffering, starving, or slighted,--although all this -is, perhaps, not only the proof that they have rightly chosen their -attitude in life, but even the guarantee that their great aims _must_ -be achieved some time. Women always intrigue privately against the -higher souls of their husbands; they want to cheat them out of their -future for the sake of a painless and comfortable present. - - -435. - -AUTHORITY AND FREEDOM.--However highly women may honour their husbands, -they honour still more the powers and ideas recognised by society; they -have been accustomed for millennia to go along with their hands folded -on their breasts, and their heads bent before everything dominant, -disapproving of all resistance to public authority. They therefore -unintentionally, and as if from instinct, hang themselves as a drag -on the wheels of free-spirited, independent endeavour, and in certain -circumstances make their husbands highly impatient, especially when the -latter persuade themselves that it is really love which prompts the -action of their wives. To disapprove of women's methods and generously -to honour the motives that prompt them--that is man's nature and often -enough his despair. - - -436. - -_CETERUM CENSEO._--It is laughable when a company of paupers decree the -abolition of the right of inheritance, and it is not less laughable -when childless persons labour for the practical law-giving of a -country: they have not enough ballast in their ship to sail safely -over the ocean of the future. But it seems equally senseless if a man -who has chosen for his mission the widest knowledge and estimation of -universal existence, burdens himself with personal considerations for a -family, with the support, protection, and care of wife and child, and -in front of his telescope hangs that gloomy veil through which hardly a -ray from the distant firmament can penetrate. Thus I, too, agree with -the opinion that in matters of the highest philosophy all married men -are to be suspected. - - -437. - -FINALLY.--There are many kinds of hemlock, and fate generally finds -an opportunity to put a cup of this poison to the lips of the free -spirit,--in order to "punish" him, as every one then says. What do the -women do about him then? They cry and lament, and perhaps disturb the -sunset-calm of the thinker, as they did in the prison at Athens. "Oh -Crito, bid some one take those women away!" said Socrates at last. - - -[Footnote 1: The opposite of this aphorism also holds good.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: It may be remarked that Nietzsche changed his view -on this subject later on, and ascribed more importance to woman's -intuition. Cf. also Disraeli's reference to the "High Priestesses of -predestination."--J.M.K.] - - - - -EIGHTH DIVISION. - - -A GLANCE AT THE STATE. - - - -438. - -ASKING TO BE HEARD.--The demagogic disposition and the intention of -working upon the masses is at present common to all political parties; -on this account they are all obliged to change their principles into -great _al fresco_ follies and thus make a show of them. In this matter -there is no further alteration to be made: indeed, it is superfluous -even to raise a finger against it; for here Voltaire's saying applies: -"_Quand la populace se mêle de raisonner, tout est perdu."_ Since this -has happened we have to accommodate ourselves to the new conditions, -as we have to accommodate ourselves when an earthquake has displaced -the old boundaries and the contour of the land and altered the value -of property. Moreover, when it is once for all a question in the -politics of all parties to make life endurable to the greatest possible -majority, this majority may always decide what they understand by an -endurable life; if they believe their intellect capable of finding the -right means to this end why should we doubt about it? They _want,_ -once for all, to be the architects of their own good or ill fortune; -and if their feeling of free choice and their pride in the five or -six ideas that their brain conceals and brings to light, really makes -life so agreeable to them that they gladly put up with the fatal -consequences of their narrow-mindedness, there is little to object to, -provided that their narrow-mindedness does not go so far as to demand -that _everything_ shall become politics in this sense, that _all_ shall -live and act according to this standard. For, in the first place, it -must be more than ever permissible for some people to keep aloof from -politics and to stand somewhat aside. To this they are also impelled -by the pleasure of free choice, and connected with this there may -even be some little pride in keeping silence when too many, and only -the many, are speaking. Then this small group must be excused if they -do not attach such great importance to the happiness of the majority -(nations or strata of population may be understood thereby), and are -occasionally guilty of an ironical grimace; for their seriousness lies -elsewhere, their conception of happiness is quite different, and their -aim cannot be encompassed by every clumsy hand that has just five -fingers. Finally, there comes from time to time--what is certainly -most difficult to concede to them, but must also be conceded--a moment -when they emerge from their silent solitariness and try once more the -strength of their lungs; they then call to each other like people lost -in a wood, to make themselves known and for mutual encouragement; -whereby, to be sure, much becomes audible that sounds evil to ears for -which it is not intended. Soon, however, silence again prevails in -the wood, such silence that the buzzing, humming, and fluttering of -the countless insects that live in, above, and beneath it, are again -plainly heard. - - -439. - -CULTURE AND CASTE.--A higher culture can only originate where there are -two distinct castes of society: that of the working class, and that of -the leisured class who are capable of true leisure; or, more strongly -expressed, the caste of compulsory labour and the caste of free labour. -The point of view of the division of happiness is not essential when -it is a question of the production of a higher culture; in any case, -however, the leisured caste is more susceptible to suffering and -suffer more, their pleasure in existence is less and their task is -greater. Now supposing there should be quite an interchange between the -two castes, so that on the one hand the duller and less intelligent -families and individuals are lowered from the higher caste into the -lower, and, on the other hand, the freer men of the lower caste obtain -access to the higher, a condition of things would be attained beyond -which one can only perceive the open sea of vague wishes. Thus speaks -to us the vanishing voice of the olden time; but where are there still -ears to hear it? - - -440. - -OF GOOD BLOOD.--That which men and women of good blood possess much -more than others, and which gives them an undoubted right to be -more highly appreciated, are two arts which are always increased by -inheritance: the art of being able to command, and the art of proud -obedience. Now wherever commanding is the business of the day (as in -the great world of commerce and industry), there results something -similar to these families of good blood, only the noble bearing in -obedience is lacking which is an inheritance from feudal conditions and -hardly grows any longer in the climate of our culture. - - -441. - -SUBORDINATION.--The subordination which is so highly valued in military -and official ranks will soon become as incredible to us as the secret -tactics of the Jesuits have already become; and when this subordination -is no longer possible a multitude of astonishing results will no longer -be attained, and the world will be all the poorer. It must disappear, -for its foundation is disappearing, the belief in unconditional -authority, in ultimate truth; even in military ranks physical -compulsion is not sufficient to produce it, but only the inherited -adoration of the princely as of something superhuman. In _freer_ -circumstances people subordinate themselves only on conditions, in -compliance with a mutual contract, consequently with all the provisos -of self-interest. - - -442. - -THE NATIONAL ARMY.--The greatest disadvantage of the national army, -now so much glorified, lies in the squandering of men of the highest -civilisation; it is only by the favourableness of all circumstances -that there are such men at all; how carefully and anxiously should we -deal with them, since long periods are required to create the chance -conditions for the production of such delicately organised brains! But -as the Greeks wallowed in the blood of Greeks, so do Europeans now in -the blood of Europeans: and indeed, taken relatively, it is mostly the -highly cultivated who are sacrificed, those who promise an abundant -and excellent posterity; for such stand in the front of the battle as -commanders, and also expose themselves to most danger, by reason of -their higher ambition. At present, when quite other and higher tasks -are assigned than _patria_ and _honor,_ the rough Roman patriotism is -either something dishonourable or a sign of being behind the times. - - -443. - -HOPE AS PRESUMPTION.--Our social order will slowly melt away, as all -former orders have done, as soon as the suns of new opinions have shone -upon mankind with a new glow. We can only _wish_ this melting away in -the hope thereof, and we are only reasonably entitled to hope when we -believe that we and our equals have more strength in heart and head -than the representatives of the existing state of things. As a rule, -therefore, this hope will be a presumption, an _over-estimation._ - - -444. - -WAR.--Against war it may be said that it makes the victor stupid and -the vanquished revengeful. In favour of war it may be said that it -barbarises in both its above-named results, and thereby makes more -natural; it is the sleep or the winter period of culture; man emerges -from it with greater strength for good and for evil. - - -445. - -IN THE PRINCE'S SERVICE.--To be able to act quite regardlessly it is -best for a statesman to carry out his work not for himself but for a -prince. The eye of the spectator is dazzled by the splendour of this -general disinterestedness, so that it does not see the malignancy and -severity which the work of a statesman brings with it.[1] - - -446. - -A QUESTION OF POWER, NOT OF RIGHT.--As regards Socialism, in the eyes -of those who always consider higher utility, if it is _really_ a -rising against their oppressors of those who for centuries have been -oppressed and downtrodden, there is no problem of _right_ involved -(notwithstanding the ridiculous, effeminate question," How far -_ought_ we to grant its demands?") but only a problem of _power_; -the same, therefore, as in the case of a natural force,--steam, for -instance,--which is either forced by man into his service, as a -machine-god, or which, in case of defects of the machine, that is to -say, defects of human calculation in its construction, destroys it and -man together. In order to solve this question of power we must know how -strong Socialism is, in what modification it may yet be employed as -a powerful lever in the present mechanism of political forces; under -certain circumstances we should do all we can to strengthen it. With -every great force--be it the most dangerous--men have to think how they -can make of it an instrument for their purposes. Socialism acquires a -_right_ only if war seems to have taken place between the two powers, -the representatives of the old and the new, when, however, a wise -calculation of the greatest possible preservation and advantageousness -to both sides gives rise to a desire for a treaty. Without treaty no -right. So far, however, there is neither war nor treaty on the ground -in question, therefore no rights, no "ought." - - -447. - -UTILISING THE MOST TRIVIAL DISHONESTY.--The power of the press consists -in the fact that every individual who ministers to it only feels -himself bound and constrained to a very small extent. He usually -expresses _his_ opinion, but sometimes also does _not_ express it -in order to serve his party or the politics of his country, or -even himself. Such little faults of dishonesty, or perhaps only of -a dishonest silence, are not hard to bear by the individual, but -the consequences are extraordinary, because these little faults are -committed by many at the same time. Each one says to himself: "For such -small concessions I live better and can make my income; by the want of -such little compliances I make myself impossible." Because it seems -almost morally indifferent to write a line more (perhaps even without -signature), or not to write it, a person who has money and influence -can make any opinion a public one. He who knows that most people are -weak in trifles, and wishes to attain his own ends thereby, is always -dangerous. - - -448. - -Too LOUD A TONE IN GRIEVANCES.--Through the fact that an account of a -bad state of things (for instance, the crimes of an administration, -bribery and arbitrary favour in political or learned bodies) is greatly -exaggerated, it fails in its effect on intelligent people, but has -all the greater effect on the unintelligent (who would have remained -indifferent to an accurate and moderate account). But as these latter -are considerably in the majority, and harbour in themselves stronger -will-power and more impatient desire for action, the exaggeration -becomes the cause of investigations, punishments, promises, and -reorganisations. In so far it is useful to exaggerate the accounts of -bad states of things. - - -449. - -THE APPARENT WEATHER--MAKERS OF POLITICS.--Just as people tacitly -assume that he who understands the weather, and foretells it about a -day in advance, makes the weather, so even the educated and learned, -with a display of superstitious faith, ascribe to great statesmen as -their most special work all the important changes and conjunctures that -have taken place during their administration, when it is only evident -that they knew something thereof a little earlier than other people and -made their calculations accordingly,--thus they are also looked upon as -weather-makers--and this belief is not the least important instrument -of their power. - - -450. - -NEW AND OLD CONCEPTIONS OF GOVERNMENT.--To draw such a distinction -between Government and people as if two separate spheres of power, -a stronger and higher, and a weaker and lower, negotiated and came -to terms with each other, is a remnant of transmitted political -sentiment, which still accurately represents the historic establishment -of the conditions of power in _most_ States. When Bismarck, for -instance, describes the constitutional system as a compromise between -Government and people, he speaks in accordance with a principle which -has its reason in history (from whence, to be sure, it also derives -its admixture of folly, without which nothing human can exist). On -the other hand, we must now learn--in accordance with a principle -which has originated only in the _brain_ and has still to _make_ -history--that Government is nothing but an organ of the people,--not -an attentive, honourable "higher" in relation to a "lower" accustomed -to modesty. Before we accept this hitherto unhistorical and arbitrary, -although logical, formulation of the conception of Government, let us -but consider its consequences, for the relation between people and -Government is the strongest typical relation, after the pattern of -which the relationship between teacher and pupil, master and servants, -father and family, leader and soldier, master and apprentice, is -unconsciously formed. At present, under the influence of the prevailing -constitutional system of government, all these relationships are -changing a little,--they are becoming compromises. But how they will -have to be reversed and shifted, and change name and nature, when that -newest of all conceptions has got the upper hand everywhere in people's -minds!--to achieve which, however, a century may yet be required. In -this matter there is nothing _further_ to be wished for except caution -and slow development. - - -451. - -JUSTICE AS THE DECOY-CRY OF PARTIES.--Well may noble (if not exactly -very intelligent) representatives of the governing classes asseverate: -"We will treat men equally and grant them equal rights"; so far a -socialistic mode of thought which is based on _justice_ is possible; -but, as has been said, only within the ranks of the governing class, -which in this case _practises_ justice with sacrifices and abnegations. -On the other hand, to _demand_ equality of rights, as do the Socialists -of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of -covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and -withdraw them again, until it finally begins to roar, do you think that -roaring implies justice? - - -452. - -POSSESSION AND JUSTICE.--When the Socialists point out that the -division of property at the present day is the consequence of countless -deeds of injustice and violence, and, _in summa,_ repudiate obligation -to anything with so unrighteous a basis, they only perceive something -isolated. The entire past of ancient civilisation is built up on -violence, slavery, deception, and error; we, however, cannot annul -ourselves, the heirs of all these conditions, nay, the concrescences -of all this past, and are not entitled to demand the withdrawal of a -single fragment thereof. The unjust disposition lurks also in the souls -of non-possessors; they are not better than the possessors and have no -moral prerogative; for at one time or another their ancestors have been -possessors. Not forcible new distributions, but gradual transformations -of opinion are necessary; justice in all matters must become greater, -the instinct of violence weaker. - - -453. - -THE HELMSMAN OF THE PASSIONS.--The statesman excites public passions in -order to have the advantage of the counter-passions thereby aroused. To -give an example: a German statesman knows quite well that the Catholic -Church will never have the same plans as Russia; indeed, that it would -far rather be allied with the Turk than with the former country; he -likewise knows that Germany is threatened with great danger from an -alliance between France and Russia. If he can succeed, therefore, in -making France the focus and fortress of the Catholic Church, he has -averted this danger for a lengthy period. He has, accordingly, an -interest in showing hatred against the Catholics in transforming, by -all kinds of hostility, the supporters of the Pope's authority into an -impassioned political power which is opposed to German politics, and -must, as a matter of course, coalesce with France as the adversary of -Germany; his aim is the catholicising of France, just as necessarily -as Mirabeau saw the salvation of his native land in de-catholicising -it. The one State, therefore, desires to muddle millions of minds -of another State in order to gain advantage thereby. It is the same -disposition which supports the republican form of government of a -neighbouring State--_le désordre organisé,_ as Mérimée says--for the -sole reason that it assumes that this form of government makes the -nation weaker, more distracted, less fit for war. - - -454. - -THE DANGEROUS REVOLUTIONARY SPIRITS.--Those who are bent on -revolutionising society may be divided into those who seek something -for themselves thereby and those who seek something for their children -and grandchildren. The latter are the more dangerous, for they have the -belief and the good conscience of disinterestedness. The others can be -appeased by favours: those in power are still sufficiently rich and -wise to adopt that expedient. The danger begins as soon as the aims -become impersonal; revolutionists seeking impersonal interests may -consider all defenders of the present state of things as personally -interested, and may therefore feel themselves superior to their -opponents. - - -455. - -THE POLITICAL VALUE OF PATERNITY.--When a man has no sons he has not a -full right to join in a discussion concerning the needs of a particular -community. A person must himself have staked his dearest object along -with the others: that alone binds him fast to the State; he must have -in view the well-being of his descendants, and must, therefore, above -all, have descendants in order to take a right and natural share in -all institutions and the changes thereof. The development of higher -morality depends on a person's having sons; it disposes him to be -un-egoistic, or, more correctly, it extends his egoism in its duration -and permits him earnestly to strive after goals which lie beyond his -individual lifetime. - - -456. - -PRIDE OF DESCENT.--A man may be justly proud of an unbroken line of -_good_ ancestors down to his father,--not however of the line itself, -for every one has that. Descent from good ancestors constitutes the -real nobility of birth; a single break in the chain, one bad ancestor, -therefore, destroys the nobility of birth. Every one who talks about -his nobility should be asked: "Have you no violent, avaricious, -dissolute, wicked, cruel man amongst your ancestors?" If with good -cognisance and conscience he can answer No, then let his friendship be -sought. - - -457. - -SLAVES AND LABOURERS.--The fact that we regard the gratification of -vanity as of more account than all other forms of well-being (security, -position, and pleasures of all sorts), is shown to a ludicrous -extent by every one wishing for the abolition of slavery and utterly -abhorring to put any one into this position (apart altogether from -political reasons), while every one must acknowledge to himself that -in all respects slaves live more securely and more happily than modern -labourers, and that slave labour is very easy labour compared with that -of the "labourer." We protest in the name of the "dignity of man"; but, -expressed more simply, that is just our darling vanity which feels -non-equality, and inferiority in public estimation, to be the hardest -lot of all. The cynic thinks differently concerning the matter, -because he despises honour:--and so Diogenes was for some time a slave -and tutor. - - -458. - -LEADING MINDS AND THEIR INSTRUMENTS.--We see that great statesmen, and -in general all who have to employ many people to carry out their plans, -sometimes proceed one way and sometimes another; they either choose -with great skill and care the people suitable for their plans, and then -leave them a comparatively large amount of liberty, because they know -that the nature of the persons selected impels them precisely to the -point where they themselves would have them go; or else they choose -badly, in fact take whatever comes to hand, but out of every piece of -clay they form something useful for their purpose. These latter minds -are the more high-handed; they also desire more submissive instruments; -their knowledge of mankind is usually much smaller, their contempt of -mankind greater than in the case of the first mentioned class, but the -machines they construct generally work better than the machines from -the workshops of the former. - - -459. - -ARBITRARY LAW NECESSARY.--Jurists dispute whether the most perfectly -thought-out law or that which is most easily understood should prevail -in a nation. The former, the best model of which is Roman Law, seems -incomprehensible to the layman, and is therefore not the expression of -his sense of justice. Popular laws, the Germanic, for instance, have -been rude, superstitious, illogical, and in part idiotic, but they -represented very definite, inherited national morals and sentiments. -But where, as with us, law i no longer custom, it can only _command_ -and be compulsion; none of us any longer possesses a traditional sense -of justice; we must therefore content ourselves with _arbitrary laws,_ -which are the expressions of the necessity that there _must be_ law. -The most logical is then in any case the most acceptable, because it -is the most _impartial,_ granting even that in every case the smallest -unit of measure in the relation of crime and punishment is arbitrarily -fixed. - - -460. - -THE GREAT MAN OF THE MASSES.--The recipe for what the masses call a -great man is easily given. In all circumstances let a person provide -them with something very pleasant, or first let him put it into their -heads that this or that would be very pleasant, and then let him give -it to them. On no account give it _immediately,_ however: but let -him acquire it by the greatest exertions, or seem thus to acquire -it. The masses must have the impression that there is a powerful, -nay indomitable strength of will operating; at least it must seem to -be there operating. Everybody admires a strong will, because nobody -possesses it, and everybody says to himself that if he did possess -it there would no longer be any bounds for him and his egoism. If, -then, it becomes evident that such a strong will effects something -very agreeable to the masses, instead of hearkening to the wishes -of covetousness, people admire once more, and wish good luck to -themselves. Moreover, if he has all the qualities of the masses, they -are the less ashamed before him, and he is all the more popular. -Consequently, he may be violent, envious, rapacious, intriguing, -flattering, fawning, inflated, and, according to circumstances, -anything whatsoever. - - -461. - -PRINCE AND GOD.--People frequently commune with their princes in the -same way as with their God, as indeed the prince himself was frequently -the Deity's representative, or at least His high priest. This almost -uncanny disposition of veneration, disquiet, and shame, grew, and has -grown, much weaker, but occasionally it flares up again, and fastens -upon powerful persons generally. The cult of genius is an echo of this -veneration of Gods and Princes. Wherever an effort is made to exalt -particular men to the superhuman, there is also a tendency to regard -whole grades of the population as coarser and baser than they really -are. - - -462. - -MY UTOPIA.--In a better arranged society the heavy work and trouble -of life will be assigned to those who suffer least through it, to the -most obtuse, therefore; and so step by step up to those who are most -sensitive to the highest and sublimest kinds of suffering, and who -therefore still suffer notwithstanding the greatest alleviations of -life. - - -463. - -A DELUSION IN SUBVERSIVE DOCTRINES.--There are political and social -dreamers who ardently and eloquently call for the overthrow of all -order, in the belief that the proudest fane of beautiful humanity -will then rear itself immediately, almost of its own accord. In these -dangerous dreams there is still an echo of Rousseau's superstition, -which believes in a marvellous primordial goodness of human nature, -buried up, as it were; and lays all the blame of that burying-up on -the institutions of civilisation, on society, State, and education. -Unfortunately, it is well known by historical experiences that -every such overthrow reawakens into new life the wildest energies, -the long-buried horrors and extravagances of remotest ages; that -an overthrow, therefore, may possibly be a source of strength to a -deteriorated humanity, but never a regulator, architect, artist, -or perfecter of human nature. It was not _Voltaire's_ moderate -nature, inclined towards regulating, purifying, and reconstructing, -but _Rousseau's_ passionate follies and half-lies that aroused the -optimistic spirit of the Revolution, against which I cry, "_Écrasez -l'infâme!_" Owing to this _the Spirit of enlightenment and progressive -development_ has been long scared away; let us see--each of us -individually--if it is not possible to recall it! - - -464. - -MODERATION.--When perfect resoluteness in thinking and investigating, -that is to say, freedom of spirit, has become a feature of character, -it produces moderation of conduct; for it weakens avidity, attracts -much extant energy for the furtherance of intellectual aims, and shows -the semi-usefulness, or uselessness and danger, of all sudden changes. - - -465. - -THE RESURRECTION OF THE SPIRIT.--A nation usually renews its youth on -a political sick-bed, and there finds again the spirit which it had -gradually lost in seeking and maintaining power. Culture is indebted -most of all to politically weakened periods. - - -466. - -NEW OPINIONS IN THE OLD HOME.--The overthrow of opinions is not -immediately followed by the overthrow of institutions; on the contrary, -the new opinions dwell for a long time in the desolate and haunted -house of their predecessors, and conserve it even for want of a -habitation. - - -467. - -PUBLIC EDUCATION.--In large States public education will always be -extremely mediocre, for the same reason that in large kitchens the -cooking is at best only mediocre. - - -468. - -INNOCENT CORRUPTION.--In all institutions into which the sharp breeze -of public criticism does not penetrate an innocent corruption grows up -like a fungus (for instance, in learned bodies and senates). - - -469. - -SCHOLARS AS POLITICIANS.--To scholars who become politicians the comic -role is usually assigned; they have to be the good conscience of a -state policy. - - -470. - -THE WOLF HIDDEN BEHIND THE SHEEP.--Almost every politician, in certain -circumstances, has such need of an honest man that he breaks into the -sheep-fold like a famished wolf; not, however, to devour a stolen -sheep, but to hide himself behind its woolly back. - - -471. - -HAPPY TIMES.--A happy age is no longer possible, because men only wish -for it but do not desire to have it; and each individual, when good -days come for him, learns positively to pray for disquiet and misery. -The destiny of mankind is arranged for _happy moments_--every life has -such--but not for happy times. Nevertheless, such times will continue -to exist in man's imagination as "over the hills and far away," an -heirloom of his earliest ancestors; for the idea of the happy age, from -the earliest times to the present, has no doubt been derived from the -state in which man, after violent exertions in hunting and warfare, -gives himself over to repose, stretches out his limbs, and hears the -wings of sleep rustle around him. It is a false conclusion when, in -accordance with that old habit, man imagines that after _whole periods_ -of distress and trouble he will be able also to enjoy the state of -happiness in _proportionate increase and duration._ - - -472. - -RELIGION AND GOVERNMENT.--So long as the State, or, more properly, the -Government, regards itself as the appointed guardian of a number of -minors, and on their account considers the question whether religion -should be preserved or abolished, it is highly probable that it will -always decide for the preservation thereof. For religion satisfies -the nature of the individual in times of loss, destitution, terror, -and distrust, in cases, therefore, where the Government feels -itself incapable of doing anything directly for the mitigation of -the spiritual sufferings of the individual; indeed, even in general -unavoidable and next to inevitable evils (famines, financial crises, -and wars) religion gives to the masses an attitude of tranquillity and -confiding expectancy. Whenever the necessary or accidental deficiencies -of the State Government, or the dangerous consequences of dynastic -interests, strike the eyes of the intelligent and make them refractory, -the unintelligent will only think they see the finger of God therein -and will submit with patience to the dispensations from _on high_ -(a conception in which divine and human modes of government usually -coalesce); thus internal civil peace and continuity of development -will be preserved. The power, which lies in the unity of popular -feeling, in the existence of the same opinions and aims for all, is -protected and confirmed by religion,--the rare cases excepted in -which a priesthood cannot agree with the State about the price, and -therefore comes into conflict with it. As a rule the State will know -how to win over the priests, because it needs their most private and -secret system for educating souls, and knows how to value servants who -apparently, and outwardly, represent quite other interests. Even at -present no power can become "legitimate" without the assistance of the -priests; a fact which Napoleon understood. Thus, absolutely paternal -government and the careful preservation of religion necessarily go -hand-in-hand. In this connection it must be taken for granted that -the rulers and governing classes are enlightened concerning the -advantages which religion affords, and consequently feel themselves -to a certain extent superior to it, inasmuch as they use it as a -means; thus freedom of spirit has its origin here. But how will it be -when the totally different interpretation of the idea of Government, -such as is taught in _democratic_ States, begins to prevail? When -one sees in it nothing but the instrument of the popular will, no -"upper" in contrast to an "under," but merely a function of the sole -sovereign, the people? Here also only the same attitude which the -people assume towards religion can be assumed by the Government; -every diffusion of enlightenment will have to find an echo even in -the representatives, and the utilising and exploiting of religious -impulses and consolations for State purposes will not be so easy -(unless powerful party leaders occasionally exercise an influence -resembling that of enlightened despotism). When, however, the State -is not permitted to derive any further advantage from religion, or -when people think far too variously on religious matters to allow the -State to adopt a consistent and uniform procedure with respect to them, -the way out of the difficulty will necessarily present itself, namely -to treat religion as a private affair and leave it to the conscience -and custom of each single individual. The first result of all is that -religious feeling seems to be strengthened, inasmuch as hidden and -suppressed impulses thereof, which the State had unintentionally or -intentionally stifled, now break forth and rush to extremes; later -on, however, it is found that religion is over-grown with sects, and -that an abundance of dragon's teeth were sown as soon as religion was -made a private affair. The spectacle of strife, and the hostile laying -bare of all the weaknesses of religious confessions, admit finally of -no other expedient except that every better and more talented person -should make irreligiousness his private affair, a sentiment which now -obtains the upper hand even in the minds of the governing classes, -and, almost against their will, gives an anti-religious character to -their measures. As soon as this happens, the sentiment of persons -still religiously disposed, who formerly adored the State as something -half sacred or wholly sacred, changes into decided _hostility to the -State;_ they lie in wait for governmental measures, seeking to hinder, -thwart, and disturb as much as they can, and, by the fury of their -contradiction, drive the opposing parties, the irreligious ones, into -an almost fanatical enthusiasm _for_ the State; in connection with -which there is also the silently co-operating influence, that since -their separation from religion the hearts of persons in these circles -are conscious of a void, and seek by devotion to the State to provide -themselves provisionally with a substitute for religion, a kind of -stuffing for the void. After these perhaps lengthy transitional -struggles, it is finally decided whether the religious parties are -still strong enough to revive an old condition of things, and turn the -wheel backwards: in which case enlightened despotism (perhaps less -enlightened and more timorous than formerly), inevitably gets the -State into its hands,--or whether the non-religious parties achieve -their purpose, and, possibly through schools and education, check the -increase of their opponents during several generations, and finally -make them no longer possible. Then, however, their enthusiasm for the -State also abates: it always becomes more obvious that along with -the religious adoration which regards the State as a mystery and a -supernatural institution, the reverent and pious relation to it has -also been convulsed. Henceforth individuals see only that side of the -State which may be useful or injurious to them, and press forward by -all means to obtain an influence over it. But this rivalry soon becomes -too great; men and parties change too rapidly, and throw each other -down again too furiously from the mountain when they have only just -succeeded in getting aloft. All the measures which such a Government -carries out lack the guarantee of permanence; people then fight shy of -undertakings which would require the silent growth of future decades -or centuries to produce ripe fruit. Nobody henceforth feels any other -obligation to a law than to submit for the moment to the power which -introduced the law; people immediately set to work, however, to -undermine it by a new power, a newly-formed majority. Finally--it may -be confidently asserted--the distrust of all government, the insight -into the useless and harassing nature of these short-winded struggles, -must drive men to an entirely new resolution: to the abrogation of -the conception of the State and the abolition of the contrast of -"private and public." Private concerns gradually absorb the business -of the State; even the toughest residue which is left over from the -old work of governing (the business, for instance, which is meant to -protect private persons from private persons) will at last some day -be managed by private enterprise. The neglect, decline, and _death -of the State,_ the liberation of the private person (I am careful -not to say the individual), are the consequences of the democratic -conception of the State; that is its mission. When it has accomplished -its task,--which, like everything human, involves much rationality -and irrationality,--and when all relapses into the old malady have -been overcome, then a new leaf in the story-book of humanity will be -unrolled, on which readers will find all kinds of strange tales and -perhaps also some amount of good. To repeat shortly what has been -said: the interests of the tutelary Government and the interests of -religion go hand-in-hand, so that when the latter begins to decay -the foundations of the State are also shaken. The belief in a divine -regulation of political affairs, in a mystery in the existence of -the State, is of religious origin: if religion disappears, the State -will inevitably lose its old veil of Isis, and will no longer arouse -veneration. The sovereignty of the people, looked at closely, serves -also to dispel the final fascination and superstition in the realm -of these sentiments; modern democracy is the historical form of the -_decay of the State._ The outlook which results from this certain -decay is not, however, unfortunate in every respect; the wisdom and -the selfishness of men are the best developed of all their qualities; -when the State no longer meets the demands of these impulses, chaos -will least of all result, but a still more appropriate expedient than -the State will get the mastery over the State. How man organising forces -have already been seen to die out! For example, that of the _gens_ -or clan which for millennia was far mightier than the power of the -family, and indeed already ruled and regulated long before the latter -existed. We ourselves see the important notions of the right and might -of the family, which once possessed the supremacy as far as the Roman -system extended, always becoming paler and feebler. In the same way a -later generation will also see the State become meaningless in certain -parts of the world,--an idea which many contemporaries can hardly -contemplate without alarm and horror. To _labour_ for the propagation -and realisation of this idea is, certainly, another thing; one must -think very presumptuously of one's reason, and only half understand -history, to set one's hand to the plough at present--when as yet no -one can show us the seeds that are afterwards to be sown upon the -broken soil. Let us, therefore, trust to the "wisdom and selfishness -of men" that the State may _yet_ exist a good while longer, and that -the destructive attempts of over-zealous, too hasty sciolists may be in -vain! - - -473. - -SOCIALISM, WITH REGARD TO ITS MEANS.--Socialism is the fantastic -younger brother of almost decrepit despotism, which it wants to -succeed; its efforts are, therefore, in the deepest sense reactionary. -For it desires such an amount of State power as only despotism has -possessed,--indeed, it outdoes all the past, in that it aims at the -complete annihilation of the individual, whom it deems an unauthorised -luxury of nature, which is to be improved by it into an appropriate -_organ of the general community._ Owing to its relationship, it always -appears in proximity to excessive developments of power, like the -old typical socialist, Plato, at the court of the Sicilian tyrant; -it desires (and under certain circumstances furthers) the Cæsarian -despotism of this century, because, as has been said, it would like to -become its heir. But even this inheritance would not suffice for its -objects, it requires the most submissive prostration of all citizens -before the absolute State, such as has never yet been realised; and -as it can no longer even count upon the old religious piety towards -the State, but must rather strive involuntarily and continuously for -the abolition thereof,--because it strives for the abolition of all -existing _States,_--it can only hope for existence occasionally, here -and there for short periods, by means of the extremest terrorism. It is -therefore silently preparing itself for reigns of terror, and drives -the word "justice" like a nail into the heads of the half-cultured -masses in order to deprive them completely of their understanding -(after they had already suffered seriously from the half-culture), and -to provide them with a good conscience for the bad game they are to -play. Socialism may serve to teach, very brutally and impressively, the -danger of all accumulations of State power, and may serve so far to -inspire distrust of the State itself. When its rough voice strikes up -the way-cry "_as much State as possible_," the shout at first becomes -louder than ever,--but soon the opposition cry also breaks forth, with -so much greater force: "_as little State as possible._" - - -474. - -THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE MIND FEARED BY THE STATE.--The Greek _polis_ -was, like every organising political power, exclusive and distrustful -of the growth of culture; its powerful fundamental impulse seemed -almost solely to have a paralysing and obstructive effect thereon. -It did not want to let any history or any becoming have a place in -culture; the education laid down in the State laws was meant to -be obligatory on all generations to keep them at _one_ stage of -development. Plato also, later on, did not desire it to be otherwise -in his ideal State. _In spite of_ the polis culture developed itself -in this manner; indirectly to be sure, and against its will, the polis -furnished assistance because the ambition of individuals therein was -stimulated to the utmost, so that, having once found the path of -intellectual development, they followed it to its farthest extremity. -On the other hand, appeal should not be made to the panegyric of -Pericles, for it is only a great optimistic dream about the alleged -necessary connection between the Polis and Athenian culture; -immediately before the night fell over Athens the plague and the -breakdown of tradition, Thucydides makes this culture flash up once -more like of the evil day that had preceded. - - -475. - -EUROPEAN MAN AND THE DESTRUCTION OF NATIONALITIES.--Commerce and -industry, interchange of books and letters, the universality of -all higher culture, the rapid changing of locality and landscape, -and the present nomadic life of all who are not landowners,--these -circumstances necessarily bring with them a weakening, and finally -a destruction of nationalities, at least of European nationalities; -so that, in consequence of perpetual crossings, there must arise -out of them all a mixed race, that of the European man. At present -the isolation of nations, through the rise of _national_ enmities, -consciously or unconsciously counteracts this tendency; but -nevertheless the process of fusing advances slowly, in spite of those -occasional counter-currents. This artificial nationalism is, however, -as dangerous as was artificial Catholicism, for it is essentially -an un natural condition of extremity and martial la which has been -proclaimed by the few over the many, and requires artifice, lying, -and force maintain its reputation. It is not the interests the many -(of the peoples), as they probably say, but it is first of all the -interests of certain princely dynasties, and then of certain commercial -and social classes, which impel to this nationalism; once we have -recognised this fact, we should just fearlessly style ourselves _good -Europeans_ and labour actively for the amalgamation of nations; in -which efforts Germans may assist by virtue of their hereditary position -as _interpreters and intermediaries between nations._ By the way, the -great problem of the _Jews_ only exists within the national States, -inasmuch as their energy and higher intelligence, their intellectual -and volitional capital, accumulated from generation to generation in -tedious schools of suffering, must necessarily attain to universal -supremacy here to an extent provocative of envy and hatred; so that -the literary misconduct is becoming prevalent in almost all modern -nations --and all the more so as they again set up to be national--of -sacrificing the Jews as the scape-goats of all possible public -and private abuses. So soon as it is no longer a question of the -preservation or establishment of nations, but of the production and -training of a European mixed-race of the greatest possible strength, -the Jew is just as useful and desirable an ingredient as any other -national remnant. Every nation, every individual, has unpleasant and -even dangerous qualities,--it is cruel to require that the Jew should -be an exception. Those qualities may even be dangerous and frightful -in a special degree in his case; and perhaps the young Stock-Exchange -Jew is in general the most repulsive invention of the human species. -Nevertheless, in a general summing up, I should like to know how much -must be excused in a nation which, not without blame on the part of -all of us, has had the most mournful history of all nations, and to -which we owe the most loving of men (Christ), the most upright of sages -(Spinoza), the mightiest book, and the most effective moral law in the -world? Moreover, in the darkest times of the Middle Ages, when Asiatic -clouds had gathered darkly over Europe, it was Jewish free-thinkers, -scholars, and physicians who upheld the banner of enlightenment and of -intellectual independence under the severest personal sufferings, and -defended Europe against Asia; we owe it not least to their efforts that -a more natural, more reasonable, at all events un-mythical, explanation -of the world was finally able to get the upper hand once more, and -that the link of culture which now unites us with the enlightenment -of Greco-Roman antiquity has remained unbroken. If Christianity has -done everything to orientalise the Occident, Judaism has assisted -essentially in occidentalising it anew; which, in a certain sense, is -equivalent to making Europe's mission and history a _continuation of -that of Greece_. - - -476. - -APPARENT SUPERIORITY OF THE MIDDLE AGES.--The Middle Ages present in -the Church an institution with an absolutely universal aim, involving -the whole of humanity,--an aim, moreover, which--presumedly--concerned -man's highest interests; in comparison therewith the aims of the States -and nations which modern history exhibits make a painful impression; -they seem petty, base, material, and restricted in extent. But this -different impression on our imagination should certainly not determine -our judgment; for that universal institution corresponded to feigned -and fictitiously fostered needs, such as the need of salvation, which, -wherever they did not already exist, it had first of all to create: -the, new institutions, however, relieve actual distresses; and the -time is coming when institutions will arise to minister to the common, -genuine needs of all men, and to cast that fantastic prototype, the -Catholic Church, into shade and oblivion. - - -477. - -WAR INDISPENSABLE.--It is nothing but fanaticism and beautiful soulism -to expect very much (or even, much only) from humanity when it has -forgotten how to wage war. For the present we know of no other means -whereby the rough energy of the camp, the deep impersonal hatred, the -cold-bloodedness of murder with a good conscience, the general ardour -of the system in the destruction of the enemy, the proud indifference -to great losses, to one's own existence and that of one's friends, the -hollow, earthquake-like convulsion of the soul, can be as forcibly -and certainly communicated to enervated nations as is done by every -great war: owing to the brooks and streams that here break forth, -which, certainly, sweep stones and rubbish of all sorts along with -them and destroy the meadows of delicate cultures, the mechanism in -the workshops of the mind is afterwards, in favourable circumstances, -rotated by new power. Culture can by no means dispense with passions, -vices, and malignities. When the Romans, after having become Imperial, -had grown rather tired of war, they attempted to gain new strength -by beast-baitings, gladiatoral combats, and Christian persecutions. -The English of to-day, who appear on the whole to have also renounced -war, adopt other means in order to generate anew those vanishing -forces; namely, the dangerous exploring expeditions, sea voyages and -mountaineerings, nominally undertaken for scientific purposes, but in -reality to bring home surplus strength from adventures and dangers of -all kinds. Many other such substitutes for war will be discovered, but -perhaps precisely thereby it will become more and more obvious that -such a highly cultivated and therefore necessarily enfeebled humanity -as that of modern Europe not only needs wars, but the greatest and most -terrible wars,--consequently occasional relapses into barbarism,--lest, -by the means of culture, it should lose its culture and its very -existence. - - -478. - -INDUSTRY IN THE SOUTH AND THE NORTH.--Industry arises in two entirely -different ways. The artisans of the South are not industrious because -of acquisitiveness but because of the constant needs of others. The -smith is industrious because some one is always coming who wants a -horse shod or a carriage mended. If nobody came he would loiter about -in the market-place. In a fruitful land he has little trouble in -supporting himself, for that purpose he requires only a very small -amount of work, certainly no industry; eventually he would beg and -be contented. The industry of English workmen, on the contrary, has -acquisitiveness behind it; it is conscious of itself and its aims; with -property it wants power, and with power the greatest possible liberty -and individual distinction. - - -479. - -WEALTH AS THE ORIGIN OF A NOBILITY OF RACE.--Wealth necessarily -creates an aristocracy of race, for it permits the choice of the most -beautiful women and the engagement of the best teachers; it allows a -man cleanliness, time for physical exercises, and, above all, immunity -from dulling physical labour. So far it provides all the conditions -for making man, after a few generations, move and even act nobly and -handsomely: greater freedom of character and absence of niggardliness, -of wretchedly petty matters, and of abasement before bread-givers. It -is precisely these negative qualities which are the most profitable -birthday gift, that of happiness, for the young man; a person who is -quite poor usually comes to grief through nobility of disposition, -he does not get on, and acquires nothing, his race is not capable -of living. In this connection, however, it must be remembered that -wealth produces almost the same effects whether one have three hundred -or thirty thousand thalers a year; there is no further essential -progression of the favourable conditions afterwards. But to have less, -to beg in boyhood and to abase one's self is terrible, although it may -be the proper starting-point for such as seek their happiness in the -splendour of courts, in subordination to the mighty, and influential, -or for such as wish to be heads of the Church. (It teaches how to slink -crouching into the underground passages to favour.) - - -480. - -ENVY AND INERTIA IN DIFFERENT COURSES.--The two opposing parties, -the socialist and the national,--or whatever they may be called in -the different countries of Europe,--are worthy of each other; envy -and laziness are the motive powers in each of them. In the one camp -they desire to work as little as possible with their hands, in the -other as little as possible with their heads; in the latter they hate -and envy prominent, self-evolving individuals, who do not willingly -allow themselves to be drawn up in rank and file for the purpose of -a collective effect; in the former they hate and envy the better -social caste, which is more favourably circumstanced outwardly, whose -peculiar mission, the production of the highest blessings of culture, -makes life inwardly all the harder and more painful. Certainly, if it -be possible to make the spirit of the collective effect the spirit of -the higher classes of society, the socialist crowds are quite right, -when they also seek outward equalisation between themselves and these -classes, since they are certainly internally equalised with one another -already in head and heart. Live as higher men, and always do the deeds -of higher culture,--thus everything that lives will acknowledge your -right, and the order of society, whose summit ye are, will be safe -from every evil glance and attack! - - -481. - -HIGH POLITICS AND THEIR DETRIMENTS.--Just as a nation does not suffer -the greatest losses that war and readiness for war involve through -the expenses of the war, or the stoppage of trade and traffic, or -through the maintenance of a standing army,--however great these -losses may now be, when eight European States expend yearly the sum -of five milliards of marks thereon,--but owing to the fact that -year after year its ablest, strongest, and most industrious men are -withdrawn in extraordinary numbers from their proper occupations and -callings to be turned into soldiers: in the same way, a nation that -sets about practising high politics and securing a decisive voice -among the great Powers does not suffer its greatest losses where -they are usually supposed to be. In fact, from this time onward it -constantly sacrifices a number of its most conspicuous talents upon -the "Altar of the Fatherland" or of national ambition, whilst formerly -other spheres of activity were open to those talents which are now -swallowed up by politics. But apart from these public hecatombs, and -in reality much more horrible, there is a drama which is constantly -being performed simultaneously in a hundred thousand acts; every able, -industrious, intellectually striving man of a nation that thus covets -political laurels, is swayed by this covetousness, and no longer -belongs entirely to himself alone as he did formerly; the new daily -questions and cares of the public welfare devour a daily tribute of -the intellectual and emotional capital of every citizen; the sum of -all these sacrifices and losses of, individual energy and labour is -so enormous, that the political growth of a nation almost necessarily -entails an intellectual impoverishment and lassitude, a diminished -capacity for the performance of works that require great concentration -and specialisation. The question may finally be asked: "Does it then -_pay,_ all this bloom and magnificence of the total (which indeed only -manifests itself as the fear of the new Colossus in other nations, and -as the compulsory favouring by them of national trade and commerce) -when all the nobler, finer, and more intellectual plants and products, -in which its soil was hitherto so rich, must be sacrificed to this -coarse and opalescent flower of the nation?"[2] - - -482. - -REPEATED ONCE MORE.--Public opinion--private laziness. - - -[Footnote 1: This aphorism may have been suggested by Nietzsche's -observing the behaviour of his great contemporary, Bismarck, towards -the dynasty.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: This is once more an allusion to modern Germany.--J.M.K.] - - - - -NINTH DIVISION. - -MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF. - - - -483. - -THE ENEMIES OF TRUTH.--Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth -than lies. - - -484. - -A TOPSY-TURVY WORLD.--We criticise a thinker more severely when he puts -an unpleasant statement before us; and yet it would be more reasonable -to do so when we find his statement pleasant. - - -485. - -DECIDED CHARACTER.--A man far oftener appears to have a decided -character from persistently following his temperament than from -persistently following his principles. - - -486. - -THE ONE THING NEEDFUL.--One thing a man must have: either a naturally -light disposition or a disposition _lightened_ by art and knowledge. - - -487. - -THE PASSION FOR THINGS.--Whoever sets his passion on things (sciences, -arts, the common weal, the interests of culture) withdraws much fervour -from his passion for persons (even when they are the representatives -of those things; as statesmen, philosophers, and artists are the -representatives of their creations). - - -488. - -CALMNESS IN ACTION.--As a cascade in its descent becomes more -deliberate and suspended, so the great man of action usually acts with -_more_ calmness than his strong passions previous to action would lead -one to expect. - - -489. - -NOT TOO DEEP.--Persons who grasp a matter in all its depth seldom -remain permanently true to it. They have just brought the depth up into -the light, and there is always much evil to be seen there. - - -490. - -THE ILLUSION OF IDEALISTS.--All idealists imagine that the cause which -they serve is essentially better than all other causes, and will not -believe that if their cause is really to flourish it requires precisely -the same evil-smelling manure which all other human undertakings have -need of. - - -491. - -SELF-OBSERVATION.--Man is exceedingly well protected from himself and -guarded against his self-exploring and self-besieging; as a rule he can -perceive nothing of himself but his outworks. The actual fortress is -inaccessible, and even invisible, to him, unless friends and enemies -become traitors and lead him inside by secret paths. - - -492. - -THE RIGHT CALLING.--Men can seldom hold on to a calling unless they -believe or persuade themselves that it is really more important than -any other. Women are the same with their lovers. - - -493. - -NOBILITY OF DISPOSITION.--Nobility of disposition consists largely in -good-nature and absence of distrust, and therefore contains precisely -that upon which money-grabbing and successful men take a pleasure in -walking with superiority and scorn. - - -494. - -GOAL AND PATH.--Many are obstinate with regard to the once-chosen path, -few with regard to the goal. - - -495. - -THE OFFENSIVENESS IN AN INDIVIDUAL WAY OF LIFE.--All specially -individual lines of conduct excite irritation against him who adopts -them; people feel themselves reduced to the level of commonplace -creatures by the extraordinary treatment he bestows on himself. - - -496. - -THE PRIVILEGE OF GREATNESS.--It is the privilege of greatness to confer -intense happiness with insignificant gifts. - - -497. - -UNINTENTIONALLY NOBLE.--A person behaves with unintentional nobleness -when he has accustomed himself to seek naught from others and always to -give to them. - - -498. - -A CONDITION OF HEROISM.--When a person wishes to become a hero, the -serpent must previously have become a dragon, otherwise he lacks his -proper enemy. - - -499. - -FRIENDS.--Fellowship in joy, and, not sympathy in sorrow, makes people -friends. - - -500. - -MAKING USE OF EBB AND FLOW.--For the purpose of knowledge we must know -how to make use of the inward current which draws us towards a thing, -and also of the current which after a time draws us away from it. - - -501. - -JOY IN ITSELF.--"Joy in the Thing" people say; but in reality it is joy -in itself by means of the thing. - - -502. - -THE UNASSUMING MAN.--He who is unassuming towards persons manifests his -presumption all the more with regard to things (town, State, society, -time, humanity). That is his revenge. - - -503. - -ENVY AND JEALOUSY.--Envy and jealousy are the pudenda of the human -soul. The comparison may perhaps be carried further. - - -504. - -THE NOBLEST HYPOCRITE.--It is a very noble hypocrisy not to talk of -one's self at all. - - -505. - -VEXATION.--Vexation is a physical disease, which is not by any means -cured when its cause is subsequently removed. - - -506. - -THE CHAMPIONS OF TRUTH.--Truth does not find fewest champions when it -is dangerous to speak it, but when it is dull. - - -507. - -MORE TROUBLESOME EVEN THAN ENEMIES.--Persons of whose sympathetic -attitude we are not, in all circumstances, convinced, while for -some reason or other (gratitude, for instance) we are obliged to -maintain the appearance of unqualified sympathy with them, trouble our -imagination far more than our enemies do. - - -508. - -FREE NATURE.--We are so fond of being out among Nature, because it has -no opinions about us. - - -509. - -EACH SUPERIOR IN ONE THING.--In civilised intercourse every one feels -himself superior to all others in at least one thing; kindly feelings -generally are based thereon, inasmuch as every one can, in certain -circumstances, render help, and is therefore entitled to accept help -without shame. - - -510. - -CONSOLATORY ARGUMENTS.--In the case of a death we mostly use -consolatory arguments not so much to alleviate the grief as to make -excuses for feeling so easily consoled. - - -511. - -PERSONS LOYAL TO THEIR CONVICTIONS.--Whoever is very busy retains his -general views and opinions almost unchanged. So also does every one -who labours in the service of an idea; he will nevermore examine the -idea itself, he no longer has any time to do so; indeed, it is against -his interests to consider it as still admitting of discussion. - - -512. - -MORALITY AND QUANTITY.--The higher morality of one man as compared -with that of another, often lies merely in the fact that his aims are -quantitively greater. The other, living in a circumscribed sphere, is -dragged down by petty occupations. - - -513. - -"THE LIFE" AS THE PROCEEDS OF LIFE.--A man may stretch himself out ever -so far with his knowledge; he may seem to himself ever so objective, -but eventually he realises nothing therefrom but his own biography. - - -514. - -IRON NECESSITY.--Iron necessity is a thing which has been found, in the -course of history, to be neither iron nor necessary. - - -515. - -FROM EXPERIENCE.--The unreasonableness of a thing is no argument -against its existence, but rather a condition thereof. - - -516. - -TRUTH.--Nobody dies nowadays of fatal truths, there are too many -antidotes to them. - - -517. - -A FUNDAMENTAL INSIGHT.--There is no pre-established harmony between the -promotion of truth and the welfare of mankind. - - -518. - -MAN'S LOT.--He who thinks most deeply knows that he is always in the -wrong, however he may act and decide. - - -519. - -TRUTH AS CIRCE.--Error has made animals into men; is truth perhaps -capable of making man into an animal again? - - -520. - -THE DANGER OF OUR CULTURE.--We belong to a period of which the culture -is in danger of being destroyed by the appliances of culture. - - -521. - -GREATNESS MEANS LEADING THE WAY.--No stream is large and copious of -itself, but becomes great by receiving and leading on so many tributary -streams. It is so, also, with all intellectual greatnesses. It is only -a question of some one indicating the direction to be followed by so -many affluents; not whether he was richly or poorly gifted originally. - - -522. - -A FEEBLE CONSCIENCE.--People who talk about their importance to mankind -have a feeble conscience for common bourgeois rectitude, keeping of -contracts, promises, etc. - - -523. - -DESIRING TO BE LOVED.--The demand to be loved is the greatest of -presumptions. - - -524. - -CONTEMPT FOR MEN.--The most unequivocal sign of contempt for man is -to regard everybody merely as a means to _one's own_ ends, or of no -account whatever. - - -525. - -PARTISANS THROUGH CONTRADICTION.--Whoever has driven men to fury -against himself has also gained a party in his favour. - - -526. - -FORGETTING EXPERIENCES.--Whoever thinks much and to good purpose -easily forgets his own experiences, but not the thoughts which these -experiences have called forth. - - -527. - -STICKING TO AN OPINION.--One person sticks to an opinion because he -takes pride in having acquired it himself,--another sticks to it -because he has learnt it with difficulty and is proud of having -understood it; both of them, therefore, out of vanity. - - -528. - -AVOIDING THE LIGHT.--Good deeds avoid the light just as anxiously as -evil deeds; the latter fear that pain will result from publicity (as -punishment), the former fear that pleasure will vanish with publicity -(the pure pleasure _per se,_ which ceases as soon as satisfaction of -vanity is added to it). - - -529. - -THE LENGTH OF THE DAY.--When one has much to put into them, a day has a -hundred pockets. - - -530. - -THE GENIUS OF TYRANNY.--When an invincible desire to obtain tyrannical -power has been awakened in the soul, and constantly keeps up its -fervour, even a very mediocre talent (in politicians, artists, etc.) -gradually becomes an almost irresistible natural force. - - -531. - -THE ENEMY'S LIFE.--He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an -interest in the preservation of the enemy's life.[1] - - -532. - -MORE IMPORTANT.--Unexplained, obscure matters are regarded as more -important than explained, clear ones. - - -533. - -VALUATION OF SERVICES RENDERED.--We estimate services rendered to -us according to the value set on them by those who render them, not -according to the value they have for us. - - -534. - -UNHAPPINESS.--The distinction associated with unhappiness (as if it -were a sign of stupidity, unambitiousness, or commonplaceness to feel -happy) is so great that when any one says to us, "How happy you are!" -we usually protest. - - -535. - -IMAGINATION IN ANGUISH.--When one is afraid of anything, one's -imagination plays the part of that evil spirit which springs on one's -back just when one has the heaviest load to bear. - - -536. - -THE VALUE OF INSIPID OPPONENTS.--We sometimes remain faithful to a -cause merely because its opponents never cease to be insipid. - - -537. - -THE VALUE OF A PROFESSION.--A profession makes us thoughtless; that -is its greatest blessing. For it is a bulwark behind which we are -permitted to withdraw when commonplace doubts and cares assail us. - - -538. - -TALENT.--Many a man's talent appears less than it is, because he has -always set himself too heavy tasks. - - -539. - -YOUTH.--Youth is an unpleasant period; for then it is not possible or -not prudent to be productive in any sense whatsoever. - - -540. - -TOO GREAT AIMS.--Whoever aims publicly at great things and at length -perceives secretly that he is too weak to achieve them, has usually -also insufficient strength to renounce his aims publicly, and then -inevitably becomes a hypocrite. - - -541. - -IN THE CURRENT.--Mighty waters sweep many stones and shrubs away with -them; mighty spirits many foolish and confused minds. - - -542. - -THE DANGERS OF INTELLECTUAL EMANCIPATION.--In a seriously intended -intellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also -hope to find their advantage. - - -543. - -THE INCARNATION OF THE MIND.--When any one thinks much and to good -purpose, not only his face but also his body acquires a sage look. - - -544. - -SEEING BADLY AND HEARING BADLY.--The man who sees little always sees -less than there is to see; the man who hears badly always hears -something more than there is to hear. - - -545. - -SELF-ENJOYMENT IN VANITY.--The vain man does not wish so much to be -prominent as to feel himself prominent; he therefore disdains none of -the expedients for self-deception and self-out-witting. It is not the -opinion of others that he sets his heart on, but his opinion of their -opinion - - -546. - -EXCEPTIONALLY VAIN.--He who is usually self-sufficient becomes -exceptionally vain, and keenly alive to fame and praise when he is -physically ill. The more he loses himself the more he has to endeavour -to regain his position by means of the opinion of others. - - -547. - -THE "WITTY."--Those who seek wit do not possess it. - - -548. - -A HINT TO THE HEADS OF PARTIES.--When one can make people publicly -support a cause they have also generally been brought to the point of -inwardly declaring themselves in its favour, because they wish to be -regarded as consistent. - - -549. - -CONTEMPT.--Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to -self-contempt. - - -550. - -THE TIE OF GRATITUDE.--There are servile souls who carry so far their -sense of obligation for benefits received that they strangle themselves -with the tie of gratitude. - - -551. - -THE PROPHET'S KNACK.--In predicting beforehand the procedure of -ordinary individuals, it must be taken for granted that they always -make use of the smallest intellectual expenditure in freeing themselves -from disagreeable situations. - - -552. - -MAN'S SOLE RIGHT.--He who swerves from the traditional is a victim of -the unusual; he who keeps to the traditional is its slave. The man is -ruined in either case. - - -553. - -BELOW THE BEAST.--When a man roars with laughter he surpasses all the -animals by his vulgarity. - - -554. - -PARTIAL KNOWLEDGE.--He who speaks a foreign language imperfectly has -more enjoyment therein than he who speaks it well. The enjoyment is -with the partially initiated. - - -555. - -DANGEROUS HELPFULNESS.--There are people who wish to make human life -harder for no other reason than to be able afterwards to offer men -their life-alleviating recipes--their Christianity, for example. - - -556. - -INDUSTRIOUSNESS AND CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.--Industriousness and -conscientiousness are often antagonists, owing to the fact that -industriousness wants to pluck the fruit sour from the tree while -conscientiousness wants to let it hang too long, until it falls and is -bruised. - - -557. - -CASTING SUSPICION.--We endeavour to cast suspicion on persons whom we -cannot endure. - - -558. - -THE CONDITIONS ARE LACKING.--Many people wait all their lives for the -opportunity to be good in _their own way._ - - -559. - -LACK OF FRIENDS.--Lack of friends leads to the inference that a person -is envious or presumptuous. Many a man owes his friends merely to the -fortunate circumstance that he has no occasion for envy. - - -560. - -DANGER IN MANIFOLDNESS.--With one talent more we often stand less -firmly than with one less; just as a table stands better on three feet -than on four. - - -561. - -AN EXEMPLAR FOR OTHERS.--Whoever wants to set a good example must add a -grain of folly to his virtue; people then imitate their exemplar and at -the same time raise themselves above him, a thing they love to do. - - -562. - -BEING A TARGET.--The bad things others say about us are often not -really aimed at us, but are the manifestations of spite or ill-humour -occasioned by quite different causes. - - -563. - -EASILY RESIGNED.--We suffer but little on account of ungratified wishes -if we have exercised our imagination in distorting the past. - - -564. - -IN DANGER.--One is in greatest danger of being run over when one has -just got out of the way of a carriage. - - -565. - -THE ROLE ACCORDING TO THE VOICE.--Whoever is obliged to speak louder -than he naturally does (say, to a partially deaf person or before a -large audience), usually exaggerates what he has to communicate. Many -a one becomes a conspirator, malevolent gossip, or intriguer, merely -because his voice is best suited for whispering. - - -566. - -LOVE AND HATRED.--Love and hatred are not blind, but are dazzled by the -fire which they carry about with them. - - -567. - -ADVANTAGEOUSLY PERSECUTED.--People who cannot make their merits -perfectly obvious to the world endeavour to awaken a strong hostility -against themselves. They have then the consolation of thinking that -this hostility stands between their merits and the acknowledgment -thereof--- and that many others think the same thing, which is very -advantageous for their recognition. - - -568. - -CONFESSION.--We forget our fault when we have confessed it to another -person, but he does not generally forget it. - - -569. - -SELF-SUFFICIENCY.--The Golden Fleece of self-sufficiency is a -protection against blows, but not against needle-pricks. - - -570. - -SHADOWS IN THE FLAME.--The flame is not so bright to itself as to those -whom it illuminates,--so also the wise man. - - -571. - -OUR OWN OPINIONS.--The first opinion that occurs to us when we are -suddenly asked about anything is not usually our own, but only the -current opinion belonging to our caste, position, or family; our own -opinions seldom float on the surface. - - -572. - -THE ORIGIN OF COURAGE.--The ordinary man is as courageous and -invulnerable as a hero when he does not see the danger, when he has no -eyes for it. Reversely, the hero has his one vulnerable spot upon the -back, where he has no eyes. - - -573. - -THE DANGER IN THE PHYSICIAN.--One must be born for one's physician, -otherwise one comes to grief through him. - - -574. - -MARVELLOUS VANITY.--Whoever has courageously prophesied the weather -three times and has been successful in his hits, acquires a certain -amount of inward confidence in his prophetic gift. We give credence to -the marvellous and irrational when it flatters our self-esteem. - - -575. - -A PROFESSION.--A profession is the backbone of life. - - -576. - -THE DANGER OF PERSONAL INFLUENCE.--Whoever feels that he exercises a -great inward influence over another person must give him a perfectly -free rein, must, in fact, welcome and even induce occasional -opposition, otherwise he will inevitably make an enemy. - - -577. - -RECOGNITION OF THE HEIR.--Whoever has founded something great in an -unselfish spirit is careful to rear heirs for his work. It is the sign -of a tyrannical and ignoble nature to see opponents in all possible -heirs, and to live in a state of self-defence against them. - - -578. - -PARTIAL KNOWLEDGE.--Partial knowledge is more triumphant than complete -knowledge; it takes things to be simpler than they are, and so makes -its theory more popular and convincing. - - -579. - -UNSUITABLE FOR A PARTY-MAN.--Whoever thinks much is unsuitable for a -party-man; his thinking leads him too quickly beyond the party. - - -580. - -A BAD MEMORY.--The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several -times the same good things for the _first_ time. - - -581. - -SELF-AFFLICTION.--Want of consideration is often the sign of a -discordant inner nature, which craves for stupefaction. - - -582. - -MARTYRS.--The disciples of a martyr suffer more than the martyr. - - -583. - -ARREARS OF VANITY.--The vanity of many people who have no occasion to -be vain is the inveterate habit, still surviving from the time when -people had no right to the belief in themselves and only begged it in -small sums from others. - - -584. - -_PUNCTUM SALIENS_ OF PASSION.--A person falling into a rage or into a -violent passion of love reaches a point when the soul is full like a -hogshead, but nevertheless a drop of water has still to be added, the -good will for the passion (which is also generally called the evil -will). This item only is necessary, and then the hogshead overflows. - - -585. - -A GLOOMY THOUGHT.--It is with men as with the charcoal fires in the -forest. It is only when young men have cooled down and have got -charred, like these piles, that they become _useful._ As long as they -fume and smoke they are perhaps more interesting, but they are useless -and too often uncomfortable. Humanity ruthlessly uses every individual -as material for the heating of its great machines; but what then is the -purpose of the machines, when all individuals (that is, the human race) -are useful only to maintain them? Machines that are ends in themselves: -is that the _umana commedia_? - - -586. - -THE HOUR-HAND OF LIFE.--Life consists of rare single moments of the -greatest importance, and of countless intervals during which, at best, -the phantoms of those moments hover around us. Love, the Spring, every -fine melody, the mountains, the moon, the sea--all speak but once -fully to the heart, if, indeed, they ever do quite attain to speech. -For many people have not those moments at all, and are themselves -intervals and pauses in the symphony of actual life. - - -587. - -ATTACK OR COMPROMISE.--We often make the mistake of showing violent -enmity towards a tendency, party, or period, because we happen only -to get a sight of its most exposed side, its stuntedness, or the -inevitable "faults of its virtues,"--perhaps because we ourselves have -taken a prominent part in them. We then turn our backs on them and -seek a diametrically opposite course; but the better way would be to -seek out their strong good sides, or to develop them in ourselves. To -be sure, a keener glance and a better will are needed to improve the -becoming and the imperfect than are required to see through it in its -imperfection and to deny it. - -588. - - -MODESTY.--There is true modesty (that is the knowledge that we are -not the works we create); and it is especially becoming in a great -mind, because such a mind can well grasp the thought of absolute -irresponsibility (even for the good it creates). People do not hate -a great man's presumptuousness in so far as he feels his strength, -but because he wishes to prove it by injuring others, by dominating -them, and seeing how long they will stand it. This, as a rule, is even -a proof of the absence of a secure sense of power, and makes people -doubt his greatness. We must therefore beware of presumption from the -stand-point of wisdom. - - -589. - -THE DAY'S FIRST THOUGHT.--The best way to begin a day well is to think, -on awakening, whether we cannot give pleasure during the day to at -least one person. If this could become a substitute for the religious -habit of prayer our fellow-men would benefit by the change. - - -590. - -PRESUMPTION AS THE LAST CONSOLATION.--When we so interpret a -misfortune, an intellectual defect, or a disease that we see therein -our predestined fate, our trial, or the mysterious punishment of our -former misdeeds, we thereby make our nature interesting and exalt -ourselves in imagination above our fellows. The proud sinner is a -well-known figure in all religious sects. - - -591. - -THE VEGETATION OF HAPPINESS.--Close beside the world's woe, and -often upon its volcanic soil, man has laid out his little garden of -happiness. Whether one regard life with the eyes of him who only seeks -knowledge therefrom, or of him who submits and is resigned, or of him -who rejoices over surmounted difficulties--everywhere one will find -some happiness springing up beside the evil--and in fact always the -more happiness the more volcanic the soil has been,--only it would be -absurd to say that suffering itself is justified by this happiness. - - -592. - -THE PATH OF OUR ANCESTORS.--It is sensible when a person develops still -further in himself the _talent_ upon which his father or grandfather -spent much trouble, and does not shift to something entirely new; -otherwise he deprives himself of the possibility of attaining -perfection in any one craft. That is why the proverb says, "Which road -shouldst thou ride?--That of thine ancestors." - - -593. - -VANITY AND AMBITION AS EDUCATORS.--As long as a person has not become -an instrument of general utility, ambition may torment him; if, -however, that point has been reached, if he necessarily works like a -machine for the good of all, then vanity may result; it will humanise -him in small matters and make him more sociable, endurable, and -considerate, when ambition has completed the coarser work of making him -useful. - - -594. - -PHILOSOPHICAL NOVICES.--Immediately we have comprehended the wisdom of -a philosopher, we go through the streets with a feeling as if we had -been re-created and had become great men; for we encounter only those -who are ignorant of this wisdom, and have therefore to deliver new and -unknown verdicts concerning everything. Because we now recognise a -law-book we think we must also comport ourselves as judges. - - -595. - -PLEASING BY DISPLEASING.--People who prefer to attract attention, and -thereby to displease, desire the same thing as those who neither wish -to please nor to attract attention, only they seek it more ardently and -indirectly by means of a step by which they apparently move away from -their goal. They desire influence and power, and therefore show their -superiority, even to such an extent that it becomes disagreeable; for -they know that he who has finally attained power, pleases in almost all -he says and does, and that even when he displeases he still seems to -please. The free spirit also, and in like manner the believer, desire -power, in order some day to please thereby; when, on account of their -doctrine, evil fate, persecution, dungeon, or execution threaten them, -they rejoice in the thought that their teaching will thus be engraved -and branded on the heart of mankind; though its effect is remote they -accept their fate as a painful but powerful means of still attaining to -power. - - -596. - -_CASUS BELLI_ AND THE LIKE.--The prince who, for his determination -to make war against his neighbour, invents a _casus belli,_ is like -a father who foists on his child a mother who is henceforth to be -regarded as such. And are not almost all publicly avowed motives of -action just such spurious mothers? - - -597. - -PASSION AND RIGHT.--Nobody talks more passionately of his rights than -he who, in the depths of his soul, is doubtful about them. By getting -passion on his side he seeks to confound his understanding and its -doubts,--he thus obtains a good conscience, and along with it success -with his fellow-men. - - -598. - -THE TRICK OF THE RESIGNING ONE.--He who protests against marriage, -after the manner of Catholic priests, will conceive of it in its -lowest and vulgarest form. In the same way he who disavows the honour -of his contemporaries will have a mean opinion of it; he can thus -dispense with it and struggle against it more easily. Moreover, he -who denies himself much in great matters will readily indulge himself -in small things. It might be possible that he who is superior to the -approbation of his contemporaries would nevertheless not deny himself -the gratification of small vanities. - - -599. - -THE YEARS OF PRESUMPTION.--The proper period of presumption in gifted -people is between their twenty-sixth and thirtieth years; it is the -time of early ripeness, with a large residue of sourness. On the -ground of what we feel within ourselves we demand honour and humility -from men who see little or nothing of it, and because this tribute -is not immediately forthcoming we revenge ourselves by the look, the -gesture of arrogance, and the tone of voice, which a keen ear and -eye recognise in every product of those years, whether it be poetry, -philosophy, or pictures and music. Older men of experience smile -thereat, and think with emotion of those beautiful years in which one -resents the fate of _being_ so much and _seeming_ so little. Later on -one really _seems_ more,--but one has lost the good belief in _being_ -much,--unless one remain for life an incorrigible fool of vanity. - - -600. - -DECEPTIVE AND YET DEFENSIBLE.--Just as in order to pass by an abyss or -to cross a deep stream on a plank we require a railing, not to hold -fast by,--for it would instantly break down with us,--but to give -the notion of security to the eye, so in youth we require persons -who unconsciously render us the service of that railing. It is true -they would not help us if we really wished to lean upon them in great -danger, but they afford the tranquillising sensation of protection -close to one (for instance, fathers, teachers, friends, as all three -usually are). - - -601. - -LEARNING TO LOVE.--One must learn to love, one must learn to be kind, -and this from childhood onwards; when education and chance give us no -opportunity for the exercise of these feelings our soul becomes dried -up, and even incapable of understanding the fine devices of loving men. -In the same way hatred must be learnt and fostered, when one wants to -become a proficient hater,--otherwise the germ of it will gradually die -out. - - -602. - -RUIN AS ORNAMENT.--Persons who pass through numerous mental phases -retain certain sentiments and habits of their earlier states, which -then project like a piece of inexplicable antiquity and grey stonework -into their new thought and action, often to the embellishment of the -whole surroundings. - - -603. - -LOVE AND HONOUR.--Love desires, fear avoids. That is why one cannot -be both loved and honoured by the same person, at least not at the -same time.[2] For he who honours recognises power,--that is to say, he -fears it, he is in a state of reverential fear (_Ehr-furcht_) But love -recognises no power, nothing that divides, detaches, superordinates, -or subordinates. Because it does not honour them, ambitious people -secretly or openly resent being loved. - - -604. - -A PREJUDICE IN FAVOUR OF COLD NATURES.--People who quickly take fire -grow cold quickly, and therefore are, on the whole, unreliable. For -those, therefore, who are always cold, or pretend to be so, there -is the favourable prejudice that they are particularly trustworthy, -reliable persons; they are confounded with those who take fire slowly -and retain it long. - - -605. - -THE DANGER IN FREE OPINIONS.--Frivolous occupation with free opinions -has a charm, like a kind of itching; if one yields to it further, -one begins to chafe the places; until at last an open, painful wound -results; that is to say, until the free opinion begins to disturb and -torment us in our position in life and in our human relations. - - -606. - -DESIRE FOR SORE AFFLICTION.--When passion is over it leaves behind an -obscure longing for it, and even in disappearing it casts a seductive -glance at us. It must have afforded a kind of pleasure to have -been beaten with this scourge. Compared with it, the more moderate -sensations appear insipid; we still prefer, apparently, the more -violent displeasure to languid delight. - - -607. - -DISSATISFACTION WITH OTHERS AND WITH THE WORLD.--When, as so frequently -happens, we vent our dissatisfaction on others when we are really -dissatisfied with ourselves, we are in fact attempting to mystify and -deceive our judgment; we desire to find a motive _a posteriori_ for -this dissatisfaction, in the mistakes or deficiencies of others, and -so lose sight of ourselves. Strictly religious people, who have been -relentless judges of themselves, have at the same time spoken most ill -of humanity generally; there has never been a saint who reserved sin -for himself and virture for others, any more than a man who, according -to Buddha's rule, hides his good qualities from people and only shows -his bad ones. - - -608. - -CONFUSION OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.--Unconsciously we seek the principles -and opinions which are suited to our temperament, so that at last it -seems as if these principles and opinions had formed our character -and given it support and stability, whereas exactly the contrary has -taken place. Our thoughts and judgments are, apparently, to be taken -subsequently as the causes of our nature, but as a matter of fact _our_ -nature is the cause of our so thinking and judging. And what induces -us to play this almost unconscious comedy? Inertness and convenience, -and to a large extent also the vain desire to be regarded as thoroughly -consistent and homogeneous in nature and thought; for this wins -respect and gives confidence and power. - - -609. - -AGE IN RELATION TO TRUTH.--Young people love what is interesting and -exceptional, indifferent whether it is truth or falsehood. Riper minds -love what is interesting and extraordinary when it is truth. Matured -minds, finally, love truth even in those in whom it appears plain and -simple and is found tiresome by ordinary people, because they have -observed that truth is in the habit of giving utterance to its highest -intellectual verities with all the appearance of simplicity. - - -610. - -MEN AS BAD POETS.--Just as bad poets seek a thought to fit the rhyme -in the second half of the verse, so men in the second half of life, -having become more scrupulous, are in the habit of seeking pursuits, -positions, and conditions which suit those of their earlier life, so -that outwardly all sounds well, but their life is no longer ruled and -continuously determined anew by a powerful thought: in place thereof -there is merely the intention of finding a rhyme. - - -611. - -ENNUI AND PLAY.--Necessity compels us to work, with the product of -which the necessity is appeased; the ever new awakening of necessity, -however, accustoms us to work. But in the intervals in which necessity -is appeased and asleep, as it were, we are attacked by ennui. What is -this? In a word it is the habituation to work, which now makes itself -felt as a new and additional necessity; it will be all the stronger the -more a person has been accustomed to work, perhaps, even, the more a -person has suffered from necessities. In order to escape ennui, a man -either works beyond the extent of his former necessities, or he invents -play, that is to say, work that is only intended to appease the general -necessity for work. He who has become satiated with play, and has no -new necessities impelling him to work, is sometimes attacked by the -longing for a third state, which is related to play as gliding is to -dancing, as dancing is to walking, a blessed, tranquil movement; it is -the artists' and philosophers' vision of happiness. - - -612. - -LESSONS FROM PICTURES.--If we look at a series of pictures of -ourselves, from the time of later childhood to the time of mature -manhood, we discover with pleased surprise that the man bears more -resemblance to the child than to the youth: that probably, therefore, -in accordance with this fact, there has been in the interval a -temporary alienation of the fundamental character, over which the -collected, concentrated force of the man has again become master. With -this observation this other is also in accordance, namely, that all -strong influences of passions, teachers, and political events, which -in our youthful years draw us hither and thither, seem later on to be -referred back again to a fixed standard; of course they still continue -to exist and operate within us, but our fundamental sentiments and -opinions have now the upper hand, and use their influence perhaps as a -source of strength, but are no longer merely regulative, as was perhaps -the case in our twenties. Thus even the thoughts and sentiments of the -man appear more in accordance with those of his childish years,--and -this objective fact expresses itself in the above-mentioned subjective -fact. - - -613. - -THE TONE OF VOICE OF DIFFERENT AGES.--The tone in which youths speak, -praise, blame, and versify, displeases an older person because it is -too loud, and yet at the same time dull and confused like a sound in -a vault, which acquires such a loud ring owing to the emptiness; for -most of the thought of youths does not gush forth out of the fulness -of their own nature, but is the accord and the echo of what has been -thought, said, praised or blamed around them. As their sentiments, -however (their inclinations and aversions), resound much more forcibly -than the reasons thereof, there is heard, whenever they divulge these -sentiments, the dull, clanging tone which is a sign of the absence -or scarcity of reasons. The tone of riper age is rigorous, abruptly -concise, moderately loud, but, like everything distinctly articulated, -is heard very far off. Old age, finally, often brings a certain -mildness and consideration into the tone of the voice, and as it were, -sweetens it; in many cases, to be sure it also sours it. - - -614. - -THE ATAVIST AND THE FORERUNNER.--The man of unpleasant character, -full of distrust, envious of the success of fellow-competitors and -neighbours, violent and enraged at divergent opinions, shows that he -belongs to an earlier grade of culture, and is, therefore, an atavism; -for the way in which he behaves to people was right and suitable only -for an age of club-law; he is an _atavist._ The man of a different -character, rich in sympathy, winning friends everywhere, finding all -that is growing and becoming amiable, rejoicing at the honours and -successes of others and claiming no privilege of solely knowing the -truth, but full of a modest distrust,--he is a forerunner who presses -upward towards a higher human culture. The man of unpleasant character -dates from the times when the rude basis of human intercourse had -yet to be laid, the other lives on the upper floor of the edifice of -culture, removed as far as possible from the howling and raging wild -beast imprisoned in the cellars. - - -615. - -CONSOLATION FOR HYPOCHONDRIACS.--When a great thinker is temporarily -subjected to hypochondriacal self-torture he can say to himself, by -way of consolation: "It is thine own great strength on which this -parasite feeds and grows; if thy strength were smaller thou wouldst -have less to suffer." The statesman may say just the same thing when -jealousy and vengeful feeling, or, in a word, the tone of the _bellum -omnium contra omnes,_ for which, as the representative of a nation, he -must necessarily have a great capacity, occasionally intrudes into his -personal relations and makes his life hard. - - -616. - -ESTRANGED FROM THE PRESENT.--There are great advantages in estranging -one's self for once to a large extent from one's age, and being as -it were driven back from its shores into the ocean of past views of -things. Looking thence towards the coast one commands a view, perhaps -for the first time, of its aggregate formation, and when one again -approaches the land one has the advantage of understanding it better, -on the whole, than those who have never left it. - - -617. - -SOWING AND REAPING ON THE FIELD OF PERSONAL DEFECTS.--Men like Rousseau -understand how to use their weaknesses, defects, and vices as manure -for their talent. When Rousseau bewails the corruption and degeneration -of society as the evil results of culture, there is a personal -experience at the bottom of it, the bitterness which gives sharpness to -his general condemnation and poisons the arrows with which he shoots; -he unburdens himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting a -remedy which, while benefiting society directly, will also benefit -himself indirectly by means of society. - - -618. - -PHILOSOPHICALLY MINDED.--We usually endeavour to acquire _one_ -attitude of mind, _one_ set of opinions for all situations and events -of life--it is mostly called being philosophically minded. But for -the acquisition of knowledge it may be of greater importance not to -make ourselves thus uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the -different situations in life; these bring their own opinions with -them. We thus take an intelligent interest in the life and nature of -many persons by not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single -individuals. - - -619. - -IN THE FIRE OF CONTEMPT.--It is a fresh step towards independence when -one first dares to give utterance to opinions which it is considered as -disgraceful for a person to entertain; even friends and acquaintances -are then accustomed to grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass -through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more to itself. - - -620. - -SELF-SACRIFICE.--In the event of choice, a great sacrifice is preferred -to a small one, because we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice -by self-admiration, which is not possible in the case of a small one. - - -621. - -LOVE AS AN ARTIFICE.--Whoever really wishes to _become acquainted -with_ something new (whether it be a person, an event, or a book), -does well to take up the matter with all possible love, and to avert -his eye quickly from all that seems hostile, objectionable, and false -therein,--in fact to forget such things; so that, for instance, he -gives the author of a book the best start possible, and straightway, -just as in a race, longs with beating heart that he may reach the goal. -In this manner one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its -moving point, and this is called becoming acquainted with it. This -stage having been arrived at, the understanding afterwards makes its -restrictions; the over-estimation and the temporary suspension of the -critical pendulum were only artifices to lure forth the soul of the -matter. - - -622. - -THINKING TOO WELL AND TOO ILL OF THE WORLD.--Whether we think too -well or too ill of things, we always have the advantage of deriving -therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good preconception we -usually put more sweetness into things (experiences) than they actually -contain. A too bad preconception causes a pleasant disappointment, the -pleasantness that lay in the things themselves is increased by the -pleasantness of the surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will have -the reverse experience in both cases. - - -623. - -PROFOUND PEOPLE.--Those whose strength lies in the deepening of -impressions--they are usually called profound people--are relatively -self-possessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for in the first -moment the impression is still shallow, it only then _becomes_ deep. -Long foreseen, long expected events or persons, however, excite such -natures most, and make them almost incapable of eventually having -presence of mind on the arrival thereof. - - -624. - -INTERCOURSE WITH THE HIGHER SELF.--Every one has his good day, when -he finds his higher self; and true humanity demands that a person -shall be estimated according to this state and not according to his -work-days of constraint and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be -appraised and honoured according to the most exalted vision he could -see and represent. But men themselves commune very differently with -this their higher self, and are frequently their own playactors, in so -far as they repeatedly imitate what they are in those moments. Some -stand in awe and humility before their ideal, and would fain deny it; -they are afraid of their higher self because, when it speaks, it speaks -pretentiously. Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and -staying away just as it pleases; on that account it is often called a -gift of the gods, while in fact everything else is a gift of the gods -(of chance); this, however, is the man himself. - - -625. - -LONELY PEOPLE.--Some people are so much accustomed to being alone -in self-communion that they do not at all compare themselves with -others, but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet, happy mood, -conversing pleasantly, and even hilariously, with themselves. If, -however, they are brought to the point of comparing themselves with -others, they are inclined to a brooding under-estimation of their own -worth, so that they have first to be compelled by others _to form_ once -more a good and just opinion of themselves, and even from this acquired -opinion they will always want to subtract and abate something. We must -not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneliness or foolishly -commiserate them on that account, as is so often done. - - -626. - -WITHOUT MELODY.--There are persons to whom a constant repose in -themselves and the harmonious ordering of all their capacities is -so natural that every definite activity is repugnant to them. They -resemble music which consists of nothing but prolonged, harmonious -accords, without even the tendency to an organised and animated melody -showing itself. All external movement serves only to restore to the -boat its equilibrium on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men -usually become excessively impatient when they meet such natures, who -_will never be anything in_ the world, only it is not allowable to say -of them that they _are nothing._ But in certain moods the sight of them -raises the unusual question: "Why should there be melody at all? Why -should it not suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a deep -lake?" The Middle Ages were richer in such natures than our times. How -seldom one now meets with any one who can live on so peacefully and -happily with himself even in the midst of the crowd, saying to himself, -like Goethe, "The best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live -and grow in opposition to the world, and gain what it cannot take away -from me with fire and sword." - - -627. - -TO LIVE AND EXPERIENCE.--If we observe how some people can deal with -their experiences--their unimportant, everyday experiences--so that -these become soil which yields fruit thrice a year; whilst others--and -how many!--are driven through the surf of the most exciting adventures, -the most diversified movements of times and peoples, and yet always -remain light, always remain on the surface, like cork; we are finally -tempted to divide mankind into a minority (minimality) of those who -know how to make much out of little, and a majority of those who -know how to make little out of much; indeed, we even meet with the -counter-sorcerers who, instead of making the world out of nothing, -make a nothing out of the world. - - -628. - -SERIOUSNESS IN PLAY.---In Genoa one evening, in the twilight, I heard -from a tower a long chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and -sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the streets, out into the -evening sky and sea-air, so thrilling, and at the same time so childish -and so sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and suddenly felt the -force of them in my heart: "_Human matters, one and all, are not worthy -of great seriousness; nevertheless ..._" - - -629. - -CONVICTION AND JUSTICE.--The requirement that a person must afterwards, -when cool and sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves -during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that weigh upon mankind. -To have to acknowledge for all future time the consequences of anger, -of fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to a bitterness -against these feelings proportionate to the idolatry with which they -are idolised, especially by artists. These cultivate to its full extent -the _esteem of the passions,_ and have always done so; to be sure, they -also glorify the terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person -affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with death, mutilation, or -voluntary banishment in their train, and the resignation of the broken -heart. In any case they keep alive curiosity about the passions; it is -as if they said: "Without passions you have no experience whatever." -Because we have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely fictitious -being, such as a god), because we have surrendered our heart to a -prince, a party, a woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, -in a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm over us and made -those beings appear worthy of all veneration, and every sacrifice--are -we, therefore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we not, after all, -deceive ourselves then? Was there not a hypothetical promise, under the -tacit presupposition that those beings to whom we consecrated ourselves -were really the beings they seemed to be in our imagination? Are we -under obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with the knowledge -that by this fidelity we shall cause injury to our higher selves? No, -there is no law, no obligation of that sort; we _must_ become traitors, -we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals again and again. We -cannot advance from one period of life into another without causing -these pains of treachery and also suffering from them. Might it be -necessary to guard against the ebullitions of our feelings in order -to escape these pains? Would not the world then become too arid, too -ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves whether these pains -are _necessary_ on a change of convictions, or whether they do not -depend on a _mistaken_ opinion and estimate. Why do we admire a person -who remains true to his convictions and despise him who changes them? -I fear the answer must be, "because every one takes for granted that -such a change is caused only by motives of more general utility or of -personal trouble." That is to say, we believe at bottom that nobody -alters his opinions as long as they are advantageous to him, or at -least as long as they do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however, -it furnishes a bad proof of the _intellectual_ significance of all -convictions. Let us once examine how convictions arise, and let us see -whether their importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will thereby -be seen that the _change_ of convictions also is in all circumstances -judged according to a false standard, that we have hitherto been -accustomed to suffer _too much_ from this change. - - -630. - -Conviction is belief in the possession of absolute truth on any matter -of knowledge. This belief takes it for granted, therefore, that there -are absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have been found for -attaining to them; and finally, that every one who has convictions -makes use of these perfect methods. All three notions show at once that -the man of convictions is not the man of scientific thought; he seems -to us still in the age of theoretical innocence, and is practically -a child, however grown-up he may be. Whole centuries, however, have -been lived under the influence of those childlike presuppositions, and -out of them have flowed the mightiest sources of human strength. The -countless numbers who sacrificed themselves for their convictions -believed they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth. They were -all wrong, however; probably no one has ever sacrificed himself for -Truth; at least, the dogmatic expression of the faith of any such -person has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But really, -people wanted to carry their point because they believed that they -_must be_ in the right. To allow their belief to be wrested from -them probably meant calling in question their eternal salvation. In -an affair of such extreme importance the "will" was too audibly the -prompter of the intellect. The presupposition of every believer of -every shade of belief has been that he _could not_ be confuted; if the -counter-arguments happened to be very strong, it always remained for -him to decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set up the -"_credo quia absurdum est_" as the standard of extreme fanaticism. It -is not the struggle of opinions that has made history so turbulent; but -the struggle of belief in opinions,--that is to say, of convictions. -If all those who thought so highly of their convictions, who made -sacrifices of all kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body, -nor life in their service, had only devoted half of their energy to -examining their right to adhere to this or that conviction and by what -road they arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of mankind now -appear! How much more knowledge would there be! All the cruel scenes -in connection with the persecution of heretics of all kinds would have -been avoided, for two reasons: firstly, because the inquisitors would -above all have inquired of themselves, and would have recognised -the presumption of defending absolute truth; and secondly, because -the heretics themselves would, after examination, have taken no more -interest in such badly established doctrines as those of all religious -sectarians and "orthodox" believers. - - -631. - -From the ages in which it was customary to believe in the possession -of absolute truth, people have inherited a profound _dislike_ of all -sceptical and relative attitudes with regard to questions of knowledge; -they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for good or evil, in the convictions -of those in authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and they -have a kind of remorse of conscience when they do not do so. This -tendency is quite comprehensible, and its results furnish no ground -for condemnation of the course of the development of human reason. -The scientific spirit in man, however, has gradually to bring to -maturity the virtue of _cautious forbearance,_ the wise moderation, -which is better known in practical than in theoretical life, and -which, for instance, Goethe has represented in "Antonio," as an object -of provocation for all Tassos,--that is to say, for unscientific and -at the same time inactive natures. The man of convictions has in -himself the right not to comprehend the man of cautious thought, the -theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the other hand, has no -right to blame the former on that account, he takes no notice thereof, -and knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former will yet cling -to him, as Tasso finally clung to Antonio. - - -632. - -He who has not passed through different phases of conviction, but -sticks to the faith in whose net he was first caught, is, under -all circumstances, just on account of this unchangeableness, a -representative of _atavistic_ culture; in accordance with this lack -of culture (which always presupposes plasticity for culture), he -is severe, unintelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever -suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who has recourse to all -expedients for enforcing his opinions because he cannot conceive that -there must be other opinions; he is, in such respects, perhaps a -source of strength, and even wholesome in cultures that have become -too emancipated and languid, but only because he strongly incites to -opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation of the new culture, -which is forced to struggle with him, becomes strong itself. - - -633. - -In essential respects we are still the same men as those of the time -of the Reformation; how could it be otherwise? But the fact that we -_no longer_ allow ourselves certain means for promoting the triumph -of our opinions distinguishes us from that age, and proves that we -belong to a higher culture. He who still combats and overthrows -opinions with calumnies and outbursts of rage, after the manner of -the Reformation men, obviously betrays the fact that he would have -burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times, and that he would -have resorted to all the methods of the Inquisition if he had been -an opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition was rational at that -time; for it represented nothing else than the universal application of -martial law, which had to be proclaimed throughout the entire domain -of the Church, and which, like all martial law, gave a right to the -extremest methods, under the presupposition, of course, (which we now -no longer share with those people), that the Church _possessed_ truth -and had to preserve it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the -salvation of mankind. Now, however, one does not so readily concede to -any one that he possesses the truth; strict methods of investigation -have diffused enough of distrust and precaution, so that every one who -violently advocates opinions in word and deed is looked upon as an -enemy of our modern culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter -of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is now of very little -consequence in comparison with the certainly milder and less noisy -pathos of the search for truth, which is never weary of learning afresh -and examining anew. - - -634. - -Moreover, the methodical search for truth is itself the outcome of -those ages in which convictions were at war with each other. If the -individual had not cared about _his_ "truth," that is to say, about -carrying his point, there would have been no method of investigation; -thus, however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of different -individuals to absolute truth, people went on step by step to find -irrefragable principles according to which the rights of the claims -could be tested and the dispute settled. At first people decided -according to authorities; later on they criticised one another's ways -and means of finding the presumed truth; in the interval there was a -period when people deduced the consequences of the adverse theory, and -perhaps found them to be productive of injury and unhappiness; from -which it was then to be inferred by every one that the conviction of -the adversary involved an error. The _personal struggle of the thinker_ -at last so sharpened his methods that real truths could be discovered, -and the mistakes of former methods exposed before the eyes of all. - - -635. - -On the whole, scientific methods are at least as important results -of investigation as any other results, for the scientific spirit is -based upon a knowledge of method, and if the methods were lost, all -the results of science could not prevent the renewed prevalence of -superstition and absurdity. Clever people may _learn_ as much as -they like of the results of science, but one still notices in their -conversation, and especially in the hypotheses they make, that they -lack the scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive distrust of -the devious courses of thinking which, in consequence of long training, -has taken root in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough for -them to find any kind of hypothesis on a subject, they are then all -on fire for it, and imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have -an opinion is with them equivalent to immediately becoming fanatical -for it, and finally taking it to heart as a conviction. In the case -of an unexplained matter they become heated for the first idea that -comes into their head which has any resemblance to an explanation--a -course from which the worst results constantly follow, especially in -the field of politics. On that account everybody should nowadays have -become thoroughly acquainted with at least _one_ science, for then -surely he knows what is meant by method, and how necessary is the -extremest carefulness. To women in particular this advice is to be -given at present; as to those who are irretrievably the victims of all -hypotheses, especially when these have the appearance of being witty, -attractive, enlivening, and invigorating. Indeed, on close inspection -one sees that by far the greater number of educated people still desire -convictions from a thinker and nothing but _convictions,_ and that -only a small minority want _certainty._ The former want to be forcibly -carried away in order thereby to obtain an increase of strength; the -latter few have the real interest which disregards personal advantages -and the increase of strength also. The former class, who greatly -predominate, are always reckoned upon when the thinker comports himself -and labels himself as a _genius,_ and thus views himself as a higher -being to whom authority belongs. In so far as genius of this kind -upholds the ardour of convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious -and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of truth, however much it -may think itself the wooer thereof. - - -636. - -There is, certainly, also an entirely different species of genius, that -of justice; and I cannot make up my mind to estimate it lower than any -kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius. Its peculiarity -is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out of the way of everything that -blinds and confuses people's judgment of things; it is consequently -an _adversary of convictions,_ for it wants to give their own to all, -whether they be living or dead, real or imaginary--and for that purpose -it must know thoroughly; it therefore places everything in the best -light and goes around it with careful eyes. Finally, it will even give -to its adversary the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men call -it,--among women it is called "faith"), what is due to conviction--for -the sake of truth. - - -637. - -Opinions evolve out of _passions; indolence of intellect_ allows those -to congeal into _convictions._ He, however, who is conscious of himself -as a _free,_ restless, lively spirit can prevent this congelation by -constant change; and if he is altogether a thinking snowball, he will -not have opinions in his head at all, but only certainties and properly -estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a mixed nature, alternately -inspired with ardour and chilled through and through by the intellect, -want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess we acknowledge. The -_fire_ in us generally makes us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our -goddess; in this condition we are not permitted to take her hand, and -the serious smile of her approval never rests upon us. We reverence -her as the veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her our pain -as penance and sacrifice when the fire threatens to burn and consume -us. It is the _intellect_ that saves us from being utterly burnt and -reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away from the sacrificial -altar of justice or enwraps us in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from -the fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass from opinion to -opinion, through the change of parties, as noble _betrayers_ of all -things that can in any way be betrayed--and nevertheless without a -feeling of guilt. - - -638. - -THE WANDERER.--He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any -extent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as -a wanderer on the face of the earth--and not even as a traveller -_towards_ a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly -wants to observe and keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens -in the world; therefore he cannot attach his heart too firmly to -anything individual; he must have in himself something wandering that -takes pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be sure such a man will -have bad nights, when he is weary and finds the gates of the town that -should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may also find that, as in -the East, the desert reaches to the gates, that wild beasts howl far -and near, that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take away his -beasts of burden. Then the dreadful night closes over him like a second -desert upon the desert, and his heart grows weary of wandering. Then -when the morning sun rises upon him, glowing like a Deity of anger, -when the town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of the dwellers -therein still more desert, uncleanliness, deceit, and insecurity than -outside the gates--and the day is almost worse than the night. Thus -it may occasionally happen to the wanderer; but then there come as, -compensation the delightful mornings of other lands and days, when -already in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of muses dancing -by, close to him, in the mist of the mountain; when afterwards, in -the symmetry of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under -the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-places all manner of -good and bright things are flung to him, the gifts of all the free -spirits who are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes, and who, -like himself, alternately merry and thoughtful, are wanderers and -philosophers. Born of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the -question how the day, between the hours of ten and twelve, can have -such a pure, transparent, and gloriously cheerful countenance: they -seek the _ante-meridian_ philosophy. - - -[Footnote 1: This is why Nietzsche pointed out later on that he had an -interest in the preservation of Christianity, and that he was sure his -teaching would not undermine this faith--just as little as anarchists -have undermined kings; but have left them seated all the more firmly on -their thrones.--J.M.K.] - -[Footnote 2: Women never understand this.--J.M.K.] - - - - - AN EPODE. - - - AMONG FRIENDS. - - - (Translated by T. COMMON.) - - - - Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming, - Nicer still when we are laughing, - 'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding, - On the moss the book a-reading, - Sweetly loud with friends all laughing - Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming. - Do I well, we're mute and humble; - Do I ill--we'll laugh exceeding; - Make it worse and worse, unheeding, - Worse proceeding, more laughs needing, - Till into the grave we stumble. - Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain? - Amen! Till we meet again. - - - II. - - No excuses need be started! - Give, ye glad ones, open hearted, - To this foolish book before you - Ear and heart and lodging meet; - Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you, - Though of folly I may treat! - What I find, seek, and am needing, - Was it e'er in book for reading? - Honour now fools in my name, - Learn from out this book by reading - How "our sense" from reason came. - Thus, my friends, shall it obtain? - Amen! 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Human All-Too-Human, Part 1 - Complete Works, Volume Six - -Author: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -Contributor: J. M. Kennedy - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Helen Zimmern - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51935] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMAN ALL-TOO-HUMAN, PART 1 *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>HUMAN</h1> - -<h1>ALL-TOO-HUMAN</h1> - -<h3><i>A BOOK FOR FREE SPIRITS</i></h3> - -<h4>PART I</h4> - -<h3>By</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>HELEN ZIMMERN</h4> - -<h4>WITH INTRODUCTION BY</h4> - -<h4>J. M. KENNEDY</h4> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/ill_niet.jpg" width="150" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h4>The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche</h4> - -<h5>The First Complete and Authorised English Translation</h5> - -<h4>Edited by Dr Oscar Levy</h4> - -<h4>Volume Six</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1909</h5> -<hr class="full" /> - - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span class="caption">CONTENTS</span>.<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#PREFACE">AUTHOR'S PREFACE</a><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#FIRST_DIVISION">FIRST DIVISION</a>: FIRST AND LAST THINGS<br /> -<a href="#SECOND_DIVISION">SECOND DIVISION</a>: THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENT<br /> -<a href="#THIRD_DIVISION">THIRD DIVISION</a>: THE RELIGIOUS LIFE<br /> -<a href="#FOURTH_DIVISION">FOURTH DIVISION</a>: CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS<br /> -<a href="#FIFTH_DIVISION">FIFTH DIVISION</a>: THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE<br /> -<a href="#SIXTH_DIVISION">SIXTH DIVISION</a>: MAN IN SOCIETY<br /> -<a href="#SEVENTH_DIVISION">SEVENTH DIVISION</a>: WIFE AND CHILD<br /> -<a href="#EIGHTH_DIVISION">EIGHTH DIVISION</a>: A GLANCE AT THE STATE<br /> -<a href="#AN_EPODE">AN EPODE</a>—AMONG FRIENDS<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION.</a></h4> - - -<p>Nietzsche's essay, <i>Richard Wagner in Bayreuth,</i> appeared in 1876, -and his next publication was his present work, which was issued in -1878. A comparison of the books will show that the two years of -meditation intervening had brought about a great change in Nietzsche's -views, his style of expressing them, and the form in which they -were cast. The Dionysian, overflowing with life, gives way to an -Apollonian thinker with a touch of pessimism. The long essay form is -abandoned, and instead we have a series of aphorisms, some tinged with -melancholy, others with satire, several, especially towards the end, -with Nietzschian wit at its best, and a few at the beginning so very -abstruse as to require careful study.</p> - -<p>Since the Bayreuth festivals of 1876, Nietzsche had gradually come to -see Wagner as he really was. The ideal musician that Nietzsche had -pictured in his own mind turned out to be nothing more than a rather -dilettante philosopher, an opportunistic decadent with a suspicious -tendency towards Christianity. The young philosopher thereupon -proceeded to shake off the influence which the musician had exercised -upon him. He was successful in doing so, but not without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> struggle, -just as he had formerly shaken off the influence of Schopenhauer. -Hence he writes in his autobiography:<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> "<i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> is -the monument of a crisis. It is entitled: 'A book for <i>free</i> spirits,' -and almost every line in it represents a victory—in its pages I freed -myself from everything foreign to my real nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title says, 'Where <i>you</i> see ideal things, I see things -which are only—human alas! all-too-human!' I know man <i>better</i>—the -term 'free spirit' must here be understood in no other sense than this: -a <i>freed</i> man, who has once more taken possession of himself."</p> - -<p>The form of this book will be better understood when it is remembered -that at this period Nietzsche was beginning to suffer from stomach -trouble and headaches. As a cure for his complaints, he spent his time -in travel when he could get a few weeks' respite from his duties at -Basel University; and it was in the course of his solitary walks and -hill-climbing tours that the majority of these thoughts occurred to -him and were jotted down there and then. A few of them, however, date -further back, as he tells us in the preface to the second part of this -work. Many of them, he says, occupied his mind even before he published -his first book, <i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> and several others, as we learn -from his notebooks and posthumous writings, date from the period of the -<i>Thoughts out of Season.</i></p> - -<p>It must be clearly understood, however, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> Nietzsche's disease must -not be looked upon in the same way as that of an ordinary man. People -are inclined to regard a sick man as rancorous; but any one who rights -with and conquers his disease, and even exploits it, as Nietzsche did, -benefits thereby to an extraordinary degree. In the first place, he has -passed through several stages of human psychology with which a healthy -man is entirely unacquainted; <i>e.g.</i> he has learnt by introspection -the spiteful and revengeful spirit of the sick man and his religion. -Secondly, in his moments of freedom from pain and gloom his thoughts -will be all the more brilliant.</p> - -<p>In support of this last statement, one instance may be selected out of -hundreds that could be adduced. Heinrich Heine spent the greater part -of his life in exile from his native country, tortured by headaches, -and finally dying in a foreign land as the result of a spinal disease. -His splendid works were composed in his moments of respite from -illness, and during the last years of his life, when his health was -at its worst, he gave to the world his famous <i>Romancero.</i> We would -likewise do well to recollect Goethe's saying:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Zart Gedicht, wie Regenbogen,<br /> -Wird nur auf dunkelm Grund gezogen.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Thus neither the form of this book—so startling at first to those who -have been brought up in the traditions of our own school—nor the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> -treat all men as equals, and proclaim the establishment of equal rights:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>so far a socialistic mode of thought which is based on -<i>justice</i> is possible; but, as has been said, only within -the ranks of the governing classes, which in this case -<i>practises</i> justice with sacrifices and abnegations. On -the other hand, to <i>demand</i> equality of rights, as do the -Socialists of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome -of justice, but of covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces -of flesh to a beast, and then withdraw them again until -it finally begins to roar, do you think that the roaring -implies justice?</p></blockquote> - -<p>Theologians on the other hand, as may be expected, will find no such -ready help in their difficulties from Nietzsche. They must, on the -contrary, be on their guard against so alert an adversary—a duty -which they are apparently not going to shirk; for theologians are -amongst the most ardent students of Nietzsche in this country. Their -attention may therefore be drawn to aphorism 630 of this book, dealing -with convictions and their origin, which will no doubt be successfully -refuted by the defenders of the true faith. In fact, there is not a -single paragraph in the book that does not deserve careful study by all -serious thinkers.</p> - -<p>On the whole, however, this is a calm book, and those who are -accustomed to Nietzsche the out-spoken Immoralist, may be somewhat -astonished at the calm tone of the present volume. The explanation is -that Nietzsche was now just beginning to walk on his own philosophical -path. His life-long aim, the uplifting of the type man, was still in -view, but the way leading towards it was once more uncertain. Hence the -peculiarly calm, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> melancholic, and what Nietzsche himself would -call Apollonian, tinge of many of these aphorisms, so different from -the style of his earlier and later writings. For this very reason, -however, the book may appeal all the more to English readers, who are -of course more Apollonian than Dionysian. Nietzsche is feeling his way, -and these aphorisms represent his first steps. As such—besides having -a high intrinsic value of themselves—they are enormous aids to the -study of his character and temperament.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. M. KENNEDY.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Ecce Homo,</i> p. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> "Tender poetry, like rainbows, can appear only on a dark -and sombre background."—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a><br /><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h4> - - -<p class="parnum">1.</p> - - -<p>I have been told frequently, and always with great surprise, that there -is something common and distinctive in all my writings, from the <i>Birth -of Tragedy</i> to the latest published <i>Prelude to a Philosophy of the -Future.</i> They all contain, I have been told, snares and nets for unwary -birds, and an almost perpetual unconscious demand for the inversion -of customary valuations and valued customs. What? <i>Everything</i> -only—human-all-too-human? People lay down my writings with this sigh, -not without a certain dread and distrust of morality itself, indeed -almost tempted and encouraged to become advocates of the <i>worst</i> -things: as being perhaps only the <i>best</i> disparaged? My writings have -been called a school of suspicion and especially of disdain, more -happily, also, a school of courage and even of audacity. Indeed, I -myself do not think that any one has ever looked at the world with such -a profound suspicion; and not only as occasional Devil's Advocate, but -equally also, to speak theologically, as enemy and impeacher of God; -and he who realises something of the consequences involved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> in every -profound suspicion, something of the chills and anxieties of loneliness -to which every uncompromising <i>difference of outlook</i> condemns him -who is affected therewith, will also understand how often I sought -shelter in some kind of reverence or hostility, or scientificality -or levity or stupidity, in order to recover from myself, and, as it -were, to obtain temporary self-forgetfulness; also why, when I did not -find what I <i>needed,</i> I was obliged to manufacture it, to counterfeit -and to imagine it in a suitable manner (and what else have poets ever -done? And for what purpose has all the art in the world existed?). -What I always required most, however, for my cure and self-recovery, -was the belief that I was <i>not</i> isolated in such circumstances, that I -did not <i>see</i> in an isolated manner—a magic suspicion of relationship -and similarity to others in outlook and desire, a repose in the -confidence of friendship, a blindness in both parties without suspicion -or note of interrogation, an enjoyment of foregrounds, and surfaces -of the near and the nearest, of all that has colour, epidermis, and -outside appearance. Perhaps I might be reproached in this respect -for much "art" and fine false coinage; for instance, for voluntarily -and knowingly shutting my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will to -morality at a time when I had become sufficiently clear-sighted about -morality; also for deceiving myself about Richard Wagner's incurable -romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an end; also about -the Greeks, also about the Germans and their future—and there would -still probably be quite a long list of such alsos? Supposing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> however, -that this were all true and that I were reproached with good reason, -what do <i>you</i> know, what <i>could</i> you know as to how much artifice of -self-preservation, how much rationality and higher protection there is -in such self-deception,—and how much falseness I still <i>require</i> in -order to allow myself again and again the luxury of <i>my</i> sincerity? -... In short, I still live; and life, in spite of ourselves, is not -devised by morality; it <i>demands</i> illusion, it <i>lives</i> by illusion -... but——There! I am already beginning again and doing what I have -always done, old immoralist and bird-catcher that I am,—I am talking -un-morally, ultra-morally, "beyond good and evil"?...</p> - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - -<p>Thus then, when I found it necessary, I <i>invented</i> once on a time the -"free spirits," to whom this discouragingly encouraging book with -the title <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> is dedicated. There are no such -"free spirits" nor have there been such, but, as already said, I then -required them for company to keep me cheerful in the midst of evils -(sickness, loneliness, foreignness,—<i>acedia,</i> inactivity) as brave -companions and ghosts with whom I could laugh and gossip when so -inclined and send to the devil when they became bores,—as compensation -for the lack of friends. That such free spirits <i>will be possible</i> some -day, that our Europe <i>will</i> have such bold and cheerful wights amongst -her sons of to-morrow and the day after to-morrow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> as the shadows of -a hermit's phantasmagoria—<i>I</i> should be the last to doubt thereof. -Already I see them <i>coming,</i> slowly, slowly; and perhaps I am doing -something to hasten their coming when I describe in advance under what -auspices I <i>see</i> them originate, and upon what paths I <i>see</i> them come.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">3.</p> - -<p>One may suppose that a spirit in which the type "free spirit" is to -become fully mature and sweet, has had its decisive event in a <i>great -emancipation,</i> and that it was all the more fettered previously and -apparently bound for ever to its corner and pillar. What is it that -binds most strongly? What cords are almost unrendable? In men of a -lofty and select type it will be their duties; the reverence which is -suitable to youth, respect and tenderness for all that is time-honoured -and worthy, gratitude to the land which bore them, to the hand which -led them, to the sanctuary where they learnt to adore,—their most -exalted moments themselves will bind them most effectively, will lay -upon them the most enduring obligations. For those who are thus bound -the great emancipation comes suddenly, like an earthquake; the young -soul is all at once convulsed, unloosened and extricated—it does not -itself know what is happening. An impulsion and-compulsion sway and -over-master it like a command; a will and a wish awaken, to go forth -on their course, anywhere, at any cost; a violent, dangerous curiosity -about an undiscovered world flames and flares in every sense. "Better -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> die than live <i>here</i>"—says the imperious voice and seduction, and -this "here," this "at home" is all that the soul has hitherto loved! A -sudden fear and suspicion of that which it loved, a flash of disdain -for what was called its "duty," a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanically -throbbing longing for travel, foreignness, estrangement, coldness, -disenchantment, glaciation, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious -clutch and look <i>backwards,</i> to where it hitherto adored and loved, -perhaps a glow of shame at what it was just doing, and at the same -time a rejoicing <i>that</i> it was doing it, an intoxicated, internal, -exulting thrill which betrays a triumph—a triumph? Over what? Over -whom? An enigmatical, questionable, doubtful triumph, but the <i>first</i> -triumph nevertheless;—such evil and painful incidents belong to the -history of the great emancipation. It is, at the same time, a disease -which may destroy the man, this first outbreak of power and will to -self-decision, self-valuation, this will to <i>free</i> will; and how much -disease is manifested in the wild attempts and eccentricities by which -the liberated and emancipated one now seeks to demonstrate his mastery -over things! He roves about raging with unsatisfied longing; whatever -he captures has to suffer for the dangerous tension of his pride; -he tears to pieces whatever attracts him. With a malicious laugh he -twirls round whatever he finds veiled or guarded by a sense of shame; -he tries how these things look when turned upside down. It is a matter -of arbitrariness with him, and pleasure in arbitrariness, if he now -perhaps bestow his favour on what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> had hitherto a bad repute,—if he -inquisitively and temptingly haunt what is specially forbidden. In the -background of his activities and wanderings —for he is restless and -aimless in his course as in a desert—stands the note of interrogation -of an increasingly dangerous curiosity. "Cannot <i>all</i> valuations be -reversed? And is good perhaps evil? And God only an invention and -artifice of the devil? Is everything, perhaps, radically false? And -if we are the deceived, are we not thereby also deceivers? <i>Must</i> we -not also be deceivers?"—Such thoughts lead and mislead him more and -more, onward and away. Solitude encircles and engirdles him, always -more threatening, more throttling, more heart-oppressing, that terrible -goddess and <i>mater sæva cupidinum</i>—but who knows nowadays what -<i>solitude</i> is?...</p> - - -<p class="parnum">4.</p> - -<p>From this morbid solitariness, from the desert of such years of -experiment, it is still a long way to the copious, overflowing safety -and soundness which does not care to dispense with disease itself as -an instrument and angling-hook of knowledge;—to that <i>mature</i> freedom -of spirit which is equally self-control and discipline of the heart, -and gives access to many and opposed modes of thought;—to that inward -comprehensiveness and daintiness of superabundance, which excludes any -danger of the spirit's becoming enamoured and lost in its own paths, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> lying intoxicated in some corner or other; to that excess of -plastic, healing, formative, and restorative powers, which is exactly -the sign of <i>splendid</i> health, that excess which gives the free spirit -the dangerous prerogative of being entitled to live by <i>experiments</i> -and offer itself to adventure; the free spirit's prerogative of -mastership! Long years of convalescence may lie in between, years full -of many-coloured, painfully-enchanting magical transformations, curbed -and led by a tough <i>will to health,</i> which often dares to dress and -disguise itself as actual health. There is a middle condition therein, -which a man of such a fate never calls to mind later on without -emotion; a pale, delicate light and a sunshine-happiness are peculiar -to him, a feeling of bird-like freedom, prospect, and haughtiness, a -<i>tertium quid</i> in which curiosity and gentle disdain are combined. A -"free spirit"—this cool expression does good in every condition, it -almost warms. One no longer lives, in the fetters of love and hatred, -without Yea, without Nay, voluntarily near, voluntarily distant, -preferring to escape, to turn aside, to flutter forth, to fly up and -away; one is fastidious like every one who has once seen an immense -variety <i>beneath</i> him,—and one has become the opposite of those who -trouble themselves about things which do not concern them. In fact, it -is nothing but things which now concern the free spirit,—and how many -things!—which no longer <i>trouble</i> him!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">5.</p> - -<p>A step further towards recovery, and the free spirit again draws -near to life; slowly, it is true, and almost stubbornly, almost -distrustfully. Again it grows warmer around him, and, as it were, -yellower; feeling and sympathy gain depth,. thawing winds of every -kind pass lightly over him. He almost feels as if his eyes were now -first opened to what is <i>near.</i> He marvels and is still; where has -he been? The near and nearest things, how changed they appear to -him! What a bloom and magic they have acquired meanwhile! He looks -back gratefully,—grateful to his wandering, his austerity and -self-estrangement, his far-sightedness and his bird-like flights -in cold heights. What a good thing that he did not always stay "at -home," "by himself," like a sensitive, stupid tenderling. He has been -<i>beside himself,</i> there is no doubt. He now sees himself for the first -time,—and what surprises he feels thereby! What thrills unexperienced -hitherto! What joy even in the weariness, in the old illness, in the -relapses of the convalescent! How he likes to sit still and suffer, to -practise patience, to lie in the sun! Who is as familiar as he with the -joy of winter, with the patch of sunshine upon the wall! They are the -most grateful animals in the world, and also the most unassuming, these -lizards of convalescents with their faces half-turned towards life once -more:—there are those amongst them who never let a day pass without -hanging a little hymn of praise on its trailing fringe. And, speaking -seriously, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> is a radical <i>cure</i> for all pessimism (the well-known -disease of old idealists and falsehood-mongers) to become ill after -the manner of these free spirits, to remain ill a good while, and then -grow well (I mean "better") for a still longer period. It is wisdom, -practical wisdom, to prescribe even health for one's self for a long -time only in small doses.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">6.</p> - -<p>About this time it may at last happen, under the sudden illuminations -of still disturbed and changing health, that the enigma of that great -emancipation begins to reveal itself to the free, and ever freer, -spirit,—that enigma which had hitherto lain obscure, questionable, -and almost intangible, in his memory. If for a long time he scarcely -dared to ask himself, "Why so apart? So alone? denying everything that -I revered? denying reverence itself? Why this hatred, this suspicion, -this severity towards my own virtues?"—he now dares and asks the -questions aloud, and already hears something like an answer to them— -"Thou shouldst become master over thyself and master also of thine own -virtues. Formerly <i>they</i> were thy masters; but they are only entitled -to be thy tools amongst other tools. Thou shouldst obtain power over -thy pro and contra, and learn how to put them forth and withdraw them -again in accordance with thy higher purpose. Thou shouldst learn how -to take the proper perspective of every valuation—the shifting, -distortion, and apparent teleology of the horizons and everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> that -belongs to perspective; also the amount of stupidity which opposite -values involve, and all the intellectual loss with which every pro -and every contra has to be paid for. Thou shouldst learn how much -<i>necessary</i> injustice there is in every for and against, injustice -as inseparable from life, and life itself as <i>conditioned</i> by the -perspective and its injustice. Above all thou shouldst see clearly -where the injustice is always greatest:—namely, where life has -developed most punily, restrictedly, necessitously, and incipiently, -and yet cannot help regarding <i>itself</i> as the purpose and standard of -things, and for the sake of self-preservation, secretly, basely, and -continuously wasting away and calling in question the higher, greater, -and richer,—thou shouldst see clearly the problem of gradation of -rank, and how power and right and amplitude of perspective grow up -together. Thou shouldst——" But enough; the free spirit <i>knows</i> -henceforth which "thou shalt" he has obeyed, and also what he <i>can</i> now -<i>do,</i> what he only now—<i>may do</i>....</p> - - -<p class="parnum">7.</p> - -<p>Thus doth the free spirit answer himself with regard to the riddle of -emancipation, and ends therewith, while he generalises his case, in -order thus to decide with regard to his experience. "As it has happened -to <i>me</i>," he says to himself, "so must it happen to every one in whom -a <i>mission</i> seeks to embody itself and to 'come into the world.'" The -secret power and necessity of this mission will operate in and upon -the destined individuals like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> an unconscious pregnancy,—long before -they have had the mission itself in view and have known its name. Our -destiny rules over us, even when we are not yet aware of it; it is -the future that makes laws for our to-day. Granted that it is <i>the -problem of the gradations of rank,</i> of which we may say that it is -<i>our</i> problem, we free spirits; now only in the midday of our life do -we first understand what preparations, detours, tests, experiments, -and disguises the problem needed, before it <i>was permitted</i> to rise -before us, and how we had first to experience the most manifold and -opposing conditions of distress and happiness in soul and body, as -adventurers and circumnavigators of the inner world called "man," as -surveyors of all the "higher" and the "one-above-another," also called -"man"—penetrating everywhere, almost without fear, rejecting nothing, -losing nothing, tasting everything, cleansing everything from all that -is accidental, and, as it were, sifting it out—until at last we could -say, we free spirits, "Here—a <i>new</i> problem! Here a long ladder, -the rungs of which we ourselves have sat upon and mounted,—which we -ourselves at some time have <i>been</i>! Here a higher place, a lower place, -an under-us, an immeasurably long order, a hierarchy which we <i>see;</i> -here—<i>our</i> problem!"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">8.</p> - -<p>No psychologist or augur will be in doubt for a moment as to what stage -of the development just described the following book belongs (or is -assigned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> to). But where are these psychologists nowadays? In France, -certainly; perhaps in Russia; assuredly not in Germany. Reasons are -not lacking why the present-day Germans could still even count this -as an honour to them—bad enough, surely, for one who in this respect -is un-German in disposition and constitution! This <i>German</i> book, -which has been able to find readers in a wide circle of countries -and nations—it has been about ten years going its rounds—and must -understand some sort of music and piping art, by means of which -even coy foreign ears are seduced into listening,—it is precisely -in Germany that this book has been most negligently read, and worst -<i>listened to;</i> what is the reason?" It demands too much, "I have been -told," it appeals to men free from the pressure of coarse duties, it -wants refined and fastidious senses, it needs superfluity—superfluity -of time, of clearness of sky and heart, of <i>otium</i> in the boldest -sense of the term:—purely good things, which we Germans of to-day do -not possess and therefore cannot give." After such a polite answer -my philosophy advises me to be silent and not to question further; -besides, in certain cases, as the proverb points out, one only -<i>remains</i> a philosopher by being—silent.<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>NICE, <i>Spring</i> 1886.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> An allusion to the mediæval Latin distich: -</p> -<p> -O si tacuisses,<br /> -Philosophus mansisses.—J.M.K.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h3><a name="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN" id="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN.</a></h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="FIRST_DIVISION" id="FIRST_DIVISION">FIRST DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>FIRST AND LAST THINGS.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Chemistry of Ideas and Sensations</span>.—Philosophical problems adopt in -almost all matters the same form of question as they did two thousand -years ago; how can anything spring from its opposite? for instance, -reason out of unreason, the sentient out of the dead, logic out of -unlogic, disinterested contemplation out of covetous willing, life for -others out of egoism, truth out of error? Metaphysical philosophy has -helped itself over those difficulties hitherto by denying the origin of -one thing in another, and assuming a miraculous origin for more highly -valued things, immediately out of the kernel and essence of the "thing -in itself." Historical philosophy, on the contrary, which is no longer -to be thought of as separate from physical science, the youngest of all -philosophical methods, has ascertained in single cases (and presumably -this will happen in everything)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> that there are no opposites except in -the usual exaggeration of the popular or metaphysical point of view, -and that an error of reason lies at the bottom of the opposition: -according to this explanation, strictly understood, there is neither -an unegoistical action nor an entirely disinterested point of view, -they are both only sublimations in which the fundamental element -appears almost evaporated, and is only to be discovered by the closest -observation. All that we require, and which can only be given us by the -present advance of the single sciences, is a <i>chemistry</i> of the moral, -religious, æsthetic ideas and sentiments, as also of those emotions -which we experience in ourselves both in the great and in the small -phases of social and intellectual intercourse, and even in solitude; -but what if this chemistry should result in the fact that also in this -case the most beautiful colours have been obtained from base, even -despised materials? Would many be inclined to pursue such examinations? -Humanity likes to put all questions as to origin and beginning out -of its mind; must one not be almost dehumanised to feel a contrary -tendency in one's self?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Inherited Faults of Philosophers</span>.—All philosophers have the common -fault that they start from man in his present state and hope to attain -their end by an analysis of him. Unconsciously they look upon "man" -as an <i>cetema Veritas,</i> as a thing unchangeable in all commotion, as -a sure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> standard of things. But everything that the philosopher says -about man is really nothing more than testimony about the man of a -<i>very limited</i> space of time. A lack of the historical sense is the -hereditary fault of all philosophers; many, indeed, unconsciously -mistake the very latest variety of man, such as has arisen under the -influence of certain religions, certain political events, for the -permanent form from which one must set out. They will not learn that -man has developed, that his faculty of knowledge has developed also; -whilst for some of them the entire world is spun out of this faculty -of knowledge. Now everything <i>essential</i> in human development happened -in pre-historic times, long before those four thousand years which we -know something of; man may not have changed much during this time. But -the philosopher sees "instincts" in the present man and takes it for -granted that this is one of the unalterable facts of mankind, and, -consequently, can furnish a key to the understanding of the world; the -entire teleology is so constructed that man of the last four thousand -years is spoken of as an <i>eternal</i> being, towards which all things in -the world have from the beginning a natural direction. But everything -has evolved; there are <i>no eternal facts,</i> as there are likewise no -absolute truths. Therefore, <i>historical philosophising</i> is henceforth -necessary, and with it the virtue of diffidence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">3.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Appreciation of Unpretentious Truths</span>.—It is a mark of a higher -culture to value the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> little unpretentious truths, which have been -found by means of strict method, more highly than the joy-diffusing -and dazzling errors which spring from metaphysical and artistic times -and peoples. First of all one has scorn on the lips for the former, -as if here nothing could have equal privileges with anything else, -so unassuming, simple, bashful, apparently discouraging are they, -so beautiful, stately, intoxicating, perhaps even animating, are -the others. But the hardly attained, the certain, the lasting, and -therefore of great consequence for all wider knowledge, is still -the higher; to keep one's self to that is manly and shows bravery, -simplicity, and forbearance. Gradually not only single individuals -but the whole of mankind will be raised to this manliness, when -it has at last accustomed itself to the higher appreciation of -durable, lasting knowledge, and has lost all belief in inspiration -and the miraculous communication of truths. Respecters of <i>forms,</i> -certainly, with their standard of the beautiful and noble, will first -of all have good reasons for mockery, as soon as the appreciation of -unpretentious truths, and the scientific spirit, begin to obtain the -mastery; but only because their eye has either not yet recognised the -charm of the <i>simplest</i> form, or because men educated in that spirit -are not yet completely and inwardly saturated by it, so that they -still thoughtlessly imitate old forms (and badly enough, as one does -who no longer cares much about the matter). Formerly the spirit was -not occupied with strict thought, its earnestness then lay in the -spinning out of symbols and forms. This is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> changed; that earnestness -in the symbolical has become the mark of a lower culture. As our arts -themselves grow evermore intellectual, our senses more spiritual, and -as, for instance, people now judge concerning what sounds well to the -senses quite differently from how they did a hundred years ago, so the -forms of our life grow ever more <i>spiritual,</i> to the eye of older ages -perhaps <i>uglier,</i> but only because it is incapable of perceiving how -the kingdom of the inward, spiritual beauty constantly grows deeper -and wider, and to what extent the inner intellectual look may be of -more importance to us all than the most beautiful bodily frame and the -noblest architectural structure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">4.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Astrology and the Like</span>.—It is probable that the objects of religious, -moral, æsthetic and logical sentiment likewise belong only to the -surface of things, while man willingly believes that here, at least, -he has touched the heart of the world; he deceives himself, because -those things enrapture him so profoundly, and make him so profoundly -unhappy, and he therefore shows the same pride here as in astrology. -For astrology believes that the firmament moves round the destiny of -man; the moral man, however, takes it for granted that what he has -essentially at heart must also be the essence and heart of things.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">5.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Misunderstanding of Dreams</span>.—In the ages of a rude and primitive -civilisation man believed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> that in dreams he became acquainted with -a <i>second actual world</i>; herein lies the origin of all metaphysics. -Without dreams there could have been found no reason for a division of -the world. The distinction, too, between soul and body is connected -with the most ancient comprehension of dreams, also the supposition of -an imaginary soul-body, therefore the origin of all belief in spirits, -and probably also the belief in gods. "The dead continues to live, -<i>for</i> he appears to the living in a dream": thus men reasoned of old -for thousands and thousands of years.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">6.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Scientific Spirit Partially But Not Wholly Powerful</span>.—The -<i>smallest</i> subdivisions of science taken separately are dealt with -purely in relation to themselves,—the general, great sciences, on the -contrary, regarded as a whole, call up the question—certainly a very -non-objective one—"Wherefore? To what end?" It is this utilitarian -consideration which causes them to be dealt with less impersonally -when taken as a whole than when considered in their various parts. -In philosophy, above all, as the apex of the entire, pyramid of -science, the question as to the utility of knowledge is involuntarily -brought forward, and every philosophy has the unconscious intention of -ascribing to it the <i>greatest</i> usefulness. For this reason there is so -much high-flying metaphysics in all philosophies and such a shyness of -the apparently unimportant solutions of physics; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> the importance -of knowledge for life <i>must</i> appear as great as possible. Here is the -antagonism between the separate provinces of science and philosophy. -The latter desires, what art does, to give the greatest possible depth -and meaning to life and actions; in the former one seeks knowledge and -nothing further, whatever may emerge thereby. So far there has been no -philosopher in whose hands philosophy has not grown into an apology -for knowledge; on this point, at least, every one is an optimist, that -the greatest usefulness must be ascribed to knowledge. They are all -tyrannised over by logic, and this is optimism—in its essence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">7.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Kill-joy in Science</span>.—Philosophy separated from science when it -asked the question, "Which is the knowledge of the world and of life -which enables man to live most happily?" This happened in the Socratic -schools; the veins of scientific investigation were bound up by the -point of view of <i>happiness,</i>—and are so still.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">8.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pneumatic Explanation of Nature</span>.—Metaphysics explains the writing of -Nature, so to speak, <i>pneumatically,</i> as the Church and her learned men -formerly did with the Bible. A great deal of understanding is required -to apply to Nature the same method of strict interpretation as the -philologists have now established for all books<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> with the intention -of clearly understanding what the text means, but not suspecting a -<i>double</i> sense or even taking it for granted. Just, however, as with -regard to books, the bad art of interpretation is by no means overcome, -and in the most cultivated society one still constantly comes across -the remains of allegorical and mystic interpretation, so it is also -with regard to Nature, indeed it is even much worse.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">9.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Metaphysical World</span>.—It is true that there <i>might</i> be a -metaphysical world; the absolute possibility of it is hardly to be -disputed. We look at everything through the human head and cannot cut -this head off; while the question remains, What would be left of the -world if it had been cut off? This is a purely scientific problem, -and one not very likely to trouble mankind; but everything which -has hitherto made metaphysical suppositions <i>valuable, terrible, -delightful</i> for man, what has produced them, is passion, error, and -self-deception; the very worst methods of knowledge, not the best, -have taught belief therein. When these methods have been discovered as -the foundation of all existing religions and metaphysics, they have -been refuted. Then there still always remains that possibility; but -there is nothing to be done with it, much less is it possible to let -happiness, salvation, and life depend on the spider-thread of such a -possibility. For nothing could be said of the metaphysical world but -that it would be a different condition, a condition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> inaccessible and -incomprehensible to us; it would be a thing of negative qualities. -Were the existence of such a world ever so well proved, the fact would -nevertheless remain that it would be precisely the most irrelevant -of all forms of knowledge: more irrelevant than the knowledge of the -chemical analysis of water to the sailor in danger in a storm.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">10.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Harmlessness of Metaphysics in the Future</span>.—Directly the origins -of religion, art, and morals have been so described that one can -perfectly explain them without having recourse to metaphysical concepts -at the beginning and in the course of the path, the strongest interest -in the purely theoretical problem of the "thing-in-itself" and the -"phenomenon" ceases. For however it may be here, with religion, art, -and morals we do not touch the "essence of the world in itself"; we are -in the domain of representation, no "intuition" can carry us further. -With the greatest calmness we shall leave the question as to how our -own conception of the world can differ so widely from the revealed -essence of the world, to physiology and the history of the evolution of -organisms and ideas.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">11.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Language As a Presumptive Science</span>.—The importance of language for -the development of culture lies in the fact that in language man has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -placed a world of his own beside the other, a position which he deemed -so fixed that he might therefrom lift the rest of the world off its -hinges, and make himself master of it. Inasmuch as man has believed in -the ideas and names of things as <i>æternæ veritates</i> for a great length -of time, he has acquired that pride by which he has raised himself -above the animal; he really thought that in language he possessed -the knowledge of the world. The maker of language was not modest -enough to think that he only gave designations to things, he believed -rather that with his words he expressed the widest knowledge of the -things; in reality language is the first step in the endeavour after -science. Here also it is belief in ascertained truth, from which the -mightiest sources of strength have flowed. Much later—only now—it -is dawning upon men that they have propagated a tremendous error in -their belief in language. Fortunately it is now too late to reverse -the development of reason, which is founded upon that belief. <i>Logic,</i> -also, is founded upon suppositions to which nothing in the actual -world corresponds,—for instance, on the supposition of the equality -of things, and the identity of the same thing at different points of -time,—but that particular science arose out of the contrary belief -(that such things really existed in the actual world). It is the same -with mathematics, which would certainly not have arisen if it had been -known from the beginning that in Nature there are no exactly straight -lines, no real circle, no absolute standard of size.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">12.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dream and Culture</span>.—The function of the brain which is most influenced -by sleep is the memory; not that it entirely ceases; but it is brought -back to a condition of imperfection, such as everyone may have -experienced in pre-historic times, whether asleep or awake. Arbitrary -and confused as it is, it constantly confounds things on the ground -of the most fleeting resemblances; but with the same arbitrariness -and confusion the ancients invented their mythologies, and even at -the present day travellers are accustomed to remark how prone the -savage is to forgetfulness, how, after a short tension of memory, his -mind begins to sway here and there from sheer weariness and gives -forth lies and nonsense. But in dreams we all resemble the savage; -bad recognition and erroneous comparisons are the reasons of the -bad conclusions, of which we are guilty in dreams: so that, when we -clearly recollect what we have dreamt, we are alarmed at ourselves at -harbouring so much foolishness within us. The perfect distinctness of -all dream-representations, which pre-suppose absolute faith in their -reality, recall the conditions that appertain, to primitive man, -in whom hallucination was extraordinarily frequent, and sometimes -simultaneously seized entire communities, entire nations. Therefore, in -sleep and in dreams we once more carry out the task of early humanity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">13.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Logic of Dreams</span>.—In sleep our nervous system is perpetually -excited by numerous inner occurrences; nearly all the organs are -disjointed and in a state of activity, the blood runs its turbulent -course, the position of the sleeper causes pressure on certain limbs, -his coverings influence his sensations in various ways, the stomach -digests and by its movements it disturbs other organs, the intestines -writhe, the position of the head occasions unaccustomed play of -muscles, the feet, unshod, not pressing upon the floor with the soles, -occasion the feeling of the unaccustomed just as does the different -clothing of the whole body: all this, according to its daily change -and extent, excites by its extraordinariness the entire system to the -very functions of the brain, and thus there are a hundred occasions -for the spirit to be surprised and to seek for the <i>reasons</i> of this -excitation;—the dream, however, is <i>the seeking and representing of -the causes</i> of those excited sensations,—that is, of the supposed -causes. A person who, for instance, binds his feet with two straps -will perhaps dream that two serpents are coiling round his feet; this -is first hypothesis, then a belief, with an accompanying <i>mental</i> -picture and interpretation—" These serpents must be the <i>causa</i> of -those sensations which I, the sleeper, experience,"—so decides the -mind of the sleeper. The immediate past, so disclosed, becomes to him -the present through his excited imagination. Thus every one knows -from experience how quickly the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> dreamer weaves into his dream a -loud sound that he hears, such as the ringing of bells or the firing -of cannon, that is to say, explains it from <i>afterwards</i> so that he -first <i>thinks</i> he experiences the producing circumstances and then -that sound. But how does it happen that the mind of the dreamer is -always so mistaken, while the same mind when awake is accustomed to be -so temperate, careful, and sceptical with regard to its hypotheses? -so that the first random hypothesis for the explanation of a feeling -suffices for him to believe immediately in its truth? (For in dreaming -we believe in the dream as if it were a reality, <i>i.e.</i> we think our -hypothesis completely proved.) I hold, that as man now still reasons in -dreams, so men reasoned also <i>when awake</i> through thousands of years; -the first <i>causa</i> which occurred to the mind to explain anything that -required an explanation, was sufficient and stood for truth. (Thus, -according to travellers' tales, savages still do to this very day.) -This ancient element in human nature still manifests itself in our -dreams, for it is the foundation upon which the higher reason has -developed and still develops in every individual; the dream carries -us back into remote conditions of human culture, and provides a ready -means of understanding them better. Dream-thinking is now so easy to -us because during immense periods of human development we have been -so well drilled in this form of fantastic and cheap explanation, -by means of the first agreeable notions. In so far, dreaming is a -recreation for the brain, which by day has to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> satisfy the stern -demands of thought, as they are laid down by the higher culture. We -can at once discern an allied process even in our awakened state, as -the door and ante-room of the dream. If we shut our eyes, the brain -produces a number of impressions of light and colour, probably as a -kind of after-play and echo of all those effects of light which crowd -in upon it by day. Now, however, the understanding, together with -the imagination, instantly works up this play of colour, shapeless -in itself, into definite figures, forms, landscapes, and animated -groups. The actual accompanying process thereby is again a kind of -conclusion from the effect to the cause: since the mind asks, "Whence -come these impressions of light and colour?" it supposes those figures -and forms as causes; it takes them for the origin of those colours and -lights, because in the daytime, with open eyes, it is accustomed to -find a producing cause for every colour, every effect of light. Here, -therefore, the imagination constantly places pictures before the mind, -since it supports itself on the visual impressions of the day in their -production, and the dream-imagination does just the same thing,—that -is, the supposed cause is deduced from the effect and represented after -the effect; all this happens with extraordinary rapidity, so that here, -as with the conjuror, a confusion of judgment may arise and a sequence -may look like something simultaneous, or even like a reversed sequence. -From these circumstances we may gather <i>how lately</i> the more acute -logical thinking, the strict discrimination of cause and effect has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -been developed, when our reasoning and understanding faculties <i>still</i> -involuntarily hark back to those primitive forms of deduction, and -when we pass about half our life in this condition. The poet, too, and -the artist assign causes for their moods and conditions which are by -no means the true ones; in this they recall an older humanity and can -assist us to the understanding of it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">14.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Co-echoing</span>.—All <i>stronger</i> moods bring with them a co-echoing of -kindred sensations and moods, they grub up the memory, so to speak. -Along with them something within us remembers and becomes conscious -of similar conditions and their origin. Thus there are formed quick -habitual connections of feelings and thoughts, which eventually, when -they follow each other with lightning speed, are no longer felt as -complexes but as <i>unities.</i> In this sense one speaks of the moral -feeling, of the religious feeling, as if they were absolute unities: in -reality they are streams with a hundred sources and tributaries. Here -also, as so often happens, the unity of the word is no security for the -unity of the thing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">15.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">No Internal and External in the World</span>.—As Democritus transferred the -concepts "above" and "below" to endless space where they have no sense, -so philosophers in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> general have transferred the concepts "Internal" -and "External" to the essence and appearance of the world; they think -that with deep feelings one can penetrate deeply into the internal and -approach the heart of Nature. But these feelings are only deep in so -far as along with them, barely noticeable, certain complicated groups -of thoughts, which we call deep, are regularly excited; a feeling -is deep because we think that the accompanying thought is deep. But -the "deep" thought can nevertheless be very far from the truth, as, -for instance, every metaphysical one; if one take away from the deep -feeling the commingled elements of thought, then the <i>strong</i> feeling -remains, and this guarantees nothing for knowledge but itself, just -as strong faith proves only its strength and not the truth of what is -believed in.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">16.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Phenomenon and Thing-in-itself</span>.—Philosophers are in the habit of -setting themselves before life and experience—before that which they -call the world of appearance—as before a picture that is once for -all unrolled and exhibits unchangeably fixed the same process,—this -process, they think, must be rightly interpreted in order to come to -a conclusion about the being that produced the picture: about the -thing-in-itself, therefore, which is always accustomed to be regarded -as sufficient ground for the world of phenomenon. On the other hand, -since one always makes the idea of the metaphysical stand definitely -as that of th<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>e unconditioned, <i>consequently</i> also unconditioning, one -must directly disown all connection between the unconditioned (the -metaphysical world) and the world which is known to us; so that the -thing-in-itself should most certainly <i>not</i> appear in the phenomenon, -and every conclusion from the former as regards the latter is to be -rejected. Both sides overlook the fact that that picture—that which -we now call human life and experience—has gradually evolved,—nay, -is still in the full process of evolving,—and therefore should not -be regarded as a fixed magnitude from which a conclusion about its -originator might be deduced (the sufficing cause) or even merely -neglected. It is because for thousands of years we have looked into -the world with moral, æsthetic, and religious pretensions, with blind -inclination, passion, or fear, and have surfeited ourselves in the -vices of illogical thought, that this world has gradually <i>become</i> so -marvellously motley, terrible, full of meaning and of soul, it has -acquired colour—but we were the colourists; the human intellect, -on the basis of human needs, of human emotions, has caused this -"phenomenon" to appear and has carried its erroneous fundamental -conceptions into things. Late, very late, it takes to thinking, and -now the world of experience and the thing-in-itself seem to it so -extraordinarily different and separated, that it gives up drawing -conclusions from the former to the latter—or in a terribly mysterious -manner demands the renunciation of our intellect, of our personal -will, in order <i>thereby</i> to reach the essential, that one may <i>become -essential.</i> Again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> others have collected all the characteristic -features of our world of phenomenon,—that is, the idea of the world -spun out of intellectual errors and inherited by us,—and <i>instead of -accusing the intellect</i> as the offenders, they have laid the blame on -the nature of things as being the cause of the hard fact of this very -sinister character of the world, and have preached the deliverance -from Being. With all these conceptions the constant and laborious -process of science (which at last celebrates its greatest triumph in a -<i>history of the origin of thought</i>) becomes completed in various ways, -the result of which might perhaps run as follows:—"That which we now -call the world is the result of a mass of errors and fantasies which -arose gradually in the general development of organic being, which -are inter-grown with each other, and are now inherited by us as the -accumulated treasure of all the past,—as a treasure, for the value of -our humanity depends upon it. From this world of representation strict -science is really only able to liberate us to a very slight extent—as -it is also not at all desirable—inasmuch as it cannot essentially -break the power of primitive habits of feeling; but it can gradually -elucidate the history of the rise of that world as representation,—and -lift us, at least for moments, above and beyond the whole process. -Perhaps we shall then recognise that the thing in itself is worth a -Homeric laugh; that it <i>seemed</i> so much, indeed everything, and <i>is</i> -really empty, namely, empty of meaning."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">17.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Metaphysical Explanations</span>.—The young man values metaphysical -explanations, because they show him something highly significant -in things which he found unpleasant or despicable, and if he is -dissatisfied with himself, the feeling becomes lighter when he -recognises the innermost world-puzzle or world-misery in that which he -so strongly disapproves of in himself. To feel himself less responsible -and at the same time to find things more interesting—that seems to -him a double benefit for which he has to thank metaphysics. Later on, -certainly, he gets distrustful of the whole metaphysical method of -explanation; then perhaps it grows clear to him that those results can -be obtained equally well and more scientifically in another way: that -physical and historical explanations produce the feeling of personal -relief to at least the same extent, and that the interest in life and -its problems is perhaps still more aroused thereby.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">18.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fundamental Questions of Metaphysics</span>.—When the history of the rise -of thought comes to be written, a new light will be thrown on the -following statement of a distinguished logician:—"The primordial -general law of the cognisant subject consists in the inner necessity -of recognising every object in itself in its own nature, as a thing -identical with itself, consequently self-existing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> and at bottom -remaining ever the same and unchangeable: in short, in recognising -everything as a substance." Even this law, which is here called -"primordial," has evolved: it will some day be shown how gradually this -tendency arises in the lower organisms, how the feeble mole-eyes of -their organisations at first see only the same thing,—;how then, when -the various awakenings of pleasure and displeasure become noticeable, -various substances are gradually distinguished, but each with one -attribute, <i>i.e.</i> one single relation to such an organism. The first -step in logic is the judgment,—the nature of which, according to the -decision of the best logicians, consists in belief. At the bottom of -all belief lies <i>the sensation of the pleasant or the painful</i> in -relation to the <i>sentient subject.</i> A new third sensation as the result -of two previous single sensations is the judgment in its simplest -form. We organic beings have originally no interest in anything but -its relation to <i>us</i> in connection with pleasure and pain. Between -the moments (the states of feeling) when we become conscious of -this connection, lie moments of rest, of non-feeling; the world and -everything is then without interest for us, we notice no change in it -(as even now a deeply interested person does not notice when any one -passes him). To the plant, things are as a rule tranquil and eternal, -everything like itself. From the period of the lower organisms man -has inherited the belief that <i>similar things</i> exist (this theory -is only contradicted by the matured experience of the most advanced -science). The primordial belief of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> everything organic from the -beginning is perhaps even this, that all the rest of the world is one -and immovable. The point furthest removed from those early beginnings -of logic is the idea of <i>Causality,</i>—indeed we still really think -that all sensations and activities are acts of the free will; when the -sentient individual contemplates himself, he regards every sensation, -every alteration as something <i>isolated,</i> that is to say, unconditioned -and disconnected,—it rises up in us without connection with anything -foregoing or following. We are hungry, but do not originally think that -the organism must be nourished; the feeling seems to make itself felt -<i>without cause and purpose,</i> it isolates itself and regards itself as -arbitrary. Therefore, belief in the freedom of the will is an original -error of everything organic, as old as the existence of the awakenings -of logic in it; the belief in unconditioned substances and similar -things is equally a primordial as well as an old error of everything -organic. But inasmuch as all metaphysics has concerned itself chiefly -with substance and the freedom of will, it may be designated as the -science which treats of the fundamental errors of mankind, but treats -of them as if they were fundamental truths.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">19.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Number</span>.—The discovery of the laws of numbers is made upon the ground -of the original, already prevailing error, that there are many similar -things (but in reality there is nothing similar), at least,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> that there -are things (but there is no "thing"). The supposition of plurality -always presumes that there is something which appears frequently,—but -here already error reigns, already we imagine beings, unities, -which do not exist. Our sensations of space and time are false, for -they lead—examined in sequence—to logical contradictions. In all -scientific determinations we always reckon inevitably with certain -false quantities, but as these quantities are at least constant, as, -for instance, our sensation of time and space, the conclusions of -science have still perfect accuracy and certainty in their connection -with one another; one may continue to build upon them—until that final -limit where the erroneous original suppositions, those constant faults, -come into conflict with the conclusions, for instance in the doctrine -of atoms. There still we always feel ourselves compelled to the -acceptance of a "thing" or material "sub-stratum" that is moved, whilst -the whole scientific procedure has pursued the very task of resolving -everything substantial (material) into motion; here, too, we still -separate with our sensation the mover and the moved and cannot get -out of this circle, because the belief in things has from immemorial -times been bound up with our being. When Kant says, "The understanding -does not derive its laws from Nature, but dictates them to her," it is -perfectly true with regard to the idea of Nature which we are compelled -to associate with her (Nature = World as representation, that is to -say as error), but which is the summing up of a number of errors of -the understanding. The laws<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> of numbers are entirely inapplicable to a -world which is not our representation—these laws obtain only in the -human world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">20.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Few Steps Back</span>.—A degree of culture, and assuredly a very high one, -is attained when man rises above superstitious and religious notions -and fears, and, for instance, no longer believes in guardian angels or -in original sin, and has also ceased to talk of the salvation of his -soul,—if he has attained to this degree of freedom, he has still also -to overcome metaphysics with the greatest exertion of his intelligence. -Then, however, a <i>retrogressive movement</i> is necessary; he must -understand the historical justification as well as the psychological in -such representations, he must recognise how the greatest advancement -of humanity has come therefrom, and how, without such a retrocursive -movement, we should have been robbed of the best products of hitherto -existing mankind. With regard to philosophical metaphysics, I always -see increasing numbers who have attained to the negative goal (that -all positive metaphysics is error), but as yet few who climb a few -rungs backwards; one ought to look out, perhaps, over the last steps of -the ladder, but not try to stand upon them. The most enlightened only -succeed so far as to free themselves from metaphysics and look back -upon it with superiority, while it is necessary here, too, as in the -hippodrome, to turn round the end of the course.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">21.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conjectural Victory of Scepticism</span>.—For once let the sceptical -starting-point be accepted,—granted that there were no other -metaphysical world, and all explanations drawn from metaphysics about -the only world we know were useless to us, in what light should we -then look upon men and things? We can think this out for ourselves, it -is useful, even though the question whether anything metaphysical has -been scientifically proved by Kant and Schopenhauer were altogether set -aside. For it is quite possible, according to historical probability, -that some time or other man, as a general rule, may grow <i>sceptical;</i> -the question will then be this: What form will human society take under -the influence of such a mode of thought? Perhaps the <i>scientific proof</i> -of some metaphysical world or other is already so <i>difficult</i> that -mankind will never get rid of a certain distrust of it. And when there -is distrust of metaphysics, there are on the whole the same results as -if it had been directly refuted and <i>could</i> no longer be believed in. -The historical question with regard to an unmetaphysical frame of mind -in mankind remains the same in both cases.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">22.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unbelief in the "<i>monumentum Ære Perennius</i>"</span>.—An actual drawback -which accompanies the cessation of metaphysical views lies in the fact -that the individual looks upon his short span<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> of life too exclusively -and receives no stronger incentives to build durable institutions -intended to last for centuries,—he himself wishes to pluck the fruit -from the tree which he plants, and therefore he no longer plants those -trees which require regular care for centuries, and which are destined -to afford shade to a long series of generations. For metaphysical -views furnish the belief that in them the last conclusive foundation -has been given, upon which henceforth all the future of mankind is -compelled to settle down and establish itself; the individual furthers -his salvation, when, for instance, he founds a church or convent, he -thinks it will be reckoned to him and recompensed to him in the eternal -life of the soul, it is work for the soul's eternal salvation. Can -science also arouse such faith in its results? As a matter of fact, it -needs doubt and distrust as its most faithful auxiliaries; nevertheless -in the course of time, the sum of inviolable truths—those, namely, -which have weathered all the storms of scepticism, and all destructive -analysis—may have become so great (in the regimen of health, for -instance), that one may determine to found thereupon "eternal" works. -For the present the <i>contrast</i> between our excited ephemeral existence -and the long-winded repose of metaphysical ages still operates too -strongly, because the two ages still stand too closely together; -the individual man himself now goes through too many inward and -outward developments for him to venture to arrange his own lifetime -permanently, and once and for all. An entirely modern man, for -instance, who is going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> to build himself a house, has a feeling as if -he were going to immure himself alive in a mausoleum.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">23.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Age of Comparison.</span>—The less men are fettered by tradition, the -greater becomes the inward activity of their motives; the greater, -again, in proportion thereto, the outward restlessness, the confused -flux of mankind, the polyphony of strivings. For whom is there still an -absolute compulsion to bind himself and his descendants to one place? -For whom is there still anything strictly compulsory? As all styles of -arts are imitated simultaneously, so also are all grades and kinds of -morality, of customs, of cultures. Such an age obtains its importance -because in it the various views of the world, customs, and cultures can -be compared and experienced simultaneously,—which was formerly not -possible with the always localised sway of every culture, corresponding -to the rooting of all artistic styles in place and time. An increased -æsthetic feeling will now at last decide amongst so many forms -presenting themselves for comparison; it will allow the greater number, -that is to say all those rejected by it, to die out. In the same way -a selection amongst the forms and customs of the higher moralities is -taking place, of which the aim can be nothing else than the downfall of -the lower moralities. It is the age of comparison! That is its pride, -but more justly also its grief. Let us not be afraid of this grief! -Rather will we comprehend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> as adequately as possible the task our age -sets us: posterity will bless us for doing so,—a posterity which knows -itself to be as much above the terminated original national cultures as -above the culture of comparison, but which looks back with gratitude on -both kinds of culture as upon antiquities worthy of veneration.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">24.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Possibility of Progress</span>.—When a scholar of the ancient culture -forswears the company of men who believe in progress, he does quite -right. For the greatness and goodness of ancient culture lie behind -it, and historical education compels one to admit that they can never -be fresh again; an unbearable stupidity or an equally insufferable -fanaticism would be necessary to deny this. But men can <i>consciously</i> -resolve to develop themselves towards a new culture; whilst formerly -they only developed unconsciously and by chance, they can now create -better conditions for the rise of human beings, for their nourishment, -education and instruction; they can administer the earth economically -as a whole, and can generally weigh and restrain the powers of man. -This new, conscious culture kills the old, which, regarded as a whole, -has led an unconscious animal and plant life; it also kills distrust -in progress,—progress is <i>possible.</i> I must say that it is over-hasty -and almost nonsensical to believe that progress must <i>necessarily</i> -follow; but how could one deny that it is possible? On the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> other hand, -progress in the sense and on the path of the old culture is not even -thinkable. Even if romantic fantasy has also constantly used the word -"progress" to denote its aims (for instance, circumscribed primitive -national cultures), it borrows the picture of it in any case from the -past; its thoughts and ideas on this subject are entirely without -originality.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">25.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Private and Œcumenical Morality</span>.—Since the belief has ceased that -a God directs in general the fate of the world and, in spite of all -apparent crookedness in the path of humanity, leads it on gloriously, -men themselves must set themselves œcumenical aims embracing the -whole earth. The older morality, especially that of Kant, required -from the individual actions which were desired from all men,—that was -a delightfully naïve thing, as if each one knew off-hand what course -of action was beneficial to the whole of humanity, and consequently -which actions in general were desirable; it is a theory like that -of free trade, taking for granted that the general harmony <i>must</i> -result of itself according to innate laws of amelioration. Perhaps a -future contemplation of the needs of humanity will show that it is -by no means desirable that all men should act alike; in the interest -of œcumenical aims it might rather be that for whole sections of -mankind, special, and perhaps under certain circumstances even evil, -tasks would have to be set. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> any case, if mankind is not to destroy -itself by such a conscious universal rule, there must previously be -found, as a scientific standard for œcumenical aims, a <i>knowledge of -the conditions of culture</i> superior to what has hitherto been attained. -Herein lies the enormous task of the great minds of the next century.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">26.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Reaction As Progress</span>.—Now and again there appear rugged, powerful, -impetuous, but nevertheless backward-lagging minds which conjure up -once more a past phase of mankind; they serve to prove that the new -tendencies against which they are working are not yet sufficiently -strong, that they still lack something, otherwise they would show -better opposition to those exorcisers. Thus, for example, Luther's -Reformation bears witness to the fact that in his century all the -movements of the freedom of the spirit were still uncertain, tender, -and youthful; science could not yet lift up its head. Indeed the whole -Renaissance seems like an early spring which is almost snowed under -again. But in this century also, Schopenhauer's Metaphysics showed -that even now the scientific spirit is not yet strong enough; thus the -whole mediæval Christian view of the world and human feeling could -celebrate its resurrection in Schopenhauer's doctrine, in spite of -the long achieved destruction of all Christian dogmas. There is much -science in his doctrine, but it does not dominate it: it is rather -the old well-known "metaphysical requirement" that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> does so. It is -certainly one of the greatest and quite invaluable advantages which -we gain from Schopenhauer, that he occasionally forces our sensations -back into older, mightier modes of contemplating the world and man, to -which no other path would so easily lead us. The gain to history and -justice is very great,—I do not think that any one would so easily -succeed now in doing justice to Christianity and its Asiatic relations -without Schopenhauer's assistance, which is specially impossible -from the basis of still existing Christianity. Only after this great -<i>success of justice,</i> only after we have corrected so essential a point -as the historical mode of contemplation which the age of enlightenment -brought with it, may we again bear onward the banner of enlightenment, -the banner with the three names, Petrarch, Erasmus, Voltaire. We have -turned reaction into progress.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">27.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Substitute For Religion</span>.—It is believed that something good -is said of philosophy when it is put forward as a substitute for -religion for the people. As a matter of fact, in the spiritual economy -there is need, at times, of an <i>intermediary</i> order of thought: the -transition from religion to scientific contemplation is a violent, -dangerous leap, which is not to be recommended. To this extent the -recommendation is justifiable. But one should eventually learn that -the needs which have been satisfied by religion and are now to be -satisfied by philosophy are not unchangeable;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> these themselves can be -<i>weakened</i> and <i>eradicated.</i> Think, for instance, of the Christian's -distress of soul, his sighing over inward corruption, his anxiety -for salvation,—all notions which originate only in errors of reason -and deserve not satisfaction but destruction. A philosophy can serve -either to <i>satisfy</i> those needs or to <i>set them aside</i>; for they are -acquired, temporally limited needs, which are based upon suppositions -contradictory to those of science. Here, in order to make a transition, -<i>art</i> is far rather to be employed to relieve the mind overburdened -with emotions; for those notions receive much less support from it than -from a metaphysical philosophy. It is easier, then, to pass over from -art to a really liberating philosophical science.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">28.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ill-famed Words</span>.—Away with those wearisomely hackneyed terms -Optimism and Pessimism! For the occasion for using them becomes less -and less from day to day; only the chatterboxes still find them so -absolutely necessary. For why in all the world should any one wish to -be an optimist unless he had a God to defend who <i>must</i> have created -the best of worlds if he himself be goodness and perfection,—what -thinker, however, still needs the hypothesis of a God? But every -occasion for a pessimistic confession of faith is also lacking when -one has no interest in being annoyed at the advocates of God (the -theologians, or the theologising philosophers), and in energetically -defending the opposite view, that evil reigns, that pain is greater<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -than pleasure, that the world is a bungled piece of work, the -manifestation of an ill-will to life. But who still bothers about the -theologians now—except the theologians? Apart from all theology and -its contentions, it is quite clear that the world is not good and not -bad (to say nothing of its being the best or the worst), and that the -terms "good" and "bad" have only significance with respect to man, and -indeed, perhaps, they are not justified even here in the way they are -usually employed; in any case we must get rid of both the calumniating -and the glorifying conception of the world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">29.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intoxicated by the Scent of the Blossoms.</span>—It is supposed that the ship -of humanity has always a deeper draught, the heavier it is laden; it is -believed that the deeper a man thinks, the more delicately he feels, -the higher he values himself, the greater his distance from the other -animals,—the more he appears as a genius amongst the animals,—all -the nearer will he approach the real essence of the world and its -knowledge; this he actually does too, through science, but he <i>means</i> -to do so still more through his religions and arts. These certainly -are blossoms of the world, but by no means any <i>nearer to the root of -the world</i> than the stalk; it is not possible to understand the nature -of things better through them, although almost every one believes he -can. <i>Error</i> has made man so deep, sensitive, and inventive that he has -put forth such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> blossoms as religions and arts. Pure knowledge could -not have been capable of it. Whoever were to unveil for us the essence -of the world would give us all the most disagreeable disillusionment. -Not the world as thing-in-itself, but the world as representation (as -error) is so full of meaning, so deep, so wonderful, bearing happiness -and unhappiness in its bosom. This result leads to a philosophy of the -logical denial of the world, which, however, can be combined with a -practical world-affirming just as well as with its opposite.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">30.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bad Habits in Reasoning</span>.—The usual false conclusions of mankind are -these: a thing exists, therefore it has a right to exist. Here there -is inference from the ability to live to its suitability; from its -suitability to its rightfulness. Then: an opinion brings happiness; -therefore it is the true opinion. Its effect is good; therefore it is -itself good and true. To the effect is here assigned the predicate -beneficent, good, in the sense of the useful, and the cause is then -furnished with the same predicate good, but here in the sense of the -logically valid. The inversion of the sentences would read thus: an -affair cannot be carried through, or maintained, therefore it is -wrong; an opinion causes pain or excites, therefore it is false. The -free spirit who learns only too often the faultiness of this mode -of reasoning, and has to suffer from its consequences, frequently -gives way to the temptation to draw the very opposite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> conclusions, -which, in general, are naturally just as false: an affair cannot be -carried through, therefore it is good; an opinion is distressing and -disturbing, therefore it is true.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">31.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Illogical Necessary</span>.—One of those things that may drive a thinker -into despair is the recognition of the fact that the illogical is -necessary for man, and that out of the illogical comes much that is -good. It is so firmly rooted in the passions, in language, in art, -in religion, and generally in everything that gives value to life, -that it cannot be withdrawn without thereby hopelessly injuring these -beautiful things. It is only the all-too-naïve people who can believe -that the nature of man can be changed into a purely logical one; but -if there were degrees of proximity to this goal, how many things would -not have to be lost on this course! Even the most rational man has need -of nature again from time to time, <i>i.e.</i> his <i>illogical fundamental -attitude</i> towards all things.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">32.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Injustice Necessary</span>.—All judgments on the value of life are -illogically developed, and therefore unjust. The inexactitude of -the judgment lies, firstly, in the manner in which the material is -presented, namely very imperfectly; secondly, in the manner in which -the conclusion is formed out of it; and thirdly, in the fact that every -separate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> element of the material is again the result of vitiated -recognition, and this, too, of necessity. For instance, no experience -of an individual, however near he may stand to us, can be perfect, so -that we could have a logical right to make a complete estimate of him; -all estimates are rash, and must be so. Finally, the standard by which -we measure, our nature, is not of unalterable dimensions,—we have -moods and vacillations, and yet we should have to recognise ourselves -as a fixed standard in order to estimate correctly the relation of any -thing whatever to ourselves. From this it will, perhaps, follow that -we should make no judgments at all; if one could only live without -making estimations, without having likes and dislikes! For all dislike -is connected with an estimation, as well as all inclination. An -impulse towards or away from anything without a feeling that something -advantageous is desired, something injurious avoided, an impulse -without any kind of conscious valuation of the worth of the aim does -not exist in man. We are from the beginning illogical, and therefore -unjust beings, <i>and can recognise this</i>; it is one of the greatest and -most inexplicable discords of existence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">33.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Error About Life Necessary For Life</span>.—Every belief in the value and -worthiness of life is based on vitiated thought; it is only possible -through the fact that sympathy for the general life and suffering of -mankind is very weakly developed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> in the individual. Even the rarer -people who think outside themselves do not contemplate this general -life, but only a limited part of it. If one understands how to direct -one's attention chiefly to the exceptions,—I mean to the highly gifted -and the rich souls,—if one regards the production of these as the aim -of the whole world-development and rejoices in its operation, then -one may believe in the value of life, because one thereby <i>overlooks</i> -the other men—one consequently thinks fallaciously. So too, when -one directs one's attention to all mankind, but only considers <i>one</i> -species of impulses in them, the less egoistical ones, and excuses -them with regard to the other instincts, one may then again entertain -hopes of mankind in general and believe so far in the value of life, -consequently in this case also through fallaciousness of thought. Let -one, however, behave in this or that manner: with such behaviour one -is an <i>exception</i> amongst men. Now, most people bear life without any -considerable grumbling, and consequently <i>believe</i> in the value of -existence, but precisely because each one is solely self-seeking and -self-affirming, and does not step out of himself like those exceptions; -everything extra-personal is imperceptible to them, or at most seems -only a faint shadow. Therefore on this alone is based the value of -life for the ordinary everyday man, that he regards himself as more -important than the world. The great lack of imagination from which -he suffers is the reason why he cannot enter into the feelings of -other beings, and therefore sympathises as little as possible with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -their fate and suffering. He, on the other hand, who really <i>could</i> -sympathise therewith, would have to despair of the value of life; were -he to succeed in comprehending and feeling in himself the general -consciousness of mankind, he would collapse with a curse on existence; -for mankind as a whole has <i>no</i> goals, consequently man, in considering -his whole course, cannot find in it his comfort and support, but his -despair. If, in all that he does, he considers the final aimlessness -of man, his own activity assumes in his eyes the character of -wastefulness. But to feel one's self just as much wasted as humanity -(and not only as an individual) as we see the single blossom of nature -wasted, is a feeling above all other feelings. But who is capable -of it? Assuredly only a poet, and poets always know how to console -themselves.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">34.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">For Tranquillity</span>.—But does not our philosophy thus become a tragedy? -Does not truth become hostile to life, to improvement? A question seems -to weigh upon our tongue and yet hesitate to make itself heard: whether -one <i>can</i> consciously remain in untruthfulness? or, supposing one were -<i>obliged</i> to do this, would not death be preferable? For there is no -longer any "must"; morality, in so far as it had any "must" or "shalt", -has been destroyed by our mode of contemplation, just as religion has -been destroyed. Knowledge can only allow pleasure and pain, benefit and -injury to subsist as motives; but how will these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> motives agree with -the sense of truth? They also contain errors (for, as already said, -inclination and aversion, and their very incorrect determinations, -practically regulate our pleasure and pain). The whole of human life -is deeply immersed in untruthfulness; the individual cannot draw it -up out of this well, without thereby taking a deep dislike to his -whole past, without finding his present motives—those of honour, -for instance—inconsistent, and without opposing scorn and disdain -to the passions which conduce to happiness in the future. Is it true -that there remains but one sole way of thinking which brings after it -despair as a personal experience, as a theoretical result, a philosophy -of dissolution, disintegration, and self-destruction? I believe that -the decision with regard to the after-effects of the knowledge will -be given through the <i>temperament</i> of a man; I could imagine another -after-effect, just as well as that one described, which is possible in -certain natures, by means of which a life would arise much simpler, -freer from emotions than is the present one, so that though at first, -indeed, the old motives of passionate desire might still have strength -from old hereditary habit, they would gradually become weaker under -the influence—of purifying knowledge. One would live at last amongst -men, and with one's self as with <i>Nature,</i> without praise, reproach, -or agitation, feasting one's eyes, as if it were a <i>play,</i> upon much -of which one was formerly afraid. One would be free from the emphasis, -and would no longer feel the goading, of the thought that one is not -only nature or more than nature. Certainly, as already remarked, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -good temperament would be necessary for this, an even, mild, and -naturally joyous soul, a disposition which would not always need to be -on its guard against spite and sudden outbreaks, and would not convey -in its utterances anything of a grumbling or sudden nature,—those -well-known vexatious qualities of old dogs and men who have been long -chained up. On the contrary, a man from whom the ordinary fetters of -life have so far fallen that he continues to live only for the sake of -ever better knowledge must be able to renounce without envy and regret: -much, indeed almost everything that is precious to other men, he must -regard as the <i>all-sufficing</i> and the most desirable condition; the -free, fearless soaring over men, customs, laws, and the traditional -valuations of things. The joy of this condition he imparts willingly, -and he <i>has</i> perhaps nothing else to impart,—wherein, to be sure, -there is more privation and renunciation. If, nevertheless, more is -demanded from him, he will point with a friendly shake of his head to -his brother, the free man of action, and will perhaps not conceal a -little derision, for as regards this "freedom" it is a very peculiar -case.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a><br /><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="SECOND_DIVISION" id="SECOND_DIVISION">SECOND DIVISION.</a></h4> - -<h5>THE HISTORY OF THE MORAL SENTIMENTS.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">35.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Advantages of Psychological Observation</span>.—That reflection on the human, -all-too-human—or, according to the learned expression, psychological -observation—is one of the means by which one may lighten the burden -of life, that exercise in this art produces presence of mind in -difficult circumstances, in the midst of tiresome surroundings, even -that from the most thorny and unpleasant periods of one's own life -one may gather maxims and thereby feel a little better: all this -was believed, was known in former centuries. Why was it forgotten -by our century, when in Germany at least, even in all Europe, the -poverty of psychological observation betrays itself by many signs? Not -exactly in novels, tales, and philosophical treatises,—they are the -work of exceptional individuals,—rather in the judgments on public -events and personalities; but above all there is a lack of the art of -psychological analysis and summing-up in every rank of society, in -which a great deal is talked about men, but nothing about <i>man.</i> Why -do we allow the richest and most harmless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> subject of conversation to -escape us? Why are not the great masters of psychological maxims more -read? For, without any exaggeration, the educated man in Europe who has -read La Rochefoucauld and his kindred in mind and art, is rarely found, -and still more rare is he who knows them and does not blame them. It -is probable, however, that even this exceptional reader will find much -less pleasure in them than the form of this artist should afford him; -for even the clearest head is not capable of rightly estimating the -art of shaping and polishing maxims unless he has really been brought -up to it and has competed in it. Without this practical teaching one -deems this shaping and polishing to be easier than it is; one has not -a sufficient perception of fitness and charm. For this reason the -present readers of maxims find in them a comparatively small pleasure, -hardly a mouthful of pleasantness, so that they resemble the people who -generally look at cameos, who praise because they cannot love, and are -very ready to admire, but still more ready to run away.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">36.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Objection</span>.—Or should there be a counter-reckoning to that theory -that places psychological observation amongst the means of charming, -curing, and relieving existence? Should one have sufficiently convinced -one's self of the unpleasant consequences of this art to divert from -it designedly the attention of him who is educating himself in it? As -a matter of fact, a certain blind belief in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> goodness of human -nature, an innate aversion to the analysis of human actions, a kind -of shame-facedness with respect to the nakedness of the soul may -really be more desirable for the general well-being of a man than that -quality, useful in isolated cases, of psychological sharp-sightedness; -and perhaps the belief in goodness, in virtuous men and deeds, in an -abundance of impersonal goodwill in the world, has made men better -inasmuch as it has made them less distrustful. When one imitates -Plutarch's heroes with enthusiasm, and turns with disgust from a -suspicious examination of the motives for their actions, it is not -truth which benefits thereby, but the welfare of human society; the -psychological mistake and, generally speaking, the insensibility -on this matter helps humanity forwards, while the recognition of -truth gains more through the stimulating power of hypothesis than La -Rochefoucauld has said in his preface to the first edition of his -"<i>Sentences et maximes morales." ... "Ce que le monde nomme vertu n'est -d'ordinaire qu'un fantôme formé par nos passions, à qui on donne un -nom honnête pour faire impunément ce qu'on veut."</i> La Rochefoucauld -and those other French masters of soul-examination who have lately -been joined by a German, the author of <i>Psychological Observations</i><a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -resemble good marksmen who again and again hit the bull's-eye; but it -is the bull's-eye of human nature. Their art arouses astonishment; but -in the end a spectator who is not led by the spirit of science,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> but -by humane intentions, will probably execrate an art which appears to -implant in the soul the sense of the disparagement and suspicion of -mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">37.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nevertheless</span>.—However it may be with reckoning and counter-reckoning, -in the present condition of philosophy the awakening of moral -observation is necessary. Humanity can no longer be spared the cruel -sight of the psychological dissecting-table with its knives and -forceps. For here rules that science which inquires into the origin and -history of the so-called moral sentiments, and which, in its progress, -has to draw up and solve complicated sociological problems:—the older -philosophy knows the latter one not at all, and has always avoided the -examination of the origin and history of moral sentiments on any feeble -pretext. With what consequences it is now very easy to see, after -it has been shown by many examples how the mistakes of the greatest -philosophers generally have their starting-point in a wrong explanation -of certain human actions and sensations, just as on the ground of an -erroneous analysis—for instance, that of the so-called unselfish -actions a false ethic is built up; then, to harmonise with this again, -religion and mythological confusion are brought in to assist, and -finally the shades of these dismal spirits fall also over physics and -the general mode of regarding the world. If it is certain, however, -that superficiality in psychological<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> observation has laid, and still -lays, the most dangerous snares for human judgments and conclusions, -then there is need now of that endurance of work which does not grow -weary of piling stone upon stone, pebble on pebble; there is need of -courage not to be ashamed of such humble work and to turn a deaf ear -to scorn. And this is also true,—numberless single observations on -the human and all-too-human have first been discovered, and given -utterance to, in circles of society which were accustomed to offer -sacrifice therewith to a clever desire to please, and not to scientific -knowledge,—and the odour of that old home of the moral maxim, a very -seductive odour, has attached itself almost inseparably to the whole -species, so that on its account the scientific man involuntarily -betrays a certain distrust of this species and its earnestness. But -it is sufficient to point to the consequences, for already it begins -to be seen what results of a serious kind spring from the ground of -psychological observation. What, after all, is the principal axiom -to which the boldest and coldest thinker, the author of the book -<i>On the Origin of Moral Sensations</i><a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> has attained by means of his -incisive and decisive analyses of human actions? "The moral man," he -says, "is no nearer to the intelligible (metaphysical) world than -is the physical man." This theory, hardened and sharpened under the -hammer-blow of historical knowledge, may some time or other, perhaps -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> some future period, serve as the axe which is applied to the root -of the "metaphysical need" of man,—whether <i>more</i> as a blessing than -a curse to the general welfare it is not easy to say, but in any case -as a theory with the most important consequences, at once fruitful and -terrible, and looking into the world with that Janus-face which all -great knowledge possesses.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">38.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Far Useful</span>.—It must remain for ever undecided whether -psychological observation is advantageous or disadvantageous to -man; but it is certain that it is necessary, because science cannot -do without it. Science, however, has no consideration for ultimate -purposes, any more than Nature has, but just as the latter occasionally -achieves things of the greatest suitableness without intending to do -so, so also true science, as the <i>imitator of nature in ideas,</i> will -occasionally and in many ways further the usefulness and welfare of -man,—<i>but also without intending to do so.</i></p> - -<p>But whoever feels too chilled by the breath of such a reflection has -perhaps too little fire in himself; let him look around him meanwhile -and he will become aware of illnesses which have need of ice-poultices, -and of men who are so "kneaded together" of heat and spirit that -they can hardly find an atmosphere that is cold and biting enough. -Moreover, as individuals and nations that are too serious have need of -frivolities, as others too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> mobile and excitable have need occasionally -of heavily oppressing burdens for the sake of their health, should not -we, the more <i>intellectual</i> people of this age, that grows visibly more -and more inflamed, seize all quenching and cooling means that exist, in -order that we may at least remain as constant, harmless, and moderate -as we still are, and thus, perhaps, serve some time or other as mirror -and self-contemplation for this age?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">39.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fable of Intelligible Freedom</span>.—The history of the sentiments by -means of which we make a person responsible consists of the following -principal phases. First, all single actions are called good or bad -without any regard to their motives, but only on account of the useful -or injurious consequences which result for the community. But soon the -origin of these distinctions is forgotten, and it is deemed that the -qualities "good" or "bad" are contained in the action itself without -regard to its consequences, by the same error according to which -language describes the stone as hard, the tree as green,—with which, -in short, the result is regarded as the cause. Then the goodness or -badness is implanted in the motive, and the action in itself is looked -upon as morally ambiguous. Mankind even goes further, and applies -the predicate good or bad no longer to single motives, but to the -whole nature of an individual, out of whom the motive grows as the -plant grows out of the earth. Thus, in turn, man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> is made responsible -for his operations, then for his actions, then for his motives, and -finally for his nature. Eventually it is discovered that even this -nature cannot be responsible, inasmuch as it is an absolutely necessary -consequence concreted out of the elements and influences of past and -present things,—that man, therefore, cannot be made responsible for -anything, neither for his nature, nor his motives, nor his actions, nor -his effects. It has therewith come to be recognised that the history -of moral valuations is at the same time the history of an error, the -error of responsibility, which is based upon the error of the freedom -of will. Schopenhauer thus decided against it: because certain actions -bring ill humour ("consciousness of guilt") in their train, there -must be a responsibility; for there would be <i>no reason</i> for this ill -humour if not only all human actions were not done of necessity,—which -is actually the case and also the belief of this philosopher,—but -man himself from the same necessity is precisely the <i>being</i> that -he is—which Schopenhauer denies. From the fact of that ill humour -Schopenhauer thinks he can prove a liberty which man must somehow -have had, not with regard to actions, but with regard to nature; -liberty, therefore, to <i>be</i> thus or otherwise, not to <i>act</i> thus or -otherwise. From the <i>esse,</i> the sphere of freedom and responsibility, -there results, in his opinion, the <i>operari,</i> the sphere of strict -causality, necessity, and irresponsibility. This ill humour is -apparently directed to the <i>operari,</i>—in so far it is erroneous,—but -in reality it is directed to the <i>esse,</i> which is the deed of a free -will, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> fundamental cause of the existence of an individual, man -becomes that which he <i>wishes</i> to be, his will is anterior to his -existence. Here the mistaken conclusion is drawn that from the fact -of the ill humour, the justification, the reasonable <i>admissableness</i> -of this ill humour is presupposed; and starting from this mistaken -conclusion, Schopenhauer arrives at his fantastic sequence of the -so-called intelligible freedom. But the ill humour after the deed is -not necessarily reasonable, indeed it is assuredly not reasonable, for -it is based upon the erroneous presumption that the action need <i>not</i> -have inevitably followed. Therefore, it is only because man <i>believes</i> -himself to be free, not because he is free, that he experiences remorse -and pricks of conscience. Moreover, this ill humour is a habit that can -be broken off; in many people it is entirely absent in connection with -actions where others experience it. It is a very changeable thing, and -one which is connected with the development of customs and culture, -and probably only existing during a comparatively short period of the -world's history. Nobody is responsible for his actions, nobody for his -nature; to judge is identical with being unjust. This also applies when -an individual judges himself. The theory is as clear as sunlight, and -yet every one prefers to go back into the shadow and the untruth, for -fear of the consequences.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">40.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Super-animal</span>.—The beast in us wishes to be deceived; morality is -a lie of necessity in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> order that we may not be torn in pieces by it. -Without the errors which lie in the assumption of morality, man would -have remained an animal. Thus, however, he has considered himself as -something higher and has laid strict laws upon himself. Therefore he -hates the grades which have remained nearer to animalness, whereby the -former scorn of the slave, as a not-yet-man, is to be explained as a -fact.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">41.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Unchangeable Character</span>.—That the character is unchangeable is -not true in a strict sense; this favourite theory means, rather, that -during the short lifetime of an individual the new influencing motives -cannot penetrate deeply enough to destroy the ingrained marks of many -thousands of years. But if one were to imagine a man of eighty thousand -years, one would have in him an absolutely changeable character, so -that a number of different individuals would gradually develop out -of him. The shortness of human life misleads us into forming many -erroneous ideas about the qualities of man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">42.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Order of Possessions and Morality</span>.—The once-accepted hierarchy -of possessions, according as this or the other is coveted by a lower, -higher, or highest egoism, now decides what is moral or immoral. To -prefer a lesser good (for instance, the gratification of the senses)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -to a more highly valued good (for instance, health) is accounted -immoral, and also to prefer luxury to liberty. The hierarchy of -possessions, however, is not fixed and equal at all times; if any one -prefers vengeance to justice he is moral according to the standard of -an earlier civilisation, but immoral according to the present one. To -be "immoral," therefore, denotes that an individual has not felt, or -not felt sufficiently strongly, the higher, finer, spiritual motives -which have come in with a new culture; it marks one who has remained -behind, but only according to the difference of degrees. The order of -possessions itself is <i>not</i> raised and lowered according to a moral -point of view; but each time that it is fixed it supplies the decision -as to whether an action is moral or immoral.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">43.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Cruel People As Those Who Have Remained Behind</span>.—People who are -cruel nowadays must be accounted for by us as the grades of earlier -civilisations which have survived; here are exposed those deeper -formations in the mountain of humanity which usually remain concealed. -They are backward people whose brains, through all manner of accidents -in the course of inheritance, have not been developed in so delicate -and manifold a way. They show us what we all <i>were</i> and horrify us, but -they themselves are as little responsible as is a block of granite for -being granite. There must, too, be grooves and twists in our brains -which answer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> that condition of mind, as in the form of certain -human organs there are supposed to be traces of a fish-state. But these -grooves and twists are no longer the bed through which the stream of -our sensation flows.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">44.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gratitude and Revenge</span>.—The reason why the powerful man is grateful -is this: his benefactor, through the benefit he confers, has mistaken -and intruded into the sphere of the powerful man,—now the latter, -in return, penetrates into the sphere of the benefactor by the act of -gratitude. It is a milder form of revenge. Without the satisfaction of -gratitude, the powerful man would have shown himself powerless, and -would have been reckoned as such ever after. Therefore every society of -the good, which originally meant the powerful, places gratitude amongst -the first duties.—Swift propounded the maxim that men were grateful in -the same proportion as they were revengeful.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">45.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Twofold Early History of Good and Evil</span>.—The conception of good -and evil has a twofold early history, namely, <i>once</i> in the soul of -the ruling tribes and castes. Whoever has the power of returning -good for good, evil for evil, and really practises requital, and who -is, therefore, grateful and revengeful, is called good; whoever is -powerless, and unable to requite, is reckoned as bad. As a good man one -is reckoned among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> "good," a community which has common feelings -because the single individuals are bound to one another by the sense -of requital. As a bad man one belongs to the "bad," to a party of -subordinate, powerless people who have no common feeling. The good are -a caste, the bad are a mass like dust. Good and bad have for a long -time meant the same thing as noble and base, master and slave. On the -other hand, the enemy is not looked upon as evil, he can requite. In -Homer the Trojan and the Greek are both good. It is not the one who -injures us, but the one who is despicable, who is called bad. Good is -inherited in the community of the good; it is impossible that a bad man -could spring from such good soil. If, nevertheless, one of the good -ones does something which is unworthy of the good, refuge is sought in -excuses; the guilt is thrown upon a god, for instance; it is said that -he has struck the good man with blindness and madness.—</p> - -<p><i>Then</i> in the soul of the oppressed and powerless. Here every <i>other</i> -man is looked upon as hostile, inconsiderate, rapacious, cruel, -cunning, be he noble or base; evil is the distinguishing word for man, -even for every conceivable living creature, <i>e.g.</i> for a god; human, -divine, is the same thing as devilish, evil. The signs of goodness, -helpfulness, pity, are looked upon with fear as spite, the prelude to -a terrible result, stupefaction and out-witting,—in short, as refined -malice. With such a disposition in the individual a community could -hardly exist, or at most it could exist only in its crudest form, so -that in all places where this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> conception of good and evil obtains, -the downfall of the single individuals, of their tribes and races, is -at hand.—Our present civilisation has grown up on the soil of the -<i>ruling</i> tribes and castes.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">46.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sympathy Stronger Than Suffering</span>.—There are cases when sympathy is -stronger than actual suffering. For instance, we are more pained when -one of our friends is guilty of something shameful than when we do -it ourselves. For one thing, we have more faith in the purity of his -character than he has himself; then our love for him, probably on -account of this very faith, is stronger than his love for himself. And -even if his egoism suffers more thereby than our egoism, inasmuch as it -has to bear more of the bad consequences of his fault, the un-egoistic -in us—this word is not to be taken too seriously, but only as a -modification of the expression—is more deeply wounded by his guilt -than is the un-egoistic in him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">47.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hypochondria</span>.—There are people who become hypochondriacal through -their sympathy and concern for another person; the kind of sympathy -which results therefrom is nothing but a disease. Thus there is -also a Christian hypochondria, which afflicts those solitary, -religiously-minded people who keep constantly before their eyes the -sufferings and death of Christ.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">48.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Economy of Goodness</span>.—Goodness and love, as the most healing herbs and -powers in human intercourse, are such costly discoveries that one would -wish as much economy as possible to be exercised in the employment of -these balsamic means; but this is impossible. The economy of goodness -is the dream of the most daring Utopians.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">49.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Goodwill</span>.—Amongst the small, but countlessly frequent and therefore -very effective, things to which science should pay more attention than -to the great, rare things, is to be reckoned goodwill; I mean that -exhibition of a friendly disposition in intercourse, that smiling -eye, that clasp of the hand, that cheerfulness with which almost all -human actions are usually accompanied. Every teacher, every official, -adds this to whatever is his duty; it is the perpetual occupation -of humanity, and at the same time the waves of its light, in which -everything grows; in the narrowest circle, namely, within the family, -life blooms and flourishes only through that goodwill. Kindliness, -friendliness, the courtesy of the heart, are ever-flowing streams of -un-egoistic impulses, and have given far more powerful assistance to -culture than even those much more famous demonstrations which are -called pity, mercy, and self-sacrifice. But they are thought little -of, and, as a matter of fact, there is not much that is un-egoistic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> -in them. The <i>sum</i> of these small doses is nevertheless mighty, their -united force is amongst the strongest forces. Thus one finds much more -happiness in the world than sad eyes see, if one only reckons rightly, -and does not forget all those moments of comfort in which every day is -rich, even in the most harried of human lives.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">50.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Wish to Arouse Pity</span>.—In the most remarkable passage of his -auto—portrait (first printed in 1658), La Rochefoucauld assuredly -hits the nail on the head when he warns all sensible people against -pity, when he advises them to leave that to those orders of the people -who have need of passion (because it is not ruled by reason), and to -reach the point of helping the suffering and acting energetically in an -accident; while pity, according to his (and Plato's) judgment, weakens -the soul. Certainly we should <i>exhibit</i> pity, but take good care not -to <i>feel</i> it, for the unfortunate are so <i>stupid</i> that to them the -exhibition of pity is the greatest good in the world. One can, perhaps, -give a more forcible warning against this feeling of pity if one looks -upon that need of the unfortunate not exactly as stupidity and lack of -intellect, a kind of mental derangement which misfortune brings with -it (and as such, indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to regard it), but -as something quite different and more serious. Observe children, who -cry and scream <i>in order</i> to be pitied, and therefore wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> for the -moment when they will be noticed; live in intercourse with the sick and -mentally oppressed, and ask yourself whether that ready complaining and -whimpering, that making a show of misfortune, does not, at bottom, aim -at <i>making the spectators miserable;</i> the pity which the spectators -then exhibit is in so far a consolation for the weak and suffering in -that the latter recognise therein that they <i>possess still one power,</i> -in spite of their weakness, <i>the power of giving pain.</i> The unfortunate -derives a sort of pleasure from this feeling of superiority, of which -the exhibition of pity makes him conscious; his imagination is exalted, -he is still powerful enough to give the world pain. Thus the thirst for -pity is the thirst for self-gratification, and that, moreover, at the -expense of his fellow-men; it shows man in the whole inconsiderateness -of his own dear self, but not exactly in his "stupidity," as La -Rochefoucauld thinks. In society-talk three-fourths of all questions -asked and of all answers given are intended to cause the interlocutor -a little pain; for this reason so many people pine for company; it -enables them to feel their power. There is a powerful charm of life -in such countless but very small doses in which malice makes itself -felt, just as goodwill, spread in the same way throughout the world, is -the ever-ready means of healing. But are there many honest people who -will admit that it is pleasing to give pain? that one not infrequently -amuses one's self—and amuses one's self very well—in causing -mortifications to others, at least in thought, and firing off at them -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> grape-shot of petty malice? Most people are too dishonest, and a -few are too good, to know anything of this <i>pudendum</i> these will always -deny that Prosper Mérimée is right when he says, "<i>Sachez aussi qu'il -n'y a rien de plus commun que de faire le mal pour le plaisir de le -faire.</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">51.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Appearance Becomes Actuality</span>.—The actor finally reaches such a -point that even in the deepest sorrow he cannot cease from thinking -about the impression made by his own person and the general scenic -effect; for instance, even at the funeral of his child, he will weep -over his own sorrow and its expression like one of his own audience. -The hypocrite, who always plays one and the same part, ceases at -last to be a hypocrite; for instance, priests, who as young men are -generally conscious or unconscious hypocrites, become at last natural, -and are then really without any affectation, just priests; or if the -father does not succeed so far, perhaps the son does, who makes use -of his father's progress and inherits his habits. If any one long and -obstinately desires to <i>appear</i> something, he finds it difficult at -last to <i>be</i> anything else. The profession of almost every individual, -even of the artist, begins with hypocrisy, with an imitating from -without, with a copying of the effective. He who always wears the -mask of a friendly expression must eventually obtain a power over -well-meaning dispositions without which the expression of friendliness -is not to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> compelled,—and finally, these, again, obtain a power -over him, he <i>is</i> well-meaning.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">52.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Point of Honour in Deception</span>.—In all great deceivers one thing -is noteworthy, to which they owe their power. In the actual act of -deception, with all their preparations, the dreadful voice, expression, -and mien, in the midst of their effective scenery they are overcome -by their <i>belief in themselves</i> it is this, then, which speaks so -wonderfully and persuasively to the spectators. The founders of -religions are distinguished from those great deceivers in that they -never awake from their condition of self-deception; or at times, but -very rarely, they have an enlightened moment when doubt overpowers -them; they generally console themselves, however, by ascribing these -enlightened moments to the influence of the Evil One. There must -be self-deception in order that this and that may <i>produce</i> great -<i>effects.</i> For men believe in the truth of everything that is visibly, -strongly believed in.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">53.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Nominal Degrees of Truth</span>.—One of the commonest mistakes is this: -because some one is truthful and honest towards us, he must speak the -truth. Thus the child believes in its parents' judgment, the Christian -in the assertions of the Founder of the Church. In the same way men -refuse to admit that all those things which men defended in former ages -with the sacrifice of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> life and happiness were nothing but errors; it -is even said, perhaps, that they were degrees of the truth. But what -is really meant is that when a man has honestly believed in something, -and has fought and died for his faith, it would really be too <i>unjust</i> -if he had only been inspired by an error. Such a thing seems a -contradiction of eternal justice; therefore the heart of sensitive man -ever enunciates against his head the axiom: between moral action and -intellectual insight there must absolutely be a necessary connection. -It is unfortunately otherwise; for there is no eternal justice.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">54.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Falsehood</span>.—Why do people mostly speak the truth in daily -life?—Assuredly not because a god has forbidden falsehood. But, -firstly, because it is more convenient, as falsehood requires -invention, deceit, and memory. (As Swift says, he who tells a lie is -not sensible how great a task he undertakes; for in order to uphold -one lie he must invent twenty others.) Therefore, because it is -advantageous in upright circumstances to say straight out, "I want -this, I have done that," and so on; because, in other words, the path -of compulsion and authority is surer than that of cunning. But if a -child has been brought up in complicated domestic circumstances, he -employs falsehood, naturally and unconsciously says whatever best suits -his interests; a sense of truth and a hatred of falsehood are quite -foreign and unknown to him, and so he lies in all innocence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">55.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Throwing Suspicion on Morality For Faith's Sake</span>.—No power can be -maintained when it is only represented by hypocrites; no matter how -many "worldly" elements the Catholic Church possesses, its strength -lies in those still numerous priestly natures who render life hard -and full of meaning for themselves, and whose glance and worn bodies -speak of nocturnal vigils, hunger, burning prayers, and perhaps even of -scourging; these move men and inspire them with fear. What if it were -<i>necessary</i> to live thus? This is the terrible question which their -aspect brings to the lips. Whilst they spread this doubt they always -uprear another pillar of their power; even the free-thinker does not -dare to withstand such unselfishness with hard words of truth, and to -say, "Thyself deceived, deceive not others!" Only the difference of -views divides them from him, certainly no difference of goodness or -badness; but men generally treat unjustly that which they do not like. -Thus we speak of the cunning and the infamous art of the Jesuits, but -overlook the self-control which every individual Jesuit practises, and -the fact that the lightened manner of life preached by Jesuit books -is by no means for their benefit, but for that of the laity. We may -even ask whether, with precisely similar tactics and organisation, -we enlightened ones would make equally good tools, equally admirable -through self-conquest, indefatigableness, and renunciation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">56.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Victory of Knowledge Over Radical Evil</span>.—It is of great advantage to -him who desires to be wise to have witnessed for a time the spectacle -of a thoroughly evil and degenerate man; it is false, like the contrary -spectacle, but for whole long periods it held the mastery, and its -roots have even extended and ramified themselves to us and our world. -In order to understand <i>ourselves</i> we must understand <i>it</i> but then, in -order to mount higher we must rise above it. We recognise, then, that -there exist no sins in the metaphysical sense; but, in the same sense, -also no virtues; we recognise that the entire domain of ethical ideas -is perpetually tottering, that there are higher and deeper conceptions -of good and evil, of moral and immoral. He who does not desire much -more from things than a knowledge of them easily makes peace with his -soul, and will make a mistake (or commit a sin, as the world calls -it) at the most from ignorance, but hardly from covetousness. He will -no longer wish to excommunicate and exterminate desires; but his -only, his wholly dominating ambition, to <i>know</i> as well as possible -at all times, will make him cool and will soften all the savageness -in his disposition. Moreover, he has been freed from a number of -tormenting conceptions, he has no more feeling at the mention of the -words "punishments of hell," "sinfulness," "incapacity for good," he -recognises in them only the vanishing shadow-pictures of false views of -the world and of life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">57.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Morality As the Self-disintegration of Man</span>.—A good author, who -really has his heart in his work, wishes that some one could come -and annihilate him by representing the same thing in a clearer way -and answering without more ado the problems therein proposed. The -loving girl wishes she could prove the self-sacrificing faithfulness -of her love by the unfaithfulness of her beloved. The soldier hopes -to die on the field of battle for his victorious fatherland; for his -loftiest desires triumph in the victory of his country. The mother -gives to the child that of which she deprives herself—sleep, the best -food, sometimes her health and fortune. But are all these un-egoistic -conditions? Are these deeds of morality <i>miracles,</i> because, to use -Schopenhauer's expression, they are "impossible and yet performed"? Is -it not clear that in all four cases the individual loves <i>something -of himself,</i> a thought, a desire, a production, better than <i>anything -else of himself;</i> that he therefore divides his nature and to one part -sacrifices all the rest? Is it something <i>entirely</i> different when an -obstinate man says, "I would rather be shot than move a step out of -my way for this man"? The <i>desire for something</i> (wish, inclination, -longing) is present in all the instances mentioned; to give way to it, -with all its consequences, is certainly not "un-egoistic."—In ethics -man does not consider himself as <i>Individuum</i> but as <i>dividuum.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">58.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What One May Promise</span>.—One may promise actions, but no sentiments, for -these are involuntary. Whoever promises to love or hate a person, or be -faithful to him for ever, promises something which is not within his -power; he can certainly promise such actions as are usually the results -of love, hate, or fidelity, but which may also spring from other -motives; for many ways and motives lead to one and the same action. -The promise to love some one for ever is, therefore, really: So long -as I love you I will act towards you in a loving way; if I cease to -love you, you will still receive the same treatment from me, although -inspired by other motives, so that our fellow-men will still be deluded -into the belief that our love is unchanged and ever the same. One -promises, therefore, the continuation of the semblance of love, when, -without self-deception, one speaks vows of eternal love.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">59.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intellect and Morality</span>.—One must have a good memory to be able to keep -a given promise. One must have a strong power of imagination to be -able to feel pity. So closely is morality bound to the goodness of the -intellect.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">60.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">TO WISH FOR REVENGE AND TO TAKE REVENGE</span>.—To have a revengeful thought -and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> carry it into effect is to have a violent attack of fever, -which passes off, however,—but to have a revengeful thought without -the strength and courage to carry it out is a chronic disease, a -poisoning of body and soul which we have to bear about with us. -Morality, which only takes intentions into account, considers the -two cases as equal; usually the former case is regarded as the worse -(because of the evil consequences which may perhaps result from the -deed of revenge). Both estimates are short-sighted.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">61.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Power of Waiting</span>.—Waiting is so difficult that even great poets -have not disdained to take incapability of waiting as the motive for -their works. Thus Shakespeare in Othello or Sophocles in Ajax, to whom -suicide, had he been able to let his feelings cool down for one day, -would no longer have seemed necessary, as the oracle intimated; he -would probably have snapped his fingers at the terrible whisperings -of wounded vanity, and said to himself, "Who has not already, in -my circumstances, mistaken a fool for a hero? Is it something so -very extraordinary?" On the contrary, it is something very commonly -human; Ajax might allow himself that consolation. Passion will not -wait; the tragedy in the lives of great men frequently lies <i>not</i> in -their conflict with the times and the baseness of their fellow-men, -but in their incapacity of postponing their work for a year or two; -they cannot wait. In all duels advising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> friends have one thing to -decide, namely whether the parties concerned can still wait awhile; -if this is not the case, then a duel is advisable, inasmuch as each -of the two says, "Either I continue to live and that other man must -die immediately, or <i>vice versa</i>." In such case waiting would mean a -prolonged suffering of the terrible martyrdom of wounded honour in the -face of the insulter, and this may entail more suffering than life is -worth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">62.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Revelling in Vengeance</span>.—Coarser individuals who feel themselves -insulted, make out the insult to be as great as possible, and relate -the affair in greatly exaggerated language, in order to be able to -revel thoroughly in the rarely awakened feelings of hatred and revenge.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">63.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of Disparagement</span>.—In order to maintain their self-respect -in their own eyes and a certain thoroughness of action, not a few men, -perhaps even the majority, find it absolutely necessary to run down and -disparage all their acquaintances. But as mean natures are numerous, -and since it is very important whether they possess that thoroughness -or lose it, hence——</p> - - -<p class="parnum">64.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Man in a Passion</span>.—We must beware of one who is in a passion -against us as of one who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> has once sought our life; for the fact that -we still live is due to the absence of power to kill,—if looks would -suffice, we should have been dead long ago. It is a piece of rough -civilisation to force some one into silence by the exhibition of -physical savageness and the inspiring of fear. That cold glance which -exalted persons employ towards their servants is also a relic of that -caste division between man and man, a piece of rough antiquity; women, -the preservers of ancient things, have also faithfully retained this -<i>survival</i> of an ancient habit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">65.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Whither Honesty Can Lead</span>.—Somebody had the bad habit of occasionally -talking quite frankly about the motives of his actions, which were as -good and as bad as the motives of most men. He first gave offence, -then aroused suspicion, was then gradually excluded from society and -declared a social outlaw, until at last justice remembered such an -abandoned creature, on occasions when it would otherwise have had no -eyes, or would have closed them. The lack of power to hold his tongue -concerning the common secret, and the irresponsible tendency to see -what no one wishes to see—himself—brought him to a prison and an -early death.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">66.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Punishable, But Never Punished</span>.—Our crime against criminals lies in -the fact that we treat them like rascals.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">67.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Sancta Simplicitas</span></i> OF VIRTUE.—Every virtue has its privileges; for -example, that of contributing its own little faggot to the scaffold of -every condemned man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">68.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Morality and Consequences</span>.—It is not only the spectators of a deed -who frequently judge of its morality or immorality according to its -consequences, but the doer of the deed himself does so. For the motives -and intentions are seldom sufficiently clear and simple, and sometimes -memory itself seems clouded by the consequences of the deed, so that -one ascribes the deed to false motives or looks upon unessential -motives as essential. Success often gives an action the whole honest -glamour of a good conscience; failure casts the shadow of remorse -over the most estimable deed. Hence arises the well-known practice -of the politician, who thinks, "Only grant me success, with that I -bring all honest souls over to my side and make myself honest in my -own eyes." In the same way success must replace a better argument. -Many educated people still believe that the triumph of Christianity -over Greek philosophy is a proof of the greater truthfulness of -the former,—although in this case it is only the coarser and more -powerful that has triumphed over the more spiritual and delicate. -Which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> possesses the greater truth may be seen from the fact that the -awakening sciences have agreed with Epicurus' philosophy on point after -point, but on point after point have rejected Christianity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">69.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love and Justice</span>.—Why do we over-estimate love to the disadvantage -of justice, and say the most beautiful things about it, as if it were -something very much higher than the latter? Is it not visibly more -stupid than justice? Certainly, but precisely for that reason all the -<i>pleasanter</i> for every one. It is blind, and possesses an abundant -cornucopia, out of which it distributes its gifts to all, even if they -do not deserve them, even if they express no thanks for them. It is as -impartial as the rain, which, according to the Bible and experience, -makes not only the unjust, but also occasionally the just wet through -to the skin.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">70.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Execution</span>.—How is it that every execution offends us more than does a -murder? It is the coldness of the judges, the painful preparations, the -conviction that a human being is here being used as a warning to scare -others. For the guilt is not punished, even if it existed—it lies with -educators, parents, surroundings, in ourselves, not in the murderer—I -mean the determining circumstances.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">71.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hope</span>.—Pandora brought the box of ills and opened it. It was the gift -of the gods to men, outwardly a beautiful and seductive gift, and -called the Casket of Happiness. Out of it flew all the evils, living -winged creatures, thence they now circulate and do men injury day and -night. One single evil had not yet escaped from the box, and by the -will of Zeus Pandora closed the lid and it remained within. Now for -ever man has the casket of happiness in his house and thinks he holds a -great treasure; it is at his disposal, he stretches out his hand for it -whenever he desires; for he does not know the box which Pandora brought -was the casket of evil, and he believes the ill which remains within to -be the greatest blessing,—it is hope. Zeus did not wish man, however -much he might be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his life, -but to go on letting himself be tormented again and again. Therefore he -gives man hope,—in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it -prolongs the torments of man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">72.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Degree of Moral Inflammability Unknown</span>.—According to whether we -have or have not had certain disturbing views and impressions—for -instance, an unjustly executed, killed, or martered father; a faithless -wife; a cruel hostile attack—it depends whether our passions reach -fever heat and influence our whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> life or not. No one knows to -what he may be driven by circumstances, pity, or indignation; he -does not know the degree of his own inflammability. Miserable little -circumstances make us miserable; it is generally not the quantity of -experiences, but their quality, on which lower and higher man depends, -in good and evil.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">73.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Martyr in Spite of Himself</span>.—There was a man belonging to a party -who was too nervous and cowardly ever to contradict his comrades; they -made use of him for everything, they demanded everything from him, -because he was more afraid of the bad opinion of his companions than -of death itself; his was a miserable, feeble soul. They recognised -this, and on the ground of these qualities they made a hero of him, and -finally even a martyr. Although the coward inwardly always said No, -with his lips he always said Yes, even on the scaffold, when he was -about to die for the opinions of his party; for beside him stood one of -his old companions, who so tyrannised over him by word and look that -he really suffered death in the most respectable manner, and has ever -since been celebrated as a martyr and a great character.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">74.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I the Every-day Standard</span>.—One will seldom go wrong if one attributes -extreme actions to vanity, average ones to habit, and petty ones to -fear.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">75.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Misunderstanding Concerning Virtue</span>.—Whoever has known immorality -in connection with pleasure, as is the case with a man who has a -pleasure-seeking youth behind him, imagines that virtue must be -connected with absence of pleasure.—Whoever, on the contrary, has been -much plagued by his passions and vices, longs to find in virtue peace -and the soul's happiness. Hence it is possible for two virtuous persons -not to understand each other at all.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">76.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Ascetic</span>.—The ascetic makes a necessity of virtue.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">77.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Transferring Honour from the Person to the Thing</span>.—Deeds of love and -sacrifice for the benefit of one's neighbour are generally honoured, -wherever they are manifested. Thereby we multiply the valuation of -things which are thus loved, or for which we sacrifice ourselves, -although perhaps they are not worth much in themselves. A brave army is -convinced of the cause for which it fights.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">78.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ambition a Substitute For the Moral Sense</span>.—The moral sense must not be -lacking in those natures which have no ambition. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> ambitious manage -without it, with almost the same results. For this reason the sons of -unpretentious, unambitious families, when once they lose the moral -sense, generally degenerate very quickly into complete scamps.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">79.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanity Enriches</span>.—How poor would be the human mind without vanity! -Thus, however, it resembles a well-stocked and constantly replenished -bazaar which attracts buyers of every kind. There they can find almost -everything, obtain almost everything, provided that they bring the -right sort of coin, namely admiration.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">80.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Old Age and Death</span>.—Apart from the commands of religion, the question -may well be asked, Why is it more worthy for an old man who feels his -powers decline, to await his slow exhaustion and extinction than with -full consciousness to set a limit to his life? Suicide in this case is -a perfectly natural, obvious action, which should justly arouse respect -as a triumph of reason, and did arouse it in those times when the heads -of Greek philosophy and the sturdiest patriots used to seek death -through suicide. The seeking, on the contrary, to prolong existence -from day to day, with anxious consultation of doctors and painful mode -of living, without the power of drawing nearer to the actual aim of -life, is far less worthy. Religion is rich in excuses to reply to the -demand for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> suicide, and thus it ingratiates itself with those who wish -to cling to life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">81.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Errors of the Sufferer and the Doer</span>.—When a rich man deprives a poor -man of a possession (for instance, a prince taking the sweetheart of -a plebeian), an error arises in the mind of the poor man; he thinks -that the rich man must be utterly infamous to take away from him the -little that he has. But the rich man does not estimate so highly the -value of a <i>single</i> possession, because he is accustomed to have many; -hence he cannot imagine himself in the poor man's place, and does not -commit nearly so great a wrong as the latter supposes. They each have a -mistaken idea of the other. The injustice of the powerful, which, more -than anything else, rouses indignation in history, is by no means so -great as it appears. Alone the mere inherited consciousness of being a -higher creation, with higher claims, produces a cold temperament, and -leaves the conscience quiet; we all of us feel no injustice when the -difference is very great between ourselves and another creature, and -kill a fly, for instance, without any pricks of conscience. Therefore -it was no sign of badness in Xerxes (whom even all Greeks describe -as superlatively noble) when he took a son away from his father and -had him cut in pieces, because he had expressed a nervous, ominous -distrust of the whole campaign; in this case the individual is put out -of the way like an unpleasant insect; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> is too lowly to be allowed -any longer to cause annoyance to a ruler of the world. Yes, every -cruel man is not so cruel as the ill-treated one imagines the idea of -pain is not the same as its endurance. It is the same thing in the -case of unjust judges, of the journalist who leads public opinion -astray by small dishonesties. In all these cases cause and effect are -surrounded by entirely different groups of feelings and thoughts; yet -one unconsciously takes it for granted that doer and sufferer think and -feel alike, and according to this supposition we measure the guilt of -the one by the pain of the other.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">82.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Skin of the Soul</span>.—As the bones, flesh, entrails, and blood-vessels -are enclosed within a skin, which makes the aspect of man endurable, so -the emotions and passions of the soul are enwrapped with vanity,—it is -the skin of the soul.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">83.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sleep of Virtue</span>.—When virtue has slept, it will arise again all -the fresher.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">84.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Refinement of Shame</span>.—People are not ashamed to think something -foul, but they are ashamed when they think these foul thoughts are -attributed to them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">85.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malice Is Rare</span>.—Most people are far too much occupied with themselves -to be malicious.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">86.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tongue in the Balance</span>.—We praise or blame according as the one or -the other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">87.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">St. Luke Xviii. 14, Improved</span>.—He that humbleth himself wishes to be -exalted.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">88.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Prevention of Suicide</span>.—There is a certain right by which we may -deprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death; -this is mere cruelty.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">89.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanity</span>.—We care for the good opinion of men, firstly because they are -useful to us, and then because we wish to please them (children their -parents, pupils their teachers, and well-meaning people generally their -fellow-men). Only where the good opinion of men is of importance to -some one, apart from the advantage thereof or his wish to please, can -we speak of vanity. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> this case the man wishes to please himself, -but at the expense of his fellow-men, either by misleading them into -holding a false opinion about him, or by aiming at a degree of "good -opinion" which must be painful to every one else (by arousing envy). -The individual usually wishes to corroborate the opinion he holds of -himself by the opinion of others, and to strengthen it in his own -eyes; but the strong habit of authority—a habit as old as man himself -—induces many to support by authority their belief in themselves: that -is to say, they accept it first from others; they trust the judgment -of others more than their own. The interest in himself, the wish to -please himself, attains to such a height in a vain man that he misleads -others into having a false, all too elevated estimation of him, and yet -nevertheless sets store by their authority,—thus causing an error and -yet believing in it. It must be confessed, therefore, that vain people -do not wish to please others so much as themselves, and that they go -so far therein as to neglect their advantage, for they often endeavour -to prejudice their fellow-men unfavourably, inimicably, enviously, -consequently injuriously against themselves, merely in order to have -pleasure in themselves, personal pleasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">90.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Limits of Human Love</span>.—A man who has declared that another is an -idiot and a bad companion, is angry when the latter eventually proves -himself to be otherwise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">91.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Moralité Larmoyante</span>.</i>—What a great deal of pleasure morality gives! -Only think what a sea of pleasant tears has been shed over descriptions -of noble and unselfish deeds! This charm of life would vanish if the -belief in absolute irresponsibility were to obtain supremacy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">92.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of Justice.</span>—Justice (equity) has, its origin amongst powers -which are fairly equal, as Thucydides (in the terrible dialogue between -the Athenian and Melian ambassadors) rightly comprehended: that is to -say, where there is no clearly recognisable supremacy, and where a -conflict would be useless and would injure both sides, there arises the -thought of coming to an understanding and settling the opposing claims; -the character of <i>exchange</i> is the primary character of justice. Each -party satisfies the other, as each obtains what he values more than the -other. Each one receives that which he desires, as his own henceforth, -and whatever is desired is received in return. Justice, therefore, -is recompense and exchange based on the hypothesis of a fairly equal -degree of power,—thus, originally, revenge belongs to the province -of justice, it is an exchange. Also gratitude.—Justice naturally is -based on the point of view of a judicious self-preservation, on the -egoism, therefore, of that reflection, "Why should I injure myself -uselessly and perhaps not attain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> my aim after all?" So much about the -<i>origin</i> of justice. Because man, according to his intellectual custom, -has <i>forgotten</i> the original purpose of so-called just and reasonable -actions, and particularly because for hundreds of years children have -been taught to admire and imitate such actions, the idea has gradually -arisen that such an action is un-egoistic; upon this idea, however, is -based the high estimation in which it is held: which, moreover, like -all valuations, is constantly growing, for something that is valued -highly is striven after, imitated, multiplied, and increases, because -the value of the output of toil and enthusiasm of each individual is -added to the value of the thing itself. How little moral would the -world look without this forgetfulness! A poet might say that God had -placed forgetfulness as door-keeper in the temple of human dignity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">93.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Right of the Weaker</span>.—When any one submits under certain -conditions to a greater power, as a besieged town for instance, the -counter-condition is that one can destroy one's self, burn the town, -and so cause the mighty one a great loss. Therefore there is a kind of -<i>equalisation</i> here, on the basis of which rights may be determined. -The enemy has his advantage in maintaining it. In so far there are -also rights between slaves and masters, that is, precisely so far as -the possession of the slave is useful and important to his master. The -<i>right</i> originally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> extends <i>so far as</i> one <i>appears</i> to be valuable to -the other, essentially unlosable, unconquerable, and so forth. In so -far the weaker one also has rights, but lesser ones. Hence the famous -<i>unusquisque tantum juris habet, quantum potentia valet</i> (or more -exactly, <i>quantum potentia valere creditur</i>).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">94.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Three Phases of Hitherto Existing Morality</span>.—It is the first -sign that the animal has become man when its actions no longer have -regard only to momentary welfare, but to what is enduring, when it -grows <i>useful</i> and <i>practical</i>; there the free rule of reason first -breaks out. A still higher step is reached when he acts according to -the principle of <i>honour</i> by this means he brings himself into order, -submits to common feelings, and that exalts him still higher over -the phase in which he was led only by the idea of usefulness from a -personal point of view; he respects and wishes to be respected, <i>i.e.</i> -he understands usefulness as dependent upon what he thinks of others -and what others think of him. Eventually he acts, on the highest step -of the <i>hitherto</i> existing—morality, according to <i>his</i> standard of -things and men; he himself decides for himself and others what is -honourable, what is useful; he has become the law-giver of opinions, -in accordance with the ever more highly developed idea of what is -useful and honourable. Knowledge enables him to place that which is -most useful, that is to say the general, enduring usefulness, above the -personal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> the honourable recognition of general, enduring validity -above the momentary; he lives and acts as a collective individual.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">95.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Morality of the Mature Individual</span>.—The impersonal has hitherto -been looked upon as the actual distinguishing mark of moral action; and -it has been pointed out that in the beginning it was in consideration -of the common good that all impersonal actions were praised and -distinguished. Is not an important change in these views impending, -now when it is more and more recognised that it is precisely in the -<i>most personal</i> possible considerations that the common good is the -greatest, so that a <i>strictly personal</i> action now best illustrates -the present idea of morality, as utility for the mass? To make a -whole <i>personality</i> out of ourselves, and in all that we do to keep -that personality's <i>highest good</i> in view, carries us further than -those sympathetic emotions and actions for the benefit of others. We -all still suffer, certainly, from the too small consideration of the -personal in us; it is badly developed,—let us admit it; rather has -our mind been forcibly drawn away from it and offered as a sacrifice -to the State, to science, or to those who stand in need of help, as if -it were the bad part which must be sacrificed. We are still willing to -work for our fellow-men, but only so far as we find our own greatest -advantage in this work, no more and no less. It is only a question of -what we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> understand as <i>our advantage;</i> the unripe, undeveloped, crude -individual will understand it in the crudest way.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">96.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Custom and Morality</span>.—To be moral, correct, and virtuous is to be -obedient to an old-established law and custom. Whether we submit -with difficulty or willingly is immaterial, enough that we do so. He -is called "good" who, as if naturally, after long precedent, easily -and willingly, therefore, does what is right, according to whatever -this may be (as, for instance, taking revenge, if to take revenge be -considered as right, as amongst the ancient Greeks). He is called -good because he is good "for something"; but as goodwill, pity, -consideration, moderation, and such like, have come, with the change -in manners, to be looked upon as "good for something," as useful, the -good-natured and helpful have, later on, come to be distinguished -specially as "good." (In the beginning other and more important kinds -of usefulness stood in the foreground.) To be evil is to be "not -moral" (immoral), to be immoral is to be in opposition to tradition, -however sensible or stupid it may be; injury to the community (the -"neighbour" being understood thereby) has, however, been looked upon -by the social laws of all different ages as being eminently the actual -"immorality," so that now at the word "evil" we immediately think of -voluntary injury to one's neighbour. The fundamental antithesis which -has taught man the distinction between moral and immoral, between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> good -and evil, is not the "egoistic" and "un-egoistic," but the being bound -to the tradition, law, and solution thereof. How the tradition has -<i>arisen</i> is immaterial, at all events without regard to good and evil -or any immanent categorical imperative, but above all for the purpose -of preserving a <i>community,</i> a generation, an association, a people; -every superstitious custom that has arisen on account of some falsely -explained accident, creates a tradition, which it is moral to follow; -to separate one's self from it is dangerous, but more dangerous for the -<i>community</i> than for the individual (because the Godhead punishes the -community for every outrage and every violation of its rights, and the -individual only in proportion). Now every tradition grows continually -more venerable, the farther off lies its origin, the more this is -lost sight of; the veneration paid it accumulates from generation to -generation, the tradition at last becomes holy and excites awe; and -thus in any case the morality of piety is a much older morality than -that which requires un-egoistic actions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">97.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasure in Traditional Custom</span>.—An important species of pleasure, -and therewith the source of morality, arises out of habit. Man does -what is habitual to him more easily, better, and therefore more -willingly; he feels a pleasure therein, and knows from experience -that the habitual has been tested, and is therefore useful; a custom -that we can live with is proved to be wholesome and advantageous in -contrast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> to all new and not yet tested experiments. According to -this, morality is the union of the pleasant and the useful; moreover, -it requires no reflection. As soon as man can use compulsion, he uses -it to introduce and enforce his <i>customs</i>; for in his eyes they are -proved as the wisdom of life. In the same way a company of individuals -compels each single one to adopt the same customs. Here the inference -is wrong; because we feel at ease with a morality, or at least -because we are able to carry on existence with it, therefore this -morality is necessary, for it seems to be the <i>only</i> possibility of -feeling at ease; the ease of life seems to grow out of it alone. This -comprehension of the habitual as a necessity of existence is pursued -even to the smallest details of custom,—as insight into genuine -causality is very small with lower peoples and civilisations, they -take precautions with superstitious fear that everything should go in -its same groove; even where custom is difficult, hard, and burdensome, -it is preserved on account of its apparent highest usefulness. It is -not known that the same degree of well-being can also exist with other -customs, and that even higher degrees may be attained. We become aware, -however, that all customs, even the hardest, grow pleasanter and milder -with time, and that the severest way of life may become a habit and -therefore a pleasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">98.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasure and Social Instinct</span>.—Out of his relations with other men, man -obtains a new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> species of <i>pleasure</i> in addition to those pleasurable -sensations which he derives from himself; whereby he greatly increases -the scope of enjoyment. Perhaps he has already taken too many of the -pleasures of this sphere from animals, which visibly feel pleasure -when they play with each other, especially the mother with her young. -Then consider the sexual relations, which make almost every female -interesting to a male with regard to pleasure, and <i>vice versa.</i> The -feeling of pleasure on the basis of human relations generally makes -man better; joy in common, pleasure enjoyed together is increased, it -gives the individual security, makes him good-tempered, and dispels -mistrust and envy, for we feel ourselves at ease and see others at -ease. <i>Similar manifestations of pleasure</i> awaken the idea of the same -sensations, the feeling of being like something; a like effect is -produced by common sufferings, the same bad weather, dangers, enemies. -Upon this foundation is based the oldest alliance, the object of which -is the mutual obviating and averting of a threatening danger for the -benefit of each individual. And thus the social instinct grows out of -pleasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">99.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Innocent Side of So-called Evil Actions</span>.—All "evil" actions are -prompted by the instinct of preservation, or, more exactly, by the -desire for pleasure and the avoidance of pain on the part of the -individual; thus prompted, but not evil. "To cause pain <i>per se</i>" does -not exist,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> except in the brains of philosophers, neither does "to give -pleasure <i>per se</i>" (pity in Schopenhauer's meaning). In the social -condition <i>before</i> the State we kill the creature, be it ape or man, -who tries to take from us the fruit of a tree when we are hungry and -approach the tree, as we should still do with animals in inhospitable -countries. The evil actions which now most rouse our indignation, are -based upon the error that he who causes them has a free will, that he -had the option, therefore, of not doing us this injury. This belief in -option arouses hatred, desire for revenge, spite, and the deterioration -of the whole imagination, while we are much less angry with an animal -because we consider it irresponsible. To do injury, not from the -instinct of preservation, but as <i>requital,</i> is the consequence of a -false judgment and therefore equally innocent. The individual can in -the condition which lies before the State, act sternly and cruelly -towards other creatures for the purpose of <i>terrifying,</i> to establish -his existence firmly by such terrifying proofs of his power. Thus -act the violent, the mighty, the original founders of States, who -subdue the weaker to themselves. They have the right to do so, such -as the State still takes for itself; or rather, there is no right -that can hinder this. The ground for all-morality can only be made -ready when a stronger individual or a collective individual, for -instance society or the State, subdues the single individuals,.draws -them out of their singleness, and forms them into an association.. -<i>Compulsion</i> precedes morality, indeed morality itself is compulsion -for a time, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> which one submits for the avoidance of pain. Later on -it becomes custom,—later still, free obedience, and finally almost -instinct,—then, like everything long accustomed and natural, it is -connected with pleasure—and is henceforth called <i>virtue</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">100.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Shame</span>.—Shame exists everywhere where there is a "mystery"; this, -however, is a religious idea, which was widely extended in the older -times of human civilisation. Everywhere were found bounded domains -to which access was forbidden by divine right, except under certain -conditions ; at first locally, as, for example, certain spots that -ought not to be trodden by the feet of the uninitiated, in the -neighbourhood of which these latter experienced horror and fear. -This feeling was a good deal carried over into other relations, for -instance, the sex relations, which, as a privilege and <i>ἃδoυτον</i> of -riper years, had to be withheld from the knowledge of the young for -their advantage, relations for the protection and sanctification of -which many gods were invented and were set up as guardians in the -nuptial chamber. (In Turkish this room is on this account called harem, -"sanctuary," and is distinguished with the same name, therefore, that -is used for the entrance courts of the mosques.) Thus the kingdom is as -a centre from which radiate power and glory, to the subjects a mystery -full of secrecy and shame, of which many after-effects may still be -felt among nations which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> otherwise do not by any means belong to the -bashful type. Similarly, the whole world of inner conditions, the -so-called "soul," is still a mystery for all who are not philosophers, -after it has been looked upon for endless ages as of divine origin and -as worthy of divine intercourse; according to this it is an <i>ἃδoυτον</i> -and arouses shame.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">101.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Judge Not.</span>—In considering earlier periods, care must be taken not -to fall into unjust abuse. The injustice in slavery, the cruelty in -the suppression of persons and nations, is not to be measured by our -standard. For the instinct of justice was not then so far developed. -Who dares to reproach the Genevese Calvin with the burning of the -physician Servet? It was an action following and resulting from his -convictions, and in the same way the Inquisition had a good right; -only the ruling views were false, and produced a result which seems -hard to us because those views have now grown strange to us. Besides, -what is the burning of a single individual compared with eternal -pains of hell for almost all! And yet this idea was universal at that -time, without essentially injuring by its dreadfulness the conception -of a God. With us, too, political sectarians are hardly and cruelly -treated, but because one is accustomed to believe in the necessity of -the State, the cruelty is not so deeply felt here as it is where we -repudiate the views. Cruelty to animals in children and Italians is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -due to ignorance, <i>i.e.</i> the animal, through the interests of Church -teaching, has been placed too far behind man. Much that is dreadful and -inhuman in history, much that one hardly likes to believe, is mitigated -by the reflection that the one who commands and the one who carries -out are different persons,—the former does not behold the right and -therefore does not experience the strong impression on the imagination; -the latter obeys a superior and therefore feels no responsibility. Most -princes and military heads, through lack of imagination, easily appear -hard and cruel without really being so. <i>Egoism is not evil,</i> because -the idea of the "neighbour"—the word is of Christian origin and does -not represent the truth—is very weak in us; and we feel ourselves -almost as free and irresponsible towards him as towards plants and -stones. We have yet to <i>learn</i> that others suffer, and this can never -be completely learnt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">102.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">"Man Always Acts Rightly."</span>—We do not complain of nature as immoral -because it sends a thunderstorm and makes us wet,—why do we call those -who injure us immoral? Because in the latter case we take for granted -a free will functioning voluntarily; in the former we see necessity. -But this distinction is an error. Thus we do not call even intentional -injury immoral in all circumstances; for instance, we kill a fly -unhesitatingly and intentionally, only because its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> buzzing annoys us; -we punish a criminal intentionally and hurt him in order to protect -ourselves and society. In the first case it is the individual who, in -order to preserve himself, or even to protect himself from worry, does -intentional injury; in the second case it is the State. All morals -allow intentional injury <i>in the case of necessity,</i> that is, when -it is a matter of <i>self-preservation</i>! But these two points of view -suffice to explain all evil actions committed by men against men, we -are desirous of obtaining pleasure or avoiding pain; in any case it is -always a question of self-preservation. Socrates and Plato are right: -whatever man does he always does well, that is, he does that which -seems to him good (useful) according to the degree of his intellect, -the particular standard of his reasonableness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">103.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Harmlessness of Malice.</span>—The aim of malice is <i>not</i> the suffering -of others in itself, but our own enjoyment; for instance, as the -feeling of revenge, or stronger nervous excitement. All teasing, -even, shows the pleasure it gives to exercise our power on others and -bring it to an enjoyable feeling of preponderance. Is it <i>immoral</i> to -taste pleasure at the expense of another's pain? Is malicious joy<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -devilish, as Schopenhauer says? We give ourselves pleasure in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> nature -by breaking off twigs, loosening stones, fighting with wild animals, -and do this in order to become thereby conscious of our strength. Is -the knowledge, therefore, that another suffers through us, the same -thing concerning which we otherwise feel irresponsible, supposed to -make us immoral? But if we did not know this we would not thereby have -the enjoyment of our own superiority, which can only <i>manifest</i> itself -by the suffering of others, for instance in teasing. All pleasure -<i>per se</i> is neither good nor evil; whence should come the decision -that in order to have pleasure ourselves we may not cause displeasure -to others? From the point of view of usefulness alone, that is, out -of consideration for the <i>consequences,</i> for <i>possible</i> displeasure, -when the injured one or the replacing State gives the expectation of -resentment and revenge: this only can have been the original reason -for denying ourselves such actions. <i>Pity</i> aims just as little at -the pleasure of others as malice at the pain of others <i>per se.</i> For -it contains at least two (perhaps many more) elements of a personal -pleasure, and is so far self-gratification; in the first place as the -pleasure of emotion, which is the kind of pity that exists in tragedy, -and then, when it impels to action, as the pleasure of satisfaction -in the exercise of power. If, besides this, a suffering person is -very dear to us, we lift a sorrow from ourselves by the exercise of -sympathetic actions. Except by a few philosophers, pity has always been -placed very low in the scale of moral feelings, and rightly so.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">104.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-defence.</span>—If self-defence is allowed to pass as moral, then almost -all manifestations of the so-called immoral egoism must also stand; -men injure, rob, or kill in order to preserve or defend themselves, -to prevent personal injury; they lie where cunning and dissimulation -are the right means of self-preservation. <i>Intentional injury,</i> when -our existence or safety (preservation of our comfort) is concerned, is -conceded to be moral; the State itself injures, according to this point -of view, when it punishes. In unintentional injury, of course, there -can be nothing immoral, that is ruled by chance. Is there, then, a kind -of intentional injury where our existence or the preservation of our -comfort is <i>not</i> concerned? Is there an injuring out of pure <i>malice,</i> -for instance in cruelty? If one does not know how much an action hurts, -it is no deed of malice; thus the child is not malicious towards the -animal, not evil; he examines and destroys it like a toy. But <i>do</i> we -ever know entirely how an action hurts another? As far as our nervous -system extends we protect ourselves from pain; if it extended farther, -to our fellow-men, namely, we should do no one an injury (except in -such cases as we injure ourselves, where we cut ourselves for the -sake of cure, tire and exert ourselves for the sake of health). We -<i>conclude</i> by analogy that something hurts somebody, and through memory -and the strength of imagination we may suffer from it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> ourselves. But -still what a difference there is between toothache and the pain (pity) -that the sight of toothache calls forth! Therefore, in injury out of -so-called malice the <i>degree</i> of pain produced is always unknown to -us; but inasmuch as there is <i>pleasure</i> in the action (the feeling of -one's own power, one's own strong excitement), the action is committed, -in order to preserve the comfort of the individual, and is regarded, -therefore, from a similar point of view as defence and falsehood in -necessity. No life without pleasure; the struggle for pleasure is the -struggle for life. Whether the individual so fights this fight that -men call him good, or so that they call him evil, is determined by the -measure and the constitution of his <i>intellect.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">105.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Recompensing Justice</span>.—Whoever has completely comprehended the doctrine -of absolute irresponsibility can no longer include the so-called -punishing and recompensing justice in the idea of justice, should this -consist of giving to each man his due. For he who is punished does -not deserve the punishment, he is only used as a means of henceforth -warning away from certain actions; equally so, he who is rewarded -does not merit this reward, he could not act otherwise than he did. -Therefore the reward is meant only as an encouragement to him and -others, to provide a motive for subsequent actions; words of praise are -flung to the runners on the course, not to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> one who has reached -the goal. Neither punishment nor reward is anything that comes to one -as <i>one's own;</i> they are given from motives of usefulness, without one -having a right to claim them. Hence we must say, "The wise man gives -no reward because the deed has been well done," just as we have said, -"The wise man does not punish because evil has been committed, but in -order that evil shall not be committed." If punishment and reward no -longer existed, then the strongest motives which deter men from certain -actions and impel them to certain other actions, would also no longer -exist; the needs of mankind require their continuance; and inasmuch as -punishment and reward, blame and praise, work most sensibly on vanity, -the same need requires the continuance of vanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">106.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">At the Waterfall.</span>—In looking at a water-fall we imagine that there is -freedom of will and fancy in the countless turnings, twistings, and -breakings of the waves; but everything is compulsory, every movement -can be mathematically calculated. So it is also with human actions; -one would have to be able to calculate every single action beforehand -if one were all-knowing; equally so all progress of knowledge, every -error, all malice. The one who acts certainly labours under the -illusion of voluntariness; if the world's wheel were to stand still -for a moment and an all-knowing, calculating reason were there to make -use of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> pause, it could foretell the future of every creature to -the remotest times, and mark out every track upon which that wheel -would continue to roll. The delusion of the acting agent about himself, -the supposition of a free will, belongs to this mechanism which still -remains to be calculated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">107.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Irresponsibility and Innocence.</span>—The complete irresponsibility of -man for his actions and his nature is the bitterest drop which he -who understands must swallow if he was accustomed to see the patent -of nobility of his humanity in responsibility and duty. All his -valuations, distinctions, disinclinations, are thereby deprived of -value and become false,—his deepest feeling for the sufferer and -the hero was based on an error; he may no longer either praise or -blame, for it is absurd to praise and blame nature and necessity. In -the same way as he loves a fine work of art, but does not praise it, -because it can do nothing for itself; in the same way as he regards -plants, so must he regard his own actions and those of mankind. He can -admire strength, beauty, abundance, in themselves; but must find no -merit therein,—the chemical progress and the strife of the elements, -the torments of the sick person who thirsts after recovery, are all -equally as little merits as those struggles of the soul and states of -distress in which we are torn hither and thither by different impulses -until we finally decide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> for the strongest—as we say (but in reality -it is the strongest motive which decides for us). All these motives, -however, whatever fine names we may give them, have all grown out of -the same root, in which we believe the evil poisons to be situated; -between good and evil actions there is no difference of species, but -at most of degree. Good actions are sublimated evil ones; evil actions -are vulgarised and stupefied good ones. The single longing of the -individual for self-gratification (together with the fear of losing it) -satisfies itself in all circumstances: man may act as he can, that is -as he must, be it in deeds of vanity, revenge, pleasure, usefulness, -malice, cunning; be it in deeds of sacrifice, of pity, of knowledge. -The degrees of the power of judgment determine whither any one lets -himself be drawn through this longing; to every society, to every -individual, a scale of possessions is continually present, according to -which he determines his actions and judges those of others. But this -standard changes constantly; many actions are called evil and are only -stupid, because the degree of intelligence which decided for them was -very low. In a certain sense, even, <i>all</i> actions are still stupid; -for the highest degree of human intelligence which can now be attained -will assuredly be yet surpassed, and then, in a retrospect, all our -actions and judgments will appear as limited and hasty as the actions -and judgments of primitive wild peoples now appear limited and hasty to -us. To recognise all this may be deeply painful, but consolation comes -after; such pains are the pangs of birth. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> butterfly wants to break -through its chrysalis: it rends and tears it, and is then blinded and -confused by the unaccustomed light, the kingdom of liberty. In such -people as are <i>capable</i> of such sadness—and how few are!—the first -experiment made is to see whether <i>mankind can change itself</i> from a -<i>moral</i> into a <i>wise</i> mankind. The sun of a new gospel throws its rays -upon the highest point in the soul of each single individual, then -the mists gather thicker than ever, and the brightest light and the -dreariest shadow lie side by side. Everything is necessity—so says the -new knowledge, and this knowledge itself is necessity. Everything is -innocence, and knowledge is the road to insight into this innocence. -Are pleasure, egoism, vanity <i>necessary</i> for the production of the -moral phenomena and their highest result, the sense for truth and -justice in knowledge; were error and the confusion of the imagination -the only means through which mankind could raise itself gradually to -this degree of self-enlightenment and self-liberation—who would dare -to undervalue these means? Who would dare to be sad if he perceived the -goal to which those roads led? Everything in the domain of morality -has evolved, is changeable, unstable, everything is dissolved, it is -true; but <i>everything is also streaming towards one goal.</i> Even if -the inherited habit of erroneous valuation, love and hatred, continue -to reign in us, yet under the influence of growing knowledge it will -become weaker; a new habit, that of comprehension, of not loving, not -hating, of overlooking, is gradually implanting itself in us upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> the -same ground, and in thousands of years will perhaps be powerful enough -to give humanity the strength to produce wise, innocent (consciously -innocent) men, as it now produces unwise, guilt-conscious men,—<i>that -is the necessary preliminary step, not its opposite.</i></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Dr. Paul Rée.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_5" id="Footnote_2_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_5"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Dr. Paul Rée.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_6" id="Footnote_3_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_6"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This is the untranslatable word <i>Schadenfreude,</i> which -means joy at the misfortune of others.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="THIRD_DIVISION" id="THIRD_DIVISION">THIRD DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>THE RELIGIOUS LIFE.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">108.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Double Fight Against Evil</span>.—When misfortune overtakes us we can -either pass over I it so lightly that its cause is removed, or so -that the result which it has on our temperament is altered, through a -changing, therefore, of the evil into a good, the utility of which is -perhaps not visible until later on. Religion and art (also metaphysical -philosophy) work upon the changing of the temperament, partly through -the changing of our judgment on events (for instance, with the help -of the phrase "whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth"), partly through -the awakening of a pleasure in pain, in emotion generally (whence -the tragic art takes its starting-point). The more a man is inclined -to twist and arrange meanings the less he will grasp the causes of -evil and disperse them; the momentary mitigation and influence of -a narcotic, as for example in toothache, suffices him even in more -serious sufferings. The more the dominion of creeds and all arts -dispense with narcotics, the more strictly men attend to the actual -removing of the evil, which is certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> bad for writers of tragedy; -for the material for tragedy is growing scarcer because the domain of -pitiless, inexorable fate is growing ever narrower,—but worse still -for the priests, for they have hitherto lived on the narcotisation of -human woes.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">109.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sorrow Is Knowledge</span>.—How greatly we should like to exchange the -false assertions of the priests, that there is a god who desires good -from us, a guardian and witness of every action, every moment, every -thought, who loves us and seeks our welfare in all misfortune,—how -greatly we would like to exchange these ideas for truths which would be -just as healing, pacifying and beneficial as those errors! But there -are no such truths; at most philosophy can oppose to them metaphysical -appearances (at bottom also untruths). The tragedy consists in the fact -that we cannot <i>believe</i> those dogmas of religion and metaphysics, -if we have strict methods of truth in heart and brain: on the other -hand, mankind has, through development, become so delicate, irritable -and suffering, that it has need of the highest means of healing and -consolation; whence also the danger arises that man would bleed to -death from recognised truth, or, more correctly, from discovered error. -Byron has expressed this in the immortal lines:—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most<br /> -Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,<br /> -The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<p>For such troubles there is no better help than to recall the stately -levity of Horace, at least for the worst hours and eclipses of the -soul, and to say with him:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">... quid æternis minorem</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">consiliis animum fatigas?</span><br /> -cur non sub alta vel platano vel hac<br /> -pinu jacentes.<a name="FNanchor_1_7" id="FNanchor_1_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_7" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>But assuredly frivolity or melancholy of every degree is better than -a romantic retrospection and desertion of the flag, an approach to -Christianity in any form; for according to the present condition of -knowledge it is absolutely impossible to approach it without hopelessly -soiling our <i>intellectual conscience</i> and giving ourselves away to -ourselves and others. Those pains may be unpleasant enough, but we -cannot become leaders and educators of mankind without pain; and woe -to him who would wish to attempt this and no longer have that clear -conscience!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">110.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Truth in Religion</span>.—In the period of rationalism justice was not -done to the importance of religion, of that there is no doubt, but -equally there is no doubt that in the reaction that followed this -rationalism justice was far overstepped; for religions were treated -lovingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> even amorously, and, for instance, a deeper, even the -very deepest, understanding of the world was ascribed to them; which -science has only to strip of its dogmatic garment in order to possess -the "truth" in unmythical form. Religions should, therefore,—this -was the opinion of all opposers of rationalism,—<i>sensu allegorico,</i> -with all consideration for the understanding of the masses, give -utterance to that ancient wisdom which is wisdom itself, inasmuch -as all true science of later times has always led up to it instead -of away from it, so that between the oldest wisdom of mankind and -all later harmonies similarity of discernment and a progress of -knowledge—in case one should wish to speak of such a thing—rests -not upon the nature but upon the way of communicating it. This whole -conception of religion and science is thoroughly erroneous, and none -would still dare to profess it if Schopenhauer's eloquence had not -taken it under its protection; this resonant eloquence which, however, -only reached its hearers a generation later. As surely as from -Schopenhauer's religious-moral interpretations of men and the world -much may be gained for the understanding of the Christian and other -religions, so surely also is he mistaken about the <i>value of religion -for knowledge.</i> Therein he himself was only a too docile pupil of the -scientific teachers of his time, who all worshipped romanticism and had -forsworn the spirit of enlightenment; had he been born in our present -age he could not possibly have talked about the <i>sensus allegoricus</i> -of religion; he would much rather have given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> honour to truth, as he -used to do, with the words, "<i>no religion, direct or indirect, either -as dogma or as allegory, has ever contained a truth.</i>" For each has -been born of fear and necessity, through the byways of reason did it -slip into existence; once, perhaps, when imperilled by science, some -philosophic doctrine has lied itself into its system in order that -it may be found there later, but this is a theological trick of the -time when a religion already doubts itself. These tricks of theology -(which certainly were practised in the early days of Christianity, -as the religion of a scholarly period steeped in philosophy) have -led to that superstition of the <i>sensus allegoricus,</i> but yet more -the habits of the philosophers (especially the half-natures, the -poetical philosophers and the philosophising artists), to treat all the -sensations which they discovered in <i>themselves</i> as the fundamental -nature of man in general, and hence to allow their own religious -feelings an important influence in the building up of their systems. -As philosophers frequently philosophised under the custom of religious -habits, or at least under the anciently inherited power of that -"metaphysical need," they developed doctrinal opinions which really -bore a great resemblance to the Jewish or Christian or Indian religious -views,—a resemblance, namely, such as children usually bear to their -mothers, only that in this case the fathers were not clear about that -motherhood, as happens sometimes,—but in their innocence romanced -about a family likeness between all religion and science. In reality, -between religions and real science there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> exists neither relationship -nor friendship, nor even enmity; they live on different planets. Every -philosophy which shows a religious comet's tail shining in the darkness -of its last prospects makes all the science it contains suspicious; all -this is presumably also religion, even though in the guise of science. -Moreover, if all nations were to agree about certain religious matters, -for instance the existence of a God (which, it may be remarked, is not -the case with regard to this point), this would only be an argument -<i>against</i> those affirmed matters, for instance the existence of a God; -the <i>consensus gentium</i> and <i>hominum</i> in general can only take place in -case of a huge folly. On the other hand, there is no <i>consensus omnium -sapientium,</i> with regard to any single thing, with that exception -mentioned in Goethe's lines:</p> - -<p> -"Alle die Weisesten aller der Zeiten<br /> -Lächeln und winken und stimmen mit ein:<br /> -Thöricht, auf Bess'rung der Thoren zu harren!<br /> -Kinder der Klugheit, o habet die Narren<br /> -Eben zum Narren auch, wie sich's gehört!"<a name="FNanchor_2_8" id="FNanchor_2_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_8" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Spoken without verse and rhyme and applied to our case, the <i>consensus -sapientium</i> consists in this: that the <i>consensus gentium</i> counts as a -folly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">111.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of the Religious Cult</span>.—If we go back to the times in -which the religious life flourished to the greatest extent, we find a -fundamental conviction, which we now no longer share, and whereby the -doors leading to a religious life are closed to us once for all,—it -concerns Nature and intercourse with her. In those times people knew -nothing of natural laws; neither for earth nor for heaven is there a -"must"; a season, the sunshine, the rain may come or may not come. In -short, every idea of natural causality is lacking. When one rows, it -is not the rowing that moves the boat, but rowing is only a magical -ceremony by which one compels a <i>dæmon</i> to move the boat. All maladies, -even death itself, are the result of magical influences. Illness -and death never happen naturally; the whole conception of "natural -sequence" is lacking,—it dawned first amongst the older Greeks, that -is, in a very late phase of humanity, in the conception of <i>Moira,</i> -enthroned above the gods. When a man shoots with a bow, there is still -always present an irrational hand and strength; if the wells suddenly -dry up, men think first of subterranean <i>dæmons</i> and their tricks; it -must be the arrow of a god beneath whose invisible blow a man suddenly -sinks down. In India (says Lubbock) a carpenter is accustomed to offer -sacrifice to his hammer, his hatchet, and the rest of his tools; in -the same way a Brahmin treats the pen with which he writes, a soldier -the weapons he requires in the field of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> battle, a mason his trowel, a -labourer his plough. In the imagination of religious people all nature -is a summary of the actions of conscious and voluntary creatures, -an enormous complex of <i>arbitrariness.</i> No conclusion may be drawn -with regard to everything that is outside of us, that anything will -<i>be</i> so and so, <i>must</i> be so and so; the approximately sure, reliable -are <i>we,</i>—man is the <i>rule,</i> nature is <i>irregularity,</i>—this theory -contains the fundamental conviction which obtains in rude, religiously -productive primitive civilisations. We latter-day men feel just -the contrary,—the richer man now feels himself inwardly, the more -polyphonous is the music and the noise of his soul the more powerfully -the symmetry of nature works upon him; we all recognise with Goethe -the great means in nature for the appeasing of the modern soul; we -listen to the pendulum swing of this greatest of clocks with a longing -for rest, for home and tranquillity, as if we could absorb this -symmetry into ourselves and could only thereby arrive at the enjoyment -of ourselves. Formerly it was otherwise; if we consider the rude, -early condition of nations, or contemplate present-day savages' at -close quarters, we find them most strongly influenced by <i>law</i> and by -<i>tradition</i>: the individual is almost automatically bound to them, and -moves with the uniformity of a pendulum. To him Nature—uncomprehended, -terrible, mysterious Nature—must appear as the <i>sphere of liberty,</i> -of voluntariness, of the higher power, even as a superhuman degree -of existence, as God. In those times and conditions, however,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> every -individual felt that his existence, his happiness, and that of the -family and the State, and the success of all undertakings, depended -on those spontaneities of nature; certain natural events must appear -at the right time, others be absent at the right time. How can one -have any influence on these terrible unknown things, how can one -bind the sphere of liberty? Thus he asks himself, thus he inquires -anxiously;—is there, then, no means of making those powers as regular -through tradition and law as you are yourself? The aim of those who -believe in magic and miracles is to <i>impose a law on nature,</i>—and, -briefly, the religious cult is a result of this aim. The problem which -those people have set themselves is closely related to this: how can -the <i>weaker</i> race dictate laws to the <i>stronger,</i> rule it, and guide -its actions (in relation to the weaker)? One would first remember the -most harmless sort of compulsion, that compulsion which one exercises -when one has gained any one's affection. By imploring and praying, by -submission, by the obligation of regular taxes and gifts, by flattering -glorifications, it is also possible to exercise an influence upon the -powers of nature, inasmuch as one gains the affections; love binds and -becomes bound. Then one can make compacts by which one is mutually -bound to a certain behaviour, where one gives pledges and exchanges -vows. But far more important is a species of more forcible compulsion, -by magic and witchcraft. As with the sorcerer's help man is able to -injure a more powerful enemy and keep him in fear, as the love-charm -works at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> a distance, so the weaker man believes he can influence the -mightier spirits of nature. The principal thing in all witchcraft -is that we must get into our possession something that belongs to -some one, hair, nails, food from their table, even their portrait, -their name. With such apparatus we can then practise sorcery; for the -fundamental rule is, to everything spiritual there belongs something -corporeal; with the help of this we are able to bind the spirit, to -injure it, and destroy it; the corporeal furnishes the handles with -which we can grasp the spiritual. As man controls man, so he controls -some natural spirit or other; for this has also its corporeal part -by which it may be grasped. The tree and, compared with it, the seed -from which it sprang,—this enigmatical contrast seems to prove that -the same spirit embodied itself in both forms, now small, now large. -A stone that begins to roll suddenly is the body in which a spirit -operates; if there is an enormous rock lying on a lonely heath it seems -impossible to conceive human strength sufficient to have brought it -there, consequently the stone must have moved there by itself, that -is, it must be possessed by a spirit. Everything that has a body is -susceptible to witchcraft, therefore also the natural spirits. If a god -is bound to his image we can use the most direct compulsion against him -(through refusal of sacrificial food, scourging, binding in fetters, -and so on). In order to obtain by force the missing favour of their -god the lower classes in China wind cords round the image of the one -who has left them in the lurch,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> pull it down and drag it through the -streets in the dust and the dirt: "You dog of a spirit," they say, "we -gave you a magnificent temple to live in, we gilded you prettily, we -fed you well, we offered you sacrifice, and yet you are so ungrateful." -Similar forcible measures against pictures of the Saints and Virgin -when they refused to do their duty in pestilence or drought, have -been witnessed even during the present century in Catholic countries. -Through all these magic relations to nature, countless ceremonies -have been called into life; and at last, when the confusion has -grown too great, an endeavour has been made to order and systematise -them, in order that the favourable course of the whole progress of -nature, <i>i.e.</i> of the great succession of the seasons, may seem to -be guaranteed by a corresponding course of a system of procedure. -The essence of the religious cult is to determine and confine nature -to human advantage, <i>to impress it with a legality, therefore, which -it did not originally possess</i>; while at the present time we wish to -recognise the legality of nature in order to adapt ourselves to it. -In short, then, the religious cult is based upon the representations -of sorcery between man and man,—and the sorcerer is older than the -priest. But it is likewise based upon other and nobler representations; -it premises the sympathetic relation of man to man, the presence of -goodwill, gratitude, the hearing of pleaders, of treaties between -enemies, the granting of pledges, and the claim to the protection of -property. In very low stages of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> civilisation man does not stand in the -relation of a helpless slave to nature, he is <i>not</i> necessarily its -involuntary, bondsman. In the <i>Greek</i> grade of religion, particularly -in relation to the Olympian gods, there may even be imagined a common -life between two castes, a nobler and more powerful one, and one less -noble; but in their origin both belong to each other somehow, and -are of one kind; they need not be ashamed of each other. That is the -nobility of the Greek religion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">112.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">At the Sight of Certain Antique Sacrificial Implements</span>.—The fact of -how many feelings are lost to us may be seen, for instance, in the -mingling of the <i>droll,</i> even of the <i>obscene,</i> with the religious -feeling. The sensation of the possibility of this mixture vanishes, we -only comprehend historically that it existed in the feasts of Demeter -and Dionysus, in the Christian Easter-plays and Mysteries. But we also -know that which is noble in alliance with burlesque and such like, the -touching mingled with the laughable, which perhaps a later age will not -be able to understand.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">113.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Christianity As Antiquity</span>.—When on a Sunday morning we hear the old -bells ring out, we ask ourselves, "Is it possible! This is done on -account of a Jew crucified two thousand years ago who said he was the -Son of God. The proof of such an assertion is wanting." Certainly in -our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> times the Christian religion is an antiquity that dates from -very early ages, and the fact that its assertions are still believed, -when otherwise all claims are subjected to such strict examination, -is perhaps the oldest part of this heritage. A God who creates a son -from a mortal woman; a sage who requires that man should no longer -work, no longer judge, but should pay attention to the signs of the -approaching end of the world; a justice that accepts an innocent being -as a substitute in sacrifice; one who commands his disciples to drink -his blood; prayers for miraculous intervention; sins committed against -a God and atoned for through a God; the fear of a future to which death -is the portal; the form of the cross in an age which no longer knows -the signification and the shame of the cross,<a name="FNanchor_3_9" id="FNanchor_3_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_9" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> how terrible all this -appears to us, as if risen from the grave of the ancient past! Is it -credible that such things are still believed?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">114.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What Is Un-greek in Christianity</span>.—The Greeks did not regard the -Homeric gods as raised above them like masters, nor themselves as -being under them like servants, as the Jews did. They only saw, as -in a mirror, the most perfect examples of their own caste; an ideal, -therefore, and not an opposite of their own nature. There is a feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -of relationship, a mutual interest arises, a kind of symmachy. Man -thinks highly of himself when he gives himself such gods, and places -himself in a relation like that of the lower nobility towards the -higher; while the Italian nations hold a genuine peasant-faith, with -perpetual fear of evil and mischievous powers and tormenting spirits. -Wherever the Olympian gods retreated into the background, Greek life -was more sombre and more anxious. Christianity, on the contrary, -oppressed man and crushed him utterly, sinking him as if in deep mire; -then into the feeling of absolute depravity it suddenly threw the light -of divine mercy, so that the surprised man, dazzled by forgiveness, -gave a cry of joy and for a moment believed that he bore all heaven -within himself. All psychological feelings of Christianity work upon -this unhealthy excess of sentiment, and upon the deep corruption of -head and heart it necessitates; it desires to destroy, break, stupefy, -confuse,—only one thing it does not desire, namely <i>moderation,</i> and -therefore it is in the deepest sense barbaric, Asiatic, ignoble and -un-Greek.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">115.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Be Religious With Advantage</span>.—There are sober and industrious people -on whom religion is embroidered like a hem of higher humanity; these -do well to remain religious, it beautifies them. All people who do -not understand some kind of trade in weapons—tongue and pen included -as weapons—become servile; for such the Christian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> religion is very -useful, for then servility assumes the appearance of Christian virtues -and is surprisingly beautified. People to whom their daily life appears -too empty and monotonous easily grow religious; this is comprehensible -and excusable, only they have no right to demand religious sentiments -from those whose daily life is not empty and monotonous.<a name="FNanchor_4_10" id="FNanchor_4_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_10" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">116.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Commonplace Christian.</span>—If Christianity were right, with its -theories of an avenging God, of general sinfulness, of redemption, and -the danger of eternal damnation, it would be a sign of weak intellect -and lack of character <i>not</i> to become a priest, apostle or hermit, -and to work only with fear and trembling for one's own salvation; it -would be senseless thus to neglect eternal benefits for temporary -comfort. Taking it for granted that there <i>is belief,</i> the commonplace -Christian is a miserable figure, a man that really cannot add two and -two together, and who, moreover, just because of his mental incapacity -for responsibility, did not deserve to be so severely punished as -Christianity has decreed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">117.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of the Wisdom of Christianity</span>.—It is a clever stroke on the part -of Christianity to teach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> the utter unworthiness, sinfulness, and -despicableness of mankind so loudly that the disdain of their -fellow-men is no longer possible. "He may sin as much as he likes, he -is not essentially different from me,—it is I who am unworthy and -despicable in every way," says the Christian to himself. But even -this feeling has lost its sharpest sting, because the Christian no -longer believes in his individual despicableness; he is bad as men are -generally, and comforts himself a little with the axiom, "We are all of -one kind."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">118.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Change of Front</span>.—As soon as a religion triumphs it has for its enemies -all those who would have been its first disciples.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">119.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fate of Christianity</span>.—Christianity arose for the purpose of -lightening the heart; but now it must first make the heart heavy in -order afterwards to lighten it. Consequently it will perish.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">120.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Proof of Pleasure</span>.—The agreeable opinion is accepted as -true,—this is the proof of the pleasure (or, as the Church says, the -proof of the strength), of which all religions are so proud when they -ought to be ashamed of it. If Faith did not make blessed it would not -be believed in; of how little value must it be, then!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">121.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Dangerous Game</span>.—Whoever now allows scope to his religious feelings -must also let them increase, he cannot do otherwise. His nature then -gradually changes; it favours whatever is connected with and near to -the religious element, the whole extent of judgment and feeling becomes -clouded, overcast with religious shadows. Sensation cannot stand still; -one must therefore take care.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">122.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Blind Disciples</span>.—So long as one knows well the strength and -weakness of one's doctrine, one's art, one's religion, its power -is still small. The disciple and apostle who has no eyes for the -weaknesses of the doctrine, the religion, and so forth, dazzled by the -aspect of the master and by his reverence for him, has on that account -usually more power than the master himself. Without blind disciples the -influence of a man and his work has never yet become great. To help a -doctrine to victory often means only so to mix it with stupidity that -the weight of the latter carries off also the victory for the former.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">123.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Church Disestablishment</span>.—There is not enough religion in the world -even to destroy religions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">124.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sinlessness of Man</span>.—If it is understood how "sin came into the -world," namely through errors of reason by which men held each other, -even the single individual held himself, to be much blacker and much -worse than was actually the case, the whole sensation will be much -lightened, and man and the world will appear in a blaze of innocence -which it will do one good to contemplate. In the midst of nature man -is always the child <i>per se.</i> This child sometimes has a heavy and -terrifying dream, but when it opens its eyes it always finds itself -back again in Paradise.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">125.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Irreligiousness of Artists</span>.—Homer is so much at home amongst -his gods, and is so familiar with them as a poet, that he must have -been deeply irreligious; that which the popular faith gave him—a -meagre, rude, partly terrible superstition—he treated as freely as -the sculptor does his clay, with the same unconcern, therefore, which -Æschylus and Aristophanes possessed, and by which in later times the -great artists of the Renaissance distinguished themselves, as also did -Shakespeare and Goethe.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">126.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art and Power of False Interpretations</span>.—All the visions, terrors, -torpors,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> and ecstasies of saints are well-known forms of disease, -which are only, by reason of deep-rooted religious and psychological -errors, differently <i>explained</i> by him, namely not as diseases. Thus, -perhaps, the <i>Daimonion</i> of Socrates was only an affection of the -ear, which he, in accordance with his ruling moral mode of thought, -<i>expounded</i> differently from what would be the case now. It is the same -thing with the madness and ravings of the prophets and soothsayers; it -is always the degree of knowledge, fantasy, effort, morality in the -head and heart of the <i>interpreters</i> which has <i>made</i> so much of it. -For the greatest achievements of the people who are called geniuses and -saints it is necessary that they should secure interpreters by force, -who <i>misunderstand</i> them for the good of mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">127.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Veneration of Insanity</span>.—Because it was remarked that excitement -frequently made the mind clearer and produced happy inspirations it was -believed that the happiest inspirations and suggestions were called -forth by the greatest excitement; and so the insane were revered as -wise and oracular. This is based on a false conclusion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">128.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Promises of Science</span>.—The aim of modern science is: as little -pain as possible, as long a life as possible,—a kind of eternal -blessedness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> therefore; but certainly a very modest one as compared -with the promises of religions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">129.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Forbidden Generosity</span>.—There is not sufficient love and goodness in the -world to permit us to give some of it away to imaginary beings.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">130.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Continuance of the Religious Cult in the Feelings</span>.—The Roman -Catholic Church, and before that all antique cults, dominated the -entire range of means by which man was put into unaccustomed moods -and rendered incapable of the cold calculation of judgment or the -clear thinking of reason. A church quivering with deep tones; the -dull, regular, arresting appeals of a priestly throng, unconsciously -communicates its tension to the congregation and makes it listen almost -fearfully, as if a miracle were in preparation; the influence of the -architecture, which, as the dwelling of a Godhead, extends into the -uncertain and makes its apparition to be feared in all its sombre -spaces,—who would wish to bring such things back to mankind if the -necessary suppositions are no longer believed? But the <i>results</i> of all -this are not lost, nevertheless; the inner world of noble, emotional, -deeply contrite dispositions, full of presentiments, blessed with hope, -is inborn in mankind mainly through this cult; what exists of it now in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> soul was then cultivated on a large scale as it germinated, grew -up and blossomed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">131.</p> - -<p>THE PAINFUL CONSEQUENCES OF RELIGION.—However much we may think we -have weaned ourselves from religion, it has nevertheless not been done -so thoroughly as to deprive us of pleasure in encountering religious -sensations and moods in music, for instance; and if a philosophy shows -us the justification of metaphysical hopes and the deep peace of -soul to be thence acquired, and speaks, for instance, of the "whole, -certain gospel in the gaze of Raphael's Madonnas," we receive such -statements and expositions particularly warmly; here the philosopher -finds it easier to prove; that which he desires to give corresponds -to a heart that desires to receive. Hence it may be observed how the -less thoughtful free spirits really only take offence at the dogmas, -but are well acquainted with the charm of religious sensations; they -are sorry to lose hold of the latter for the sake of the former. -Scientific philosophy must be very careful not to smuggle in errors on -the ground of that need,—a need which has grown up and is consequently -temporary,—even logicians speak of "presentiments" of truth in -ethics and in art (for instance, of the suspicion that "the nature -of things is one"), which should be forbidden to them Between the -carefully established truths and such "presaged" things there remains -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> unbridgable chasm that those are due to intellect and these to -requirement Hunger does not prove that food <i>exists</i> to satisfy it, but -that it desires food. To "presage" does not mean the acknowledgment of -the existence of a thing in any one degree, but its possibility, in so -far as it is desired or feared; "presage" does not advance one step -into the land of certainty. We believe involuntarily that the portions -of a philosophy which are tinged with religion are better proved than -others; but actually it is the contrary, but we have the inward desire -that it <i>may</i> be so, that that which makes blessed, therefore, may be -also the true. This desire misleads us to accept bad reasons for good -ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">132.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of the Christian Need of Redemption</span>.—With careful reflection it -must be possible to obtain an explanation free from mythology of -that process in the soul of a Christian which is called the need of -redemption, consequently a purely psychological explanation. Up to the -present, the psychological explanations of religious conditions and -processes have certainly been held in some disrepute, inasmuch as a -theology which called itself free carried on its unprofitable practice -in this domain; for here from the beginning (as the mind of its -founder, Schleiermacher, gives us reason to suppose) the preservation -of the Christian religion and the continuance of Christian theology -was kept in view; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> theology which was to find a new anchorage in -the psychological analyses of religious "facts," and above all a new -occupation. Unconcerned about such predecessors we hazard the following -interpretation of the phenomenon in question. Man is conscious of -certain actions which stand far down in the customary rank of actions; -he even discovers in himself a tendency towards similar actions, a -tendency which appears to him almost as unchangeable as his whole -nature. How willingly would he try himself in that other species of -actions which in the general valuation are recognised as the loftiest -and highest, how gladly would he feel himself to be full of the good -consciousness which should follow an unselfish mode of thought! But -unfortunately he stops short at this wish, and the discontent at not -being able to satisfy it is added to all the other discontents which -his lot in life or the consequences of those above-mentioned evil -actions have aroused in him; so that a deep ill-humour is the result, -with the search for a physician who could remove this and all its -causes. This condition would not be felt so bitterly if man would only -compare himself frankly with other men,—then he would have no reason -for being dissatisfied with himself to a particular extent, he would -only bear his share of the common burden of human dissatisfaction and -imperfection. But he compares himself with a being who is said to be -capable only of those actions which are called un-egoistic, and to -live in the perpetual consciousness of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> unselfish mode of thought, -<i>i.e.</i> with God; it is because he gazes into this clear mirror that his -image appears to him so dark, so unusually warped. Then he is alarmed -by the thought of that same creature, in so far as it floats before his -imagination as a retributive justice; in all possible small and great -events he thinks he recognises its anger and menaces, that he even -feels its scourge-strokes as judge and executioner. Who will help him -in this danger, which, by the prospect of an immeasurable duration of -punishment, exceeds in horror all the other terrors of the idea?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">133.</p> - -<p>Before we examine the further consequences of this mental state, let -us acknowledge that it is not through his "guilt" and "sin" that man -has got into this condition, but through a series of errors of reason; -that it was the fault of the mirror if his image appeared so dark and -hateful to him, and that that mirror was <i>his</i> work, the very imperfect -work of human imagination and power of judgment. In the first place, -a nature that is only capable of purely un-egoistic actions is more -fabulous than the phœnix; it cannot even be clearly imagined, just -because, when closely examined, the whole idea "un-egoistic action" -vanishes into air. No man <i>ever</i> did a thing which was done only -for others and without any personal motive; how should he be <i>able</i> -to do anything which had no relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> to himself, and therefore -without inward obligation (which must always have its foundation in -a personal need)? How could the <i>ego</i> act without <i>ego</i> A God who, -on the contrary, is <i>all</i> love, as such a one is often represented, -would not be capable of a single un-egoistic action, whereby one is -reminded of a saying of Lichtenberg's which is certainly taken from -a lower sphere: "We cannot possibly <i>feel</i> for others, as the saying -is; we feel only for ourselves. This sounds hard, but it is not so -really if it be rightly understood. We do not love father or mother -or wife or child, but the pleasant sensations they cause us;" or, as -Rochefoucauld says: "<i>Si on croit aimer sa maîtresse pour l'amour -d'elle, on est bien trompé.</i>" To know the reason why actions of love -are valued more than others, not on account of their nature, namely, -but of their <i>usefulness,</i> we should compare the examinations already -mentioned, <i>On the Origin of Moral Sentiments.</i> But should a man desire -to be entirely like that God of Love, to do and wish everything for -others and nothing for himself, the latter is impossible for the reason -that he must do <i>very much</i> for himself to be able to do something -for the love of others. Then it is taken for granted that the other -is sufficiently egoistic to accept that sacrifice again and again, -that living for him,—so that the people of love and sacrifice have an -interest in the continuance of those who are loveless and incapable -of sacrifice, and, in order to exist, the highest morality would be -obliged positively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> to <i>compel</i> the existence of un-morality (whereby -it would certainly annihilate itself). Further: the conception of a -God disturbs and humbles so long as it is believed in; but as to how -it arose there can no longer be any doubt in the present state of the -science of comparative ethnology; and with a comprehension of this -origin all belief falls to the ground. The Christian who compares his -nature with God's is like Don Quixote, who under-valued his own bravery -because his head was full of the marvellous deeds of the heroes of -the chivalric; romances,—the standard of measurement in both cases -belongs to the domain of fable. But if the idea of God is removed, so -is also the feeling of "sin" as a trespass against divine laws, as a -stain in a creature vowed to God. Then, perhaps, there still remains -that dejection which is intergrown and connected with the fear of the -punishment of worldly justice or of the scorn of men; the dejection of -the pricks of conscience, the sharpest thorn in the consciousness of -sin, is always removed if we recognise that though by our own deed we -have sinned against human descent, human laws and ordinances, still -that we have not imperilled the "eternal salvation of the Soul" and its -relation to the Godhead. And if man succeeds in gaining philosophic -conviction of the absolute necessity of all actions and their entire -irresponsibility, and absorbing this into his flesh and blood, even -those remains of the pricks of conscience vanish.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">134.</p> - -<p>Now if the Christian, as we have said, has fallen into the way of -self-contempt in consequence of certain errors through a false, -unscientific interpretation of his actions and sensations, he must -notice with great surprise how that state of contempt, the pricks of -conscience and displeasure generally, does not endure, how sometimes -there come hours when all this is wafted away from his soul and he -feels himself once more free and courageous. In truth, the pleasure in -himself, the comfort of his own strength, together with the necessary -weakening through time of every deep emotion, has usually been -victorious; man loves himself once again, he feels it,—but precisely -this new love, this self-esteem, seems to him incredible, he can only -see in it the wholly undeserved descent of a stream of mercy from on -high. If he formerly believed that in every event he could recognise -warnings, menaces, punishments, and every kind of manifestation of -divine anger, he now finds divine goodness in all his experiences, -—this event appears to him to be full of love, that one a helpful -hint, a third, and, indeed, his whole happy mood, a proof that God is -merciful. As formerly, in his state of pain, he interpreted his actions -falsely, so now he misinterprets his experiences; his mood of comfort -he believes to be the working of a power operating outside of himself, -the love with which he really loves himself seems to him to be divine -love; that which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> calls mercy, and the prologue to redemption, is -actually self-forgiveness, self-redemption.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">135.</p> - -<p>Therefore: A certain false psychology, a certain kind of imaginative -interpretation of motives and experiences, is the necessary preliminary -for one to become a Christian and to feel the need of redemption. When -this error of reason and imagination is recognised, one ceases to be a -Christian.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">136.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of Christian Asceticism and Holiness</span>.—As greatly as isolated thinkers -have endeavoured to depict as a miracle the rare manifestations of -morality, which are generally called asceticism and holiness, miracles -which it would be almost an outrage and sacrilege to explain by the -light of common sense, as strong also is the inclination towards -this outrage. A mighty impulse of nature has at all times led to a -protest against those manifestations; science, in so far as it is -an imitation of nature, at least allows itself to rise against the -supposed inexplicableness and unapproachableness of these objections. -So far it has certainly not succeeded: those appearances are still -unexplained, to the great joy of the above-mentioned worshippers of the -morally marvellous. For, speaking generally, the unexplained <i>must</i> -be absolutely inexplicable, the inexplicable absolutely unnatural, -supernatural, wonderful,—thus runs the demand in the souls of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> all -religious and metaphysical people (also of artists, if they should -happen to be thinkers at the same time); whilst the scientist sees -in this demand the "evil principle" in itself. The general, first -probability upon which one lights in the contemplation of holiness -and asceticism is this, that their nature is a <i>complicated</i> one, -for almost everywhere, within the physical world as well as in the -moral, the apparently marvellous has been successfully traced back to -the complicated, the many-conditioned. Let us venture, therefore, to -isolate separate impulses from the soul of saints and ascetics, and -finally to imagine them as intergrown.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">137.</p> - -<p>There is a <i>defiance of self,</i> to the sublimest manifestation of which -belong many forms of asceticism. Certain individuals have such great -need of exercising their power and love of ruling that, in default of -other objects, or because they have never succeeded otherwise, they -finally ex-cogitate the idea of tyrannising over certain parts of their -own nature, portions or degrees of themselves. Thus many a thinker -confesses to views which evidently do not serve either to increase -or improve his reputation; many a one deliberately calls down the -scorn of others when by keeping silence he could easily have remained -respected; others contradict former opinions and do not hesitate to -be called inconsistent—on the contrary, they strive after this, and -behave like reckless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> riders who like a horse best when it has grown -wild, unmanageable, and covered with sweat. Thus man climbs dangerous -paths up the highest mountains in order that he may laugh to scorn his -own fear and his trembling knees; thus the philosopher owns to views -on asceticism, humility, holiness, in the brightness of which his own -picture shows to the worst possible disadvantage. This crushing of -one's self, this scorn of one's own nature, this <i>spernere se sperm,</i> -of which religion has made so much, is really a very high degree of -vanity. The whole moral of the Sermon on the Mount belongs here; -man takes a genuine delight in doing violence to himself by these -exaggerated claims, and afterwards idolising these tyrannical demands -of his soul. In every ascetic morality man worships one part of himself -as a God, and is obliged, therefore, to diabolise the other parts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">138.</p> - -<p>Man is not equally moral at all hours, this is well known. If his -morality is judged to be the capability for great self-sacrificing -resolutions and self-denial (which, when continuous and grown habitual, -are called holiness), he is most moral in the <i>passions;</i> the higher -emotion provides him with entirely new motives, of which he, sober -and cold as usual, perhaps does not even believe himself capable. How -does this happen? Probably because of the proximity of everything -great and highly exciting; if man is once wrought up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> to a state of -extraordinary suspense, he is as capable of carrying out a terrible -revenge as of a terrible crushing of his need for revenge. Under the -influence of powerful emotion, he desires in any case the great, the -powerful, the immense; and if he happens to notice that the sacrifice -of himself satisfies him as well as, or better than, the sacrifice -of others, he chooses that. Actually, therefore, he only cares about -discharging his emotion; in order to ease his tension he seizes the -enemy's spears and buries them in his breast. That there was something -great in self-denial and not in revenge had to be taught to mankind by -long habit; a Godhead that sacrificed itself was the strongest, most -effective symbol of this kind of greatness. As the conquest of the most -difficult enemy, the sudden mastering of an affection—thus this denial -<i>appears</i>; and so far it passes for the summit of morality. In reality -it is a question of the confusion of one idea with another, while the -temperament maintains an equal height, an equal level. Temperate men -who are resting from their passions no longer understand the morality -of those moments; but the general admiration of those who had the same -experiences upholds them; pride is their consolation when affection -and the understanding of their deed vanish. Therefore, at bottom even -those actions of self-denial are not moral, inasmuch as they are not -done strictly with regard to others; rather the other only provides -the highly-strung temperament with an opportunity of relieving itself -through that denial.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">139.</p> - -<p>In many respects the ascetic seeks to make life easy for himself, -usually by complete subordination to a strange will or a comprehensive -law and ritual; something like the way a Brahmin leaves nothing -whatever to his own decision but refers every moment to holy precepts. -This submission is a powerful means of attaining self-mastery: man -is occupied and is therefore not bored, and yet has no incitement to -self-will or passion; after a completed deed there is no feeling of -responsibility and with it no tortures of remorse. We have renounced -our own will once and for ever, and this is easier than only renouncing -it occasionally; as it is also easier to give up a desire entirely than -to keep it within bounds. When we remember the present relation of -man to the State, we find that, even here, unconditional obedience is -more convenient than conditional. The saint, therefore, makes his life -easier by absolute renunciation of his personality, and we are mistaken -if in that phenomenon we admire the loftiest heroism of morality. -In any case it is more difficult to carry one's personality through -without vacillation and unclearness than to liberate one's self from it -in the above-mentioned manner; moreover, it requires far more spirit -and consideration.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">140.</p> - -<p>After having found in many of the less easily explicable actions -manifestations of that pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> in <i>emotion per se,</i> I should like -to recognise also in self-contempt, which is one of the signs of -holiness, and likewise in the deeds of self-torture (through hunger and -scourging, mutilation of limbs, feigning of madness) a means by which -those natures fight against the general weariness of their life-will -(their nerves); they employ the most painful irritants and cruelties -in order to emerge for a time, at all events, from that dulness and -boredom into which they so frequently sink through their great mental -indolence and that submission to a strange will already described.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">141.</p> - -<p>The commonest means which the ascetic and saint employs to render -life still endurable and amusing consists in occasional warfare with -alternate victory and defeat. For this he requires an opponent, and -finds it in the so-called "inward enemy." He principally makes use -of his inclination to vanity, love of honour and rule, and of his -sensual desires, that he may be permitted to regard his life as a -perpetual battle and himself as a battlefield upon which good and evil -spirits strive with alternating success. It is well known that sensual -imagination is moderated, indeed almost dispelled, by regular sexual -intercourse, whereas, on the contrary, it is rendered unfettered and -wild by abstinence or irregularity. The imagination of many Christian -saints was filthy to an extraordinary degree; by virtue of those -theories that these desires were actual demons raging within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> them -they did not feel themselves to be too responsible; to this feeling -we owe the very instructive frankness of their self-confessions. It -was to their interest that this strife should always be maintained in -one degree or another, because, as we have already said, their empty -life was thereby entertained. But in order that the strife might -seem sufficiently important and arouse the enduring sympathy and -admiration of non-saints, it was necessary that sensuality should be -ever more reviled and branded, the danger of eternal damnation was so -tightly bound up with these things that it is highly probable that for -whole centuries Christians generated children with a bad conscience, -wherewith humanity has certainly suffered a great injury. And yet here -truth is all topsy-turvy, which is particularly unsuitable for truth. -Certainly Christianity had said that every man is conceived and born -in sin, and in the insupportable superlative-Christianity of Calderon -this thought again appears, tied up and twisted, as the most distorted -paradox there is, in the well-known lines—</p> - -<p> -"The greatest sin of man<br /> -Is that he was ever born."<br /> -</p> - -<p>In all pessimistic religions the act of generation was looked upon as -evil in itself. This is by no means the verdict of all mankind, not -even of all pessimists. For instance, Empedocles saw in all erotic -things nothing shameful, diabolical, or, sinful; but rather, in the -great plain of disaster he saw only one hopeful and redeeming figure, -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> of Aphrodite; she appeared to him as a guarantee that the strife -should not endure eternally, but that the sceptre should one day be -given over to a gentler <i>dæmon.</i> The actual Christian pessimists had, -as has been said, an interest in the dominance of a diverse opinion; -for the solitude and spiritual wilderness of their lives they required -an ever living enemy, and a generally recognised enemy, through whose -fighting and overcoming they could constantly represent themselves to -the non-saints as incomprehensible, half—supernatural beings. But when -at last this enemy took to flight for ever in consequence of their -mode of life and their impaired health, they immediately understood -how to populate their interior with new dæmons. The rising and falling -of the scales of pride and humility sustained their brooding minds as -well as the alternations of desire and peace of soul. At that time -psychology served not only to cast suspicion upon everything human, but -to oppress, to scourge, to crucify; people <i>wished</i> to find themselves -as bad and wicked as possible, they <i>sought</i> anxiety for the salvation -of their souls, despair of their own strength. Everything natural with -which man has connected the idea of evil and sin (as, for instance, -he is still accustomed to do with regard to the erotic) troubles and -clouds the imagination, causes a frightened glance, makes man quarrel -with himself and uncertain and distrustful of himself. Even his dreams -have the flavour of a restless conscience. And yet in the reality -of things this suffering from what is natural is entirely without -foundation, it is only the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> consequence of opinions <i>about</i> things. It -is easily seen how men grow worse by considering the inevitably-natural -as bad, and afterwards always feeling themselves made thus. It is the -trump-card of religion and metaphysics, which wish to have man evil and -sinful by nature, to cast suspicion on nature and thus really to <i>make</i> -him bad, for he learns to feel himself evil since he cannot divest -himself of the clothing of nature. After living for long a natural -life, he gradually comes to feel himself weighed down by such a burden -of sin that supernatural powers are necessary to lift this burden, and -therewith arises the so-called need of redemption, which corresponds to -no real but only to an imaginary sinfulness. If we survey the separate -moral demands of the earliest times of Christianity it will everywhere -be found that requirements are exaggerated in order that man <i>cannot</i> -satisfy them; the intention is not that he should become more moral, -but that he should feel himself as <i>sinful as possible.</i> If man had not -found this feeling <i>agreeable</i>—why would he have thought out such an -idea and stuck to it so long? As in the antique world an immeasurable -power of intellect and inventiveness was expended in multiplying the -pleasure of life by festive cults, so also in the age of Christianity -an immeasurable amount of intellect has been sacrificed to another -endeavour,—man must by all means be made to feel himself sinful and -thereby be excited, <i>enlivened, en-souled.</i> To excite, enliven, en-soul -at all costs—is not that the watchword of a relaxed, over-ripe, -over-cultured age? The range<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> of all natural sensations had been gone -over a hundred times, the soul had grown weary, whereupon the saint -and the ascetic invented a new species of stimulants for life. They -presented themselves before the public eye, not exactly as an example -for the many, but as a terrible and yet ravishing spectacle, which took -place on that border-land between world and over-world, wherein at that -time all people believed they saw now rays of heavenly light and now -unholy tongues of flame glowing in the depths. The saint's eye, fixed -upon the terrible meaning of this short earthly life, upon the nearness -of the last decision concerning endless new spans of existence, this -burning eye in a half-wasted body made men of the old world tremble to -their very depths; to gaze, to turn shudderingly away, to feel anew the -attraction of the spectacle and to give way to it, to drink deep of it -till the soul quivered with fire and ague,—that was the last <i>pleasure -that antiquity invented</i> after it had grown blunted even at the sight -of beast-baitings and human combats.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">142.</p> - -<p>Now to sum up. That condition of soul in which the saint or embryo -saint rejoiced, was composed of elements which we all know well, -only that under the influence of other than religious conceptions -they exhibit themselves in other colours and are then accustomed to -encounter man's blame as fully as, with that decoration of religion -and the ultimate meaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> of existence, they may reckon on receiving -admiration and even worship,—might reckon, at least, in former ages. -Sometimes the saint practises that defiance of himself which is a -near relative of domination at any cost and gives a feeling of power -even to the most lonely; sometimes his swollen sensibility leaps from -the desire to let his passions have full play into the desire to -overthrow them like wild horses under the mighty pressure of a proud -spirit; sometimes he desires a complete cessation of all disturbing, -tormenting, irritating sensations, a waking sleep, a lasting rest in -the lap of a dull, animal, and plant-like indolence; sometimes he seeks -strife and arouses it within himself, because boredom has shown him its -yawning countenance. He scourges his self-adoration with self-contempt -and cruelty, he rejoices in the wild tumult of his desires and the -sharp pain of sin, even in the idea of being lost; he understands how -to lay a trap for his emotions, for instance even for his keen love -of ruling, so that he sinks into the most utter abasement and his -tormented soul is thrown out of joint by this contrast; and finally, -if he longs for visions, conversations with the dead or with divine -beings, it is at bottom a rare kind of delight that he covets, perhaps -that delight in which all others are united. Novalis, an authority on -questions of holiness through experience and instinct, tells the whole -secret with naïve joy: "It is strange enough that the association of -lust, religion, and cruelty did not long ago<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> draw men's attention to -their close relationship and common tendency."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">143.</p> - -<p>That which gives the saint his historical value is not the thing he -<i>is,</i> but the thing he <i>represents</i> in the eyes of the unsaintly. It -was through the fact that errors were made about him, that the state -of his soul was <i>falsely interpreted,</i> that men separated themselves -from him as much as possible, as from something incomparable and -strangely superhuman, that he acquired the extraordinary power which -he exercised over the imagination of whole nations and whole ages. He -did not know himself; he himself interpreted the writing of his moods, -inclinations, and actions according to an art of interpretation which -was as exaggerated and artificial as the spiritual interpretation -of the Bible. The distorted and diseased in his nature, with its -combination of intellectual poverty, evil knowledge, ruined health, and -over-excited nerves, remained hidden from his own sight as well as from -that of his spectators. He was not a particularly good man, and still -less was he a particularly wise one; but he <i>represented</i> something -that exceeded the human standard in goodness and wisdom. The belief in -him supported the belief in the divine and miraculous, in a religious -meaning of all existence, in an impending day of judgment. In the -evening glory of the world's sunset, which glowed over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> the Christian -nations, the shadowy form of the saint grew to vast dimensions, it grew -to such a height that even in our own age, which no longer believes in -God, there are still thinkers who believe in the saint.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">144.</p> - -<p>It need not be said that to this description of the saint which has -been made from an average of the whole species, there may be opposed -many a description which could give a more agreeable impression. -Certain exceptions stand out from among this species, it may be through -great mildness and philanthropy, it may be through the magic of unusual -energy; others are attractive in the highest degree, because certain -wild ravings have poured streams of light on their whole being, as is -the case, for instance, with the famous founder of Christianity, who -thought he was the Son of God and therefore felt himself sinless—so -that through this idea—which we must not judge too hardly because the -whole antique world swarms with sons of God—he reached that same goal, -that feeling of complete sinlessness, complete irresponsibility, which -every one can now acquire by means of science. Neither have I mentioned -the Indian saints, who stand midway between the Christian saint and the -Greek philosopher, and in so far represent no pure type. Knowledge, -science—such as existed then—the uplifting above other men through -logical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> discipline and training of thought, were as much fostered by -the Buddhists as distinguishing signs of holiness as the same qualities -in the Christian world are repressed and branded as signs of unholiness.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_7" id="Footnote_1_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_7"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Why harass with eternal designs a mind too weak to compass -them? Why do we not, as we lie beneath a lofty plane-tree or this pine -[drink while we may]? HOR., <i>Odes</i> III. ii. 11-14.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_8" id="Footnote_2_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_8"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> -"All greatest sages of all latest ages<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will chuckle and slily agree,</span><br /> -'Tis folly to wait till a fool's empty pate<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Has learnt to be knowing and free:</span><br /> -So children of wisdom, make use of the fools<br /> -And use them whenever you can as your tools."—J.M.K.<br /> -</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_9" id="Footnote_3_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_9"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> It may be remembered that the cross was the gallows of the -ancient world.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_10" id="Footnote_4_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_10"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> This may give us one of the reasons for the religiosity -still happily prevailing in England and the United States.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a><br /><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FOURTH_DIVISION" id="FOURTH_DIVISION">FOURTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>CONCERNING THE SOUL OF ARTISTS AND AUTHORS.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">145.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Perfect Should Not Have Grown</span>.—With regard to everything that is -perfect we are accustomed to omit the question as to how perfection has -been acquired, and we only rejoice in the present as if it had sprung -out of the ground by magic. Probably with regard to this matter we are -still under the effects of an ancient mythological feeling. It still -<i>almost</i> seems to us (in such a Greek temple, for instance, as that of -Pæstum) as if one morning a god in sport had built his dwelling of such -enormous masses, at other times it seems as if his spirit had suddenly -entered into a stone and now desired to speak through it. The artist -knows that his work is only fully effective if it arouses the belief -in an improvisation, in a marvellous instantaneousness of origin; and -thus he assists this illusion and introduces into art those elements -of inspired unrest, of blindly groping disorder, of listening dreaming -at the beginning of creation, as a means of deception, in order so to -influence the soul of the spectator or hearer that it may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> believe in -the sudden appearance of the perfect. It is the business of the science -of art to contradict this illusion most decidedly, and to show up the -mistakes and pampering of the intellect, by means of which it falls -into the artist's trap.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">146.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artist's Sense of Truth</span>.—With regard to recognition of truths, the -artist has a weaker morality than the thinker; he will on no account -let himself be deprived of brilliant and profound interpretations -of life, and defends himself against temperate and simple methods -and results. He is apparently fighting for the higher worthiness -and meaning of mankind; in reality he will not renounce the <i>most -effective</i> suppositions for his art, the fantastical, mythical, -uncertain, extreme, the sense of the symbolical, the over-valuation -of personality, the belief that genius is something miraculous,—he -considers, therefore, the continuance of his art of creation as more -important than the scientific devotion to truth in every shape, however -simple this may appear.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">147.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Art As Raiser of the Dead</span>.—Art also fulfils the task of preservation -and even of brightening up extinguished and faded memories; when it -accomplishes this task it weaves a rope round the ages and causes -their spirits to return. It is, certainly, only a phantom-life that -results<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> therefrom, as out of graves, or like the return in dreams of -our beloved dead, but for some moments, at least, the old sensation -lives again and the heart beats to an almost forgotten time. Hence, -for the sake of the general usefulness of art, the artist himself must -be excused if he does not stand in the front rank of the enlightenment -and progressive civilisation of humanity; all his life long he has -remained a child or a youth, and has stood still at the point where he -was overcome by his artistic impulse; the feelings of the first years -of life, however, are acknowledged to be nearer to those of earlier -times than to those of the present century. Unconsciously it becomes -his mission to make mankind more childlike; this is his glory and his -limitation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">148.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Poets As the Lighteners of Life</span>.—Poets, inasmuch as they desire to -lighten the life of man, either divert his gaze from the wearisome -present, or assist the present to acquire new colours by means of a -life which they cause to shine out of the past. To be able to do this, -they must in many respects themselves be beings who are turned towards -the past, so that they can be used as bridges to far distant times -and ideas, to dying or dead religions and cultures. Actually they -are always and of necessity <i>epigoni.</i> There are, however, certain -drawbacks to their means of lightening life,—they appease and heal -only temporarily,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> only for the moment; they even prevent men from -labouring towards a genuine improvement in their conditions, inasmuch -as they remove and apply palliatives to precisely that passion of -discontent that induces to action.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">149.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Slow Arrow of Beauty</span>.—The noblest kind of beauty is that which -does not transport us suddenly, which does not make stormy and -intoxicating impressions (such a kind easily arouses disgust), but -that which slowly filter into our minds, which we take away with us -almost unnoticed, and which we encounter again in our dreams; but -which, however, after having long lain modestly on our hearts, takes -entire possession of us, fills our eyes with tears and our hearts with -longing. What is it that we long for at the sight of beauty? We long to -be beautiful, we fancy it must bring much happiness with it. But that -is a mistake.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">150.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Animation of Art</span>.—Art raises its head where creeds relax. It takes -over many feelings and moods engendered by religion, lays them to its -heart, and itself becomes deeper, more full of soul, so that it is -capable of transmitting exultation and enthusiasm, which it previously -was not able to do. The abundance of religious feelings which have -grown into a stream are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> always breaking forth again and desire to -conquer new kingdoms, but the growing enlightenment has shaken the -dogmas of religion and inspired a deep mistrust,—thus the feeling, -thrust by enlightenment out of the religious sphere, throws itself upon -art, in a few cases into political life, even straight into science. -Everywhere where human endeavour wears a loftier, gloomier aspect, it -may be assumed that the fear of spirits, incense, and church-shadows -have remained attached to it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">151.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Rhythm Beautifies</span>.—Rhythm casts a veil over reality; it causes -various artificialities of speech and obscurities of thought; by the -shadow it throws upon thought it sometimes conceals it, and sometimes -brings it into prominence. As shadow is necessary to beauty, so the -"dull" is necessary to lucidity. Art makes the aspect of life endurable -by throwing lover it the veil of obscure thought.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">152.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of the Ugly Soul</span>.—Art is confined within too narrow limits if -it be required that only the orderly, respectable, well-behaved soul -should be allowed to express itself therein. As in the plastic arts, so -also in music and poetry: there is an art of the ugly soul side by side -with the art of the beautiful soul; and the mightiest effects of art, -the crushing of souls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> moving of stones and humanising of beasts, have -perhaps been best achieved precisely by that art.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">153.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Art Makes Heavy the Heart of the Thinker</span>.—How strong metaphysical -need is and how difficult nature renders our departure from it may be -seen from the fact that even in the free spirit, when he has cast off -everything metaphysical, the loftiest effects of art can easily produce -a resounding of the long silent, even broken, metaphysical string,—it -may be, for instance, that at a passage in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony -he feels himself floating above the earth in a starry dome with the -dream of <i>immortality</i> in his heart; all the stars seem to shine round -him, and the earth to sink farther and farther away.—If he becomes -conscious of this state, he feels a deep pain at his heart, and sighs -for the man who will lead back to him his lost darling, be it called -religion or metaphysics. In such moments his intellectual character is -put to the test.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">154.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Playing With Life</span>.—The lightness and frivolity of the Homeric -imagination was necessary to calm and occasionally to raise the -immoderately passionate temperament and acute intellect of the Greeks. -If their intellect speaks, how harsh and cruel does life then appear! -They do not deceive themselves, but they intentionally weave lies -round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> life. Simonides advised his countrymen to look upon life as -a game; earnestness was too well-known to them as pain (the gods so -gladly hear the misery of mankind made the theme of song), and they -knew that through art alone misery might be turned into pleasure. As -a punishment for this insight, however, they were so plagued with the -love of romancing that it was difficult for them in everyday life to -keep themselves free from falsehood and deceit; for all poetic nations -have such a love of falsehood, and yet are innocent withal. Probably -this occasionally drove the neighbouring nations to desperation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">155.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Belief in Inspiration</span>.—It is to the interest of the artist that -there should be a belief in sudden suggestions, so-called inspirations; -as if the idea of a work of art, of poetry, the fundamental thought of -a philosophy shone down from heaven like a ray of grace. In reality -the imagination of the good artist or thinker constantly produces -good, mediocre, and bad, but his <i>judgment,</i> most clear and practised, -rejects and chooses and joins together, just as we now learn from -Beethoven's notebooks that he gradually composed the most beautiful -melodies, and in a manner selected them, from many different attempts. -He who makes less severe distinctions, and willingly abandons himself -to imitative memories, may under certain circumstances become a great -improvisatore; but artistic improvisation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> ranks low in comparison with -serious and laboriously chosen artistic thoughts. All great men were -great workers, unwearied not only in invention but also in rejection, -reviewing, transforming, and arranging.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">156.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Inspiration Again</span>.—If the productive power has been suspended for a -length of time, and has been hindered in its outflow by some obstacle, -there comes at last such a sudden out-pouring, as if an immediate -inspiration were taking place without previous inward working, -consequently a miracle. This constitutes the familiar deception, in -the continuance of which, as we have said, the interest of all artists -is rather too much concerned. The capital has only <i>accumulated,</i> it -has not suddenly fallen down from heaven. Moreover, such apparent -inspirations are seen elsewhere, for instance in the realm of goodness, -of virtue and of vice.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">157.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Suffering of Genius and Its Value</span>.—The artistic genius desires -to give pleasure, but if his mind is on a very high plane he does not -easily find any one to share his pleasure; he offers entertainment -but nobody accepts it. This gives him, in certain circumstances, a -comically touching pathos; for he has really no right to force pleasure -on men. He pipes, but none will dance: can that be tragic? Perhaps.—As -compensation for this deprivation, however, he finds more pleasure in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> -creating than the rest of mankind experiences in all other species -of activity. His sufferings are considered as exaggerated, because -the sound of his complaints is louder and his tongue more eloquent; -and yet <i>sometimes</i> his sufferings are really very great; but only -because his ambition and his envy are so great. The learned genius, -like Kepler and Spinoza, is usually not so covetous and does not make -such an exhibition of his really greater sufferings and deprivations. -He can reckon with greater certainty on future fame and can afford to -do without the present, whilst an artist who does this always plays a -desperate game that makes his heart ache. In very rare cases, when in -one and the same individual are combined the genius of power and of -knowledge and the moral genius, there is added to the above-mentioned -pains that species of pain which must be regarded as the most -curious exception in the world; those extra- and super-personal -sensations which are experienced on behalf of a nation, of humanity, -of all civilisation, all suffering existence, which acquire their -value through the connection with particularly difficult and remote -perceptions (pity in itself is worth but little). But what standard, -what proof is there for its genuineness? Is it not almost imperative to -be mistrustful of all who <i>talk</i> of feeling sensations of this kind?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">158.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Destiny of Greatness</span>.—Every great phenomenon is followed by -degeneration, especially<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> in the world of art. The example of the great -tempts vainer natures to superficial imitation or exaggeration; all -great gifts have the fatality of crushing many weaker forces and germs, -and of laying waste all nature around them. The happiest arrangement in -the development of an art is for several geniuses mutually to hold one -another within bounds; in this strife it generally happens that light -and air are also granted to the weaker and more delicate natures.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">159.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Art Dangerous For the Artist</span>.—When art takes strong hold of an -individual it draws him back to the contemplation of those times when -art flourished best, and it has then a retrograde effect. The artist -grows more and more to reverence sudden inspirations; he believes -in gods and dæmons, he spiritualises all nature, hates science, is -changeable in his moods like the ancients, and longs for an overthrow -of all existing conditions which are not favourable to art, and does -this with the impetuosity and unreasonableness of a child. Now, in -himself, the artist is already a backward nature, because he halts at a -game that belongs properly to youth and childhood; to this is added the -fact that he is educated back into former times. Thus there gradually -arises a fierce antagonism between him and his contemporaries, and -a sad ending; according to the accounts of the ancients, Homer and -Æschylus spent their last years, and died, in melancholy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">160.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Created Individuals</span>.—When it is said that the dramatist (and the -artist above all) <i>creates</i> real characters, it is a fine deception and -exaggeration, in the existence and propagation of which art celebrates -one of its unconscious but at the same time abundant triumphs. As a -matter of fact, we do not understand much about a real, living man, -and we generalise very superficially when we ascribe to him this and -that character; this <i>very imperfect</i> attitude of ours towards man -is represented by the poet, inasmuch as he makes into men (in this -sense "creates") outlines as <i>superficial</i> as our knowledge of man is -superficial. There is a great deal of delusion about these created -characters of artists; they are by no means living productions of -nature, but are like painted men, somewhat too thin, they will not -bear a close inspection. And when it is said that the character of -the ordinary living being contradicts itself frequently, and that -the one created by the dramatist is the original model conceived by -nature, this is quite wrong. A genuine man is something absolutely -<i>necessary</i> (even in those so-called contradictions), but we do not -always recognise this necessity. The imaginary man, the phantasm, -signifies something necessary, but only to those who understand a -real man only in a crude, unnatural simplification, so that a few -strong, oft-repeated traits, with a great deal of light and shade -and half-light about them, amply satisfy their notions. They are, -therefore, ready to treat the phantasm as a genuine, necessary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> man, -because with real men they are accustomed to regard a phantasm, an -outline, an intentional abbreviation as the whole. That the painter -and the sculptor express the "idea" of man is a vain imagination and -delusion; whoever says this is in subjection to the eye, for this only -sees the' surface, the epidermis of the human body,—the inward body, -however, is equally a part of the idea. Plastic art wishes to make -character visible on the surface; histrionic art employs speech for -the same purpose, it reflects character in sounds. Art starts from the -natural <i>ignorance</i> of man about his interior condition (in body and -character); it is not meant for philosophers or natural scientists.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">161.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Over-valuation of Self in the Belief in Artists and -Philosophers</span>.—We are all prone to think that the excellence of a -work of art or of an artist is proved when it moves and touches us. -But there <i>our own excellence</i> in judgment and sensibility must have -been proved first, which is not the case. In all plastic art, who -had greater power to effect a charm than Bernini, who made a greater -effect than the orator that appeared after Demosthenes introduced the -Asiatic style and gave it a predominance which lasted throughout two -centuries? This predominance during whole centuries is not a proof of -the excellence and enduring validity of a style; therefore we must -not be too certain in our good opinion of any artist,—this is not -only belief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> in the truthfulness of our sensations but also in the -infallibility of our judgment, whereas judgment or sensation, or even -both, may be too coarse or too fine, exaggerated or crude. Neither are -the blessings and blissfulness of a philosophy or of a religion proofs -of its truth; just as little as the happiness which an insane person -derives from his fixed idea is a proof of the reasonableness of this -idea.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">162.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Cult of Genius For the Sake of Vanity</span>.—Because we think well of -ourselves, but nevertheless do not imagine that we are capable of the -conception of one of Raphael's pictures or of a scene such as those of -one of Shakespeare's dramas, we persuade ourselves that the faculty for -doing this is quite extraordinarily wonderful, a very rare case, or, -if we are religiously inclined, a grace from above. Thus the cult of -genius fosters our vanity, our self-love, for it is only when we think -of it as very far removed from us, as a <i>miraculum,</i> that it does not -wound us (even Goethe, who was free from envy, called Shakespeare a -star of the farthest heavens, whereby we are reminded of the line "die -Sterne, die begehrt man nicht".<a name="FNanchor_1_11" id="FNanchor_1_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_11" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>) But, apart from those suggestions -of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> vanity, the activity of a genius does not seem so radically -different from the activity of a mechanical inventor, of an astronomer -or historian or strategist. All these forms of activity are explicable -if we realise men whose minds are active in one special direction, who -make use of everything as material, who always eagerly study their -own inward life and that of others, who find types and incitements -everywhere, who never weary in the employment of their means. Genius -does nothing but learn how to lay stones, then to build, always to -seek for material and always to work upon it. Every human activity is -marvellously complicated, and not only that of genius, but it is no -"miracle." Now whence comes the belief that genius is found only in -artists, orators, and philosophers, that they alone have "intuition" -(by which we credit them with a kind of magic glass by means of which -they see straight into one's "being")? It is clear that men only speak -of genius where the workings of a great intellect are most agreeable -to them and they have no desire to feel envious. To call any one -"divine" is as much as saying "here we have no occasion for rivalry." -Thus it is that everything completed and perfect is stared at, and -everything incomplete is undervalued. Now nobody can see how the work -of an artist has <i>developed</i>; that is its advantage, for everything of -which the development is seen is looked on coldly The perfected art of -representation precludes all thought of its development, it tyrannises -as present perfection. For this reason artists of representation are -especially held to be possess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> of genius, but not scientific men. In -reality, however, the former valuation and the latter under-valuation -are only puerilities of reason.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">163.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Earnestness of Handicraft</span>.—Do not talk of gifts, of inborn -talents! We could mention great men of all kinds who were but little -gifted. But they <i>obtained</i> greatness, became "geniuses" (as they are -called), through qualities of the lack of which nobody who is conscious -of them likes to speak. They all had that thorough earnestness for work -which learns first how to form the different parts perfectly before it -ventures to make a great whole; they gave themselves time for this, -because they took more pleasure in doing small, accessory things well -than in the effect of a dazzling whole. For instance, the recipe for -becoming a good novelist is easily given, but the carrying out of the -recipe presupposes qualities which we are in the habit of overlooking -when we say, "I have not sufficient talent." Make a hundred or more -sketches of novel-plots, none more than two pages long, but of such -clearness that every word in them is necessary; write down anecdotes -every day until you learn to find the most pregnant, most effective -form; never weary of collecting and delineating human types and -characters; above all, narrate things as often as possible and listen -to narrations with a sharp eye and ear for the effect upon other people -present; travel like a landscape painter and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> designer of costumes; -take from different sciences everything that is artistically effective, -if it be well represented; finally, meditate on the motives for human -actions, scorn not even the smallest point of instruction on this -subject, and collect similar matters by day and night. Spend some ten -years in these various exercises: then the creations of your study may -be allowed to see the light of day. But what do most people do, on the -contrary? They do not begin with the part, but with the whole. Perhaps -they make one good stroke, excite attention, and ever afterwards their -work grows worse and worse, for good, natural reasons. But sometimes, -when intellect and character are lacking for the formation of such an -artistic career, fate and necessity take the place of these qualities -and lead the future master step by step through all the phases of his -craft.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">164.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger and the Gain in the Cult of Genius</span>.—The belief in great, -superior, fertile minds is not necessarily, but still very frequently, -connected with that wholly or partly religious superstition that -those spirits are of superhuman origin and possess certain marvellous -faculties, by means of which they obtained their knowledge in ways -quite different from the rest of mankind. They are credited with -having an immediate insight into the nature of the world, through -a peep-hole in the mantle of the phenomenon as it were, and it is -believed that, without the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> trouble and severity of science, by virtue -of this marvellous prophetic sight, they could impart something final -and decisive about mankind and the world. So long as there are still -believers in miracles in the world of knowledge it may perhaps be -admitted that the believers themselves derive a benefit therefrom, -inasmuch as by their absolute subjection to great minds they obtain the -best discipline and schooling for their own minds during the period of -development. On the other hand, it may at least be questioned whether -the superstition of genius, of its privileges and special faculties, -is useful for a genius himself when it implants itself in him. In any -case it is a dangerous sign when man shudders at his own self, be it -that famous Cæsarian shudder or the shudder of genius which applies to -this case, when the incense of sacrifice, which by rights is offered -to a God alone, penetrates into the brain of the genius, so that he -begins to waver and to look upon himself as something superhuman. The -slow consequences are: the feeling of irresponsibility, the exceptional -rights, the belief that mere intercourse with him confers a favour, -and frantic rage at any attempt to compare him with others or even -to place him below them and to bring into prominence whatever is -unsuccessful in his work. Through the fact that he ceases to criticise -himself one pinion after another falls out of his plumage,—that -superstition undermines the foundation of his strength and even makes -him a hypocrite after his power has failed him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> For great minds it -is, therefore, perhaps better when they come to an understanding about -their strength and its source, when they comprehend what purely human -qualities are mingled in them, what a combination they are of fortunate -conditions: thus once it was continual energy, a decided application -to individual aims, great personal courage, and then the good fortune -of an education, which at an early period provided the best teachers, -examples, and methods. Assuredly, if its aim is to make the greatest -possible <i>effect,</i> abstruseness has always done much for itself and -that gift of partial insanity; for at all times that power has been -admired and envied by means of which men were deprived of will and -imbued with the fancy that they were preceded by supernatural leaders. -Truly, men are exalted and inspired by the belief that some one among -them is endowed with supernatural powers, and in this respect insanity, -as Plato says, has brought the greatest blessings to mankind. In a -few rare cases this form of insanity may also have been the means -by which an all-round exuberant nature was kept within bounds; in -individual life the imaginings of frenzy frequently exert the virtue of -remedies which are poisons in themselves; but in every "genius" that -believes in his own divinity the poison shows itself at last in the -same proportion as the "genius" grows old; we need but recollect the -example of Napoleon, for it was most assuredly through his faith in -himself and his star, and through his scorn of mankind, that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> grew -to that mighty unity which distinguished him from all modern men, until -at last, however, this faith developed into an almost insane fatalism, -robbed him of his quickness of comprehension and penetration, and was -the cause of his downfall.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">165.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Genius and Nullity</span>.—It is precisely the <i>original</i> artists, those who -create out of their own heads, who in certain circumstances can bring -forth complete <i>emptiness</i> and husk, whilst the more dependent natures, -the so-called talented ones, are full of memories of all manner of -goodness, and even in a state of weakness produce something tolerable. -But if the original ones are abandoned by themselves, memory renders -them no assistance; they become empty.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">166.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Public</span>.—The people really demands nothing more from tragedy than -to be deeply affected, in order to have a good cry occasionally; the -artist, on the contrary, who sees the new tragedy, takes pleasure in -the clever technical inventions and tricks, in the management and -distribution of the material, in the novel arrangement of old motives -and old ideas. His attitude is the æsthetic attitude towards a work of -art, that of the creator; the one first described, with regard solely -to the material, is that of he people. Of the individual who stands -between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> the two nothing need be said: he is neither "people" nor -artist, and does not know what he wants—therefore his pleasure is also -clouded and insignificant.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">167.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artistic Education of the Public</span>.—If the same <i>motif</i> is not -employed in a hundred ways by different masters, the public never -learns to get beyond their interest in the subject; but at last, when -it is well acquainted with the <i>motif</i> through countless different -treatments, and no longer finds in it any charm of novelty or -excitement, it will then begin to grasp and enjoy the various shades -and delicate new inventions in its treatment.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">168.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artist and His Followers Must Keep in Step</span>.—The progress from one -grade of style to another must be so slow that not only the artists but -also the auditors and spectators can follow it and know exactly what is -going on. Otherwise there will suddenly appear that great chasm between -the artist, who creates his work upon a height apart, and the public, -who cannot rise up to that height and finally sinks discontentedly -deeper. For when the artist no longer raises his public it rapidly -sinks downwards, and its fall is the deeper and more dangerous in -proportion to the height to which genius has carried it, like the -eagle, out of whose talons a tortoise that has been borne up into the -clouds falls to its destruction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">169.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Source of the Comic Element</span>.—If we consider that for many -thousands of years man was an animal that was susceptible in the -highest degree to fear, and that everything sudden and unexpected had -to find him ready for battle, perhaps even ready for death; that even -later, in social relations, all security was based on the expected, -on custom in thought and action, we need not be surprised that at -everything sudden and unexpected in word and deed, if it occurs without -danger or injury, man becomes exuberant and passes over into the very -opposite of fear—the terrified, trembling, crouching being shoots -upward, stretches itself: man laughs. This transition from momentary -fear into short-lived exhilaration is called the <i>Comic.</i> On the other -hand, in the tragic phenomenon, man passes quickly from great enduring -exuberance into great fear; but as amongst mortals great and lasting -exuberance is much rarer than the cause for fear, there is far more -comedy than tragedy in the world; we laugh much offener than we are -agitated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">170.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Artist's Ambition</span>.—The Greek artists, the tragedians for instance, -composed in order to conquer; their whole art cannot be imagined -without rivalry,—the good Hesiodian Eris, Ambition, gave wings to -their genius. This ambition further demanded that their work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> should -achieve the greatest excellence <i>in their own eyes,</i> as they understood -excellence, <i>without any regard</i> for the reigning taste and the -general opinion about excellence in a work of art; and thus it was -long before Æschylus and Euripides achieved any success, until at -last they <i>educated</i> judges of art, who valued their work according -to the standards which they themselves appointed. Hence they strove -for victory over rivals according to their own valuation, they really -wished to <i>be</i> more excellent; they demanded assent from without to -this self-valuation, the confirmation of this verdict. To achieve -honour means in this case "to make one's self superior to others, and -to desire that this should be recognised publicly." Should the former -condition be wanting, and the latter nevertheless desired, it is then -called <i>vanity.</i> Should the latter be lacking and not missed, then it -is named <i>pride</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">171.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What Is Needful to a Work of Art</span>.—Those who talk so much about the -needful factors of a work of art exaggerate; if they are artists they -do so <i>in majorem artis gloriam,</i> if they are laymen, from ignorance. -The form of a work of art, which gives speech to their thoughts and is, -therefore, their mode of talking, is always somewhat uncertain, like -all kinds of speech. The sculptor can add or omit many little traits, -as can also the exponent, be he an actor or, in music, a performer or -conductor. These many little traits and finishing touches afford him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -pleasure one day and none the next, they exist more for the sake of the -artist than the art; for he also has occasionally need of sweetmeats -and playthings to prevent him from becoming morose with the severity -and self-restraint which the representation of the dominant idea -demands from him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">172.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Cause the Master to Be Forgotten</span>.—The pianoforte player who -executes the work of a master will have played best if he has made his -audience forget the master, and if it seemed as if he were relating -a story from his own life or just passing through some experience. -Assuredly, if he is of no importance, every one will abhor the -garrulity with which he talks about his own life. Therefore he must -know how to influence his hearer's imagination favourably towards -himself. Hereby are explained all the weaknesses and follies of "the -virtuoso."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">173.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Corriger La Fortune</span>.</i>—There are unfortunate accidents in the lives -of great artists, which compel the painter, for instance, to sketch -out his most important picture only as a passing thought, or such as -obliged Beethoven to leave behind him only the insufficient pianoforte -score of many great sonatas (as in the great B flat). In these cases -the artist of a later day must endeavour to fill out the life of the -great man,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>of all orchestral effects, would call into life that -symphony which has fallen into the piano-trance.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">174.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Reducing</span>.—Many things, events, or persons, cannot bear treatment on -a small scale. The Laocoon group cannot be reduced to a knick-knack; -great size is necessary to it. But more seldom still does anything -that is naturally small bear enlargement; for which reason biographers -succeed far oftener in representing a great man as small than a small -one as great.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">175.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sensuousness in Present-day Art.</span>—Artists nowadays frequently -miscalculate when they count on the sensuous effect of their works, for -their spectators or hearers have no longer a fully sensuous nature, -and, quite contrary to the artist's intention, his work produces in -them a "holiness" of feeling which is closely related to boredom. Their -sensuousness begins, perhaps, just where that of the artist ceases; -they meet, therefore, only at one point at the most.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">176.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Shakespeare As a Moralist</span>.—Shakespeare meditated much on the passions, -and on account of his temperament had probably a close acquaintance -with many of them (dramatists are in general rather wicked men). He -could, however<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> not talk on the subject, like Montaigne, but put his -observations thereon into the mouths of impassioned figures, which -is contrary to nature, certainly, but makes his dramas so rich in -thought that they cause all others to seem poor in comparison and -readily arouse a general aversion to them. Schiller's reflections -(which are almost always based on erroneous or trivial fancies) are -just theatrical Reflections, and as such are very effective; whereas -Shakespeare's reflections do honour to his model, Montaigne, and -contain quite serious thoughts in polished form, but on that account -are too remote and refined for the eyes of the theatrical public, and -are consequently ineffective.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">177.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Securing a Good Hearing</span>.—It is not sufficient to know how to play -well; one must also know how to secure a good hearing. A violin in the -hand of the greatest master gives only a little squeak when the place -where it is heard is too large; the master may then be mistaken for any -bungler.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">178.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Incomplete As the Effective.</span>—Just as figures in relief make such -a strong impression on the imagination because they seem in the act -of emerging from the wall and only stopped by some sudden hindrance; -so the relief-like, incomplete representation of a thought, or a -whole philosophy, is sometimes more effective than its exhaustive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -amplification,—more is left for the investigation of the onlooker, he -is incited to the further study of that which stands out before him in -such strong light and shade; he is prompted to think out the subject, -and even to overcome the hindrance which hitherto prevented it from -emerging clearly.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">179.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Against the Eccentric</span>.—When art arrays itself in the most shabby -material it is most easily recognised as art.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">180.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Collective Intellect</span>.—A good author possesses not only his own -intellect, but also that of his friends.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">181.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Different Kinds of Mistakes</span>.—The misfortune of acute and clear authors -is that people consider them as shallow and therefore do not devote any -effort to them; and the good fortune of obscure writers is that the -reader makes an effort to understand them and places the delight in his -own zeal to their credit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">182.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relation to Science</span>.—None of the people have any real interest in -a science, who only begin to be enthusiastic about it when they -themselves lave made discoveries in it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">183.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Key</span>.—The single thought on which an eminent man sets a great -value, arousing the derision and laughter of the masses, is for him a -key to hidden treasures; for them, however, it is nothing <i>more</i> than a -piece of old iron.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">184.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Untranslatable</span>.—It is neither the best nor the worst parts of a book -which are untranslatable.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">185.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Authors' Paradoxes</span>.—The so-called paradoxes of an author to which a -reader objects are often not in the author's book at all, but in the -reader's head.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">186.</p> - -<p>WIT.—The wittiest authors produce a scarcely noticeable smile.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">187.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Antithesis</span>.—Antithesis is the narrow gate through which error is -fondest of sneaking to the truth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">188.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thinkers As Stylists</span>.—Most thinkers write badly, because they -communicate not only their thoughts, but also the thinking of them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">189.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thoughts in Poetry</span>.—The poet conveys his thoughts ceremoniously in the -vehicle of rhythm, usually because they are not able to go on foot.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">190.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sin Against the Reader's Intellect</span>.—When an author renounces his -talent in order merely to put himself on a level with the reader, he -commits the only deadly sin which the latter will never forgive, should -he notice anything of it. One may say everything that is bad about a -person, but in the manner <i>in which</i> it is said one must know how to -revive his vanity anew.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">191.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Limits of Uprightness</span>.—Even the most upright author lets fall a -word too much when he wishes to round off a period.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">192.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Best Author</span>.—The best author will be he who is ashamed to become -one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">193.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Draconian Law Against Authors</span>.—One should regard authors as criminals -who only obtain acquittal or mercy in the rarest cases,—that would be -a remedy for books becoming too rife.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">194.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fools of Modern Culture</span>.—The fools of mediæval courts correspond -to our <i>feuilleton</i> writers; they are the same kind of men, -semi-rational, witty, extravagant, foolish, sometimes there only for -the purpose of lessening the pathos of the outlook with fancies and -chatter, and of drowning with their clamour the far too deep and solemn -chimes of great events; they were formerly in the service of princes -and nobles, now they are in the service of parties (since a large -portion of the old obsequiousness in the intercourse of the people with -their prince still survives in party-feeling and party-discipline). -Modern literary men, however, are generally very similar to the -<i>feuilleton</i> writers, they are the "fools of modern culture," whom -one judges more leniently when one does not regard them as fully -responsible beings. To look upon writing as a regular profession should -justly be regarded as a form of madness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">195.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">After the Example of the Greeks</span>.—It is a great hindrance to knowledge -at present that, owing to centuries of exaggeration of feeling, all -words have become vague and inflated. The higher stage of culture, -which is under the sway (though not under the tyranny) of knowledge, -requires great sobriety of feeling and thorough concentration of -words—on which points the Greeks in the time of Demosthenes set an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -example to us. Exaggeration is a distinguishing mark of all modern -writings, and even when they are simply written the expressions therein -are still <i>felt</i> as <i>too</i> eccentric. Careful reflection, conciseness, -coldness, plainness, even carried intentionally to the farthest -limits,—in a word, suppression of feeling and taciturnity,—these -are the only remedies. For the rest, this cold manner of writing and -feeling is now very attractive, as a contrast; and to be sure there is -a new danger therein. For intense cold is as good a stimulus as a high -degree of warmth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">196.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Good Narrators, Bad Explainers</span>.—In good narrators there is often -found an admirable psychological sureness and logicalness, as far as -these qualities can be observed in the actions of their personages, -in positively ludicrous contrast to their inexperienced psychological -reasoning, so that their culture appears to be as extraordinarily high -one moment as it seems regrettably defective the next. It happens far -too frequently that they give an evidently false explanation of their -own heroes and their actions,—of this there is no doubt, however -improbable the thing may appear. It is quite likely that the greatest -pianoforte player has thought but little about the technical conditions -and the special virtues, drawbacks, usefulness, and tractability of -each finger (dactylic ethics), and makes big mistakes whenever he -speaks of such things.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">197.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Writings of Acquaintances and Their Readers</span>.—We read the writings -of our acquaintances (friends and enemies) in a double sense, inasmuch -as our perception constantly whispers, "That is something of himself, -a remembrance of his inward being, his experiences, his talents," and -at the same time another kind of perception endeavours to estimate the -profit of the work in itself, what valuation it merits apart from its -author, how far it will enrich knowledge. These two manners of reading -and estimating interfere with each other, as may naturally be supposed. -And a conversation with a friend will only bear good fruit of knowledge -when both think only of the matter under consideration and forget that -they are friends.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">198.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rhythmical Sacrifice</span>.—Good writers alter the rhythm of many a period -merely because they do not credit the general reader with the ability -to comprehend the measure followed by the period in its first version; -thus they make it easier for the reader, by giving the preference to -the better known rhythms.. This regard for the rhythmical incapacity -of the modern reader has already called forth many a sigh, for much -has been sacrificed to it. Does not the same thing happen to good -musicians?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">199.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Incomplete As an Artistic Stimulus</span>.—The incomplete is often -more effective than perfection, and this is the case with eulogies. -To effect their purpose a stimulating incompleteness is necessary, -as an irrational element, which calls up a sea before the hearer's -imagination, and, like a mist, conceals the opposite coast, <i>i.e.</i> the -limits of the object of praise. If the well-known merits of a person -are referred to and described at length and in detail, it always gives -rise to the suspicion that these are his only merits. The perfect -eulogist takes his stand above the person praised, he appears to -<i>overlook</i> him. Therefore complete praise has a weakening effect.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">200.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Precautions in Writing and Teaching</span>.—Whoever has once written and has -been seized with the passion for writing learns from almost all that he -does and experiences that which is literally communicable. He thinks -no longer of himself, but of the author and his public; he desires -insight into things; but not for his own use. He who teaches is mostly -incapable of doing anything for his own good: he is always thinking of -the good of his scholars, and all knowledge delights him only in so -far as he is able to teach it. He comes at last to regard himself as a -medium of knowledge, and above all as a means thereto, so that he has -lost all serious consideration for himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">201.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Necessity For Bad Authors</span>.—There will always be a need of bad -authors; for they meet the taste of readers of an undeveloped, immature -age—these have their requirements as well as mature readers. If human -life were of greater length, the number of mature individuals would be -greater than that of the immature, or at least equally great; but, as -it is, by far the greater number die too young: <i>i.e.</i> there are always -many more undeveloped intellects with bad taste. These demand, with the -greater impetuosity of youth, the satisfaction of their needs, and they -<i>insist</i> on having bad authors.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">202.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Near and Too Far</span>.—The reader and the author very often do not -understand each other, because the author knows his theme too well and -finds it almost slow, so that he omits the examples, of which he knows -hundreds; the reader, however, is interested in the subject, and is -liable to consider it as badly proved if examples are lacking.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">203.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Vanished Preparation For Art</span>.—Of everything that was practised in -public schools, the thing of greatest value was the exercise in Latin -style,—this was an exercise in art, whilst all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> other occupations -aimed only at the acquirement of knowledge. It is a barbarism to put -German composition before it, for there is no typical German style -developed by public oratory; but if there is a desire to advance -practice in thought by means of German composition, then it is -certainly better for the time being to pay no attention to style, to -separate the practice in thought, therefore, from the practice in -reproduction. The latter should confine itself to the various modes -of presenting a given subject, and should not concern itself with the -independent finding of a subject. The mere presentment of given subject -was the task of the Latin style, for which the old teachers possessed a -long vanished delicacy of ear. Formerly, whoever learned to write well -in a modern language had to thank this practice for the acquirement -(now we are obliged to go to school to the older French writers). But -yet more: he obtained an idea of the loftiness and difficulty of form, -and was prepared for art in the only right way: by practice.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">204.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darkness and Over-brightness Side by Side</span>.—Authors who, in general, -do not understand how to express their thoughts clearly are fond of -choosing, in detail, the strongest, most exaggerated distinctions and -superlatives,—thereby is produced an effect of light, which is like -torchlight in intricate forest paths.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">205.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Literary Painting</span>.—An important object will be best described if the -colours for the painting are taken out of the object itself, as a -chemist does, and then employed like an artist, so that the drawing -develops from the outlines and transitions of the colours. Thus the -painting acquires something of the entrancing natural element which -gives such importance to the object itself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">206.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Books Which Teach How to Dance</span>.—There are authors who, by representing -the impossible as possible, and by talking of morality and cleverness -as if both were merely moods and humours assumed at will, produce -a feeling of exuberant freedom, as if man stood on tiptoe and were -compelled to dance from sheer, inward delight.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">207.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unfinished Thoughts.</span>—Just as not only manhood, but also youth and -childhood have a value <i>per se,</i> and are not to be looked upon merely -as passages and bridges, so also unfinished thoughts have their value. -For this reason we must not torment a poet with subtle explanations, -but must take pleasure in the uncertainty of his horizon, as if the way -to further thoughts were still open. We stand on the threshold; we wait -as for the digging up of a treasure, it is as if a well of profundity -were about to be discovered. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> poet anticipates something of the -thinker's pleasure in the discovery of a leading thought, an makes us -covetous, so that we give chase to it; but it flutters past our head -and exhibits the loveliest butterfly-wings,—and yet it escapes us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">208.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Book Grown Almost Into a Human Being</span>.—Every author is surprised -anew at the way in which his book, as soon as he has sent it out, -continues to live a life of its own; it seems to him as if one part -of an insect had been cut off and now went on its own way. Perhaps he -forgets it almost entirely, perhaps he rises above the view expressed -therein, perhaps even he understands it no longer, and has lost that -impulse upon which he soared at the time he conceived the book; -meanwhile it seeks its readers, inflames life, pleases, horrifies, -inspires new works, becomes the soul of designs and actions,—in -short, it lives like a creature endowed with mind and soul, and yet -is no human being. The happiest fate is that of the author who, as an -old man, is able to say that all there was in him of life-inspiring, -strengthening, exalting, enlightening thoughts and feelings still -lives on in his writings, and that he himself now only represents the -gray ashes, whilst the fire has been kept alive and spread out. And -if we consider that every human action, not only a book, is in some -way or other the cause of other actions, decisions, and thoughts; that -everything that happens is inseparably connected with everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -that is going to happen, we recognise the real <i>immortality,</i> that of -movement,—that which has once moved is enclosed and immortalised in -the general union of all existence, like an insect within a piece of -amber.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">209.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Joy in Old Age</span>.—The thinker, as likewise the artist, who has put his -best self into his works, feels an almost malicious joy when he sees -how mind and body are being slowly damaged and destroyed by time, as if -from a dark corner he were spying a thief at his money-chest, knowing -all the time that it was empty and his treasures in safety.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">210.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Quiet Fruitfulness</span>.—The born aristocrats of the mind are not in too -much of a hurry; their creations appear and fall from the tree on some -quiet autumn evening, without being rashly desired, instigated, or -pushed aside by new matter. The unceasing desire to create is vulgar, -and betrays envy, jealousy, and ambition. If a man <i>is</i> something, it -is not really necessary for him to do anything—and yet he does a great -deal. There is a human species higher even than wie "productive" man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">211.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Achilles and Homer</span>.—It is always like the case of Achilles and -Homer,—the one <i>has</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> the experiences and sensations, the other -<i>describes</i> them. A genuine author only puts into words the feelings -and adventures of others, he is an artist, and divines much from the -little he has experienced. Artists are by no means creatures of great -passion; but they frequently <i>represent</i> themselves as such with the -unconscious feeling that their depicted passion will be better believed -in if their own life gives credence to their experience in these -affairs. They need only let themselves go, not control themselves, and -give free play to their anger and their desires, and every one will -immediately cry out, "How passionate he is!" But the deeply stirring -passion that consumes and often destroys the individual is another -matter: those who have really experienced it do not describe it in -dramas, harmonies or romances. Artists are frequently <i>unbridled</i> -individuals, in so far as they are not artists, but that is a different -thing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">212.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Old Doubts About the Effect of Art</span>.—Should pity and fear really be -unburdened through tragedy, as Aristotle would have it, so that the -hearers return home colder and quieter? Should ghost-stories really -make us less fearful and superstitious? In the case of certain physical -processes, in the satisfaction of love, for instance, it is true -that with the fulfilment of a need there follows an alleviation and -temporary decrease in the impulse. But fear and pity are not in this -sense the needs of particular organs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> which require to be relieved. -And in time every instinct is even <i>strengthened</i> by practice in -its satisfaction, in spite of that periodical mitigation. It might -be possible that in each single case pity and fear would be soothed -and relieved by tragedy; nevertheless, they might, on the whole, be -increased by tragic influences, and Plato would be right in saying that -tragedy makes us altogether more timid and susceptible. The tragic poet -himself would then of necessity acquire a gloomy and fearful view of -the world, and a yielding, irritable, tearful soul; it would also agree -with Plato's view if the tragic poets, and likewise the entire part of -the community that derived particular pleasure from them, degenerated -into ever greater licentiousness and intemperance. But what right, -indeed, has our age to give an answer to that great question of Plato's -as to the moral influence of art? If we even had art,—where have we an -influence, <i>any kind</i> of an art-influence?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">213.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasure in Nonsense</span>.—How can we take pleasure in nonsense? But -wherever there is laughter in the world this is the case: it may even -be said that almost everywhere where there is happiness, there is -found pleasure in nonsense. The transformation of experience into its -opposite, of the suitable into the unsuitable, the obligatory into the -optional (but in such a manner that this process produces no injury -and is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> imagined in jest), is a pleasure; for it temporarily -liberates us from the yoke of the obligatory, suitable and experienced, -in which we usually find our pitiless masters; we play and laugh when -the expected (which generally causes fear and expectancy) happens -without bringing any injury. It is the pleasure felt by slaves in the -Saturnalian feasts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">214.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Ennobling of Reality</span>.—Through the fact that in the aphrodisiac -impulse men discerned a godhead and with adoring gratitude felt it -working within themselves, this emotion has in the course of time -become imbued with higher conceptions, and has thereby been materially -ennobled. Thus certain nations, by virtue of this art of idealisation, -have created great aids to culture out of diseases,—the Greeks, -for instance, who in earlier centuries suffered from great nervous -epidemics (like epilepsy and St. Vitus' Dance), and developed out of -them the splendid type of the Bacchante. The Greeks, however, enjoyed -an astonishingly high degree of health—their secret was, to revere -even disease as a god, if it only possessed <i>power</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">215.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Music</span>.—Music by and for itself is not so portentous for our inward -nature, so deeply moving, that it ought to be looked upon as the -<i>direct</i> language of the feelings; but its ancient union with poetry -has infused so much symbolism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> into rhythmical movement, into loudness -and softness of tone, that we now <i>imagine</i> it speaks directly <i>to</i> and -comes <i>from</i> the inward nature. Dramatic music is only possible when -the art of harmony has acquired an immense range of symbolical means, -through song, opera, and a hundred attempts at description by sound. -"Absolute music" is either form <i>per se,</i> in 'the rude condition of -music, when playing in time and with various degrees of strength gives -pleasure, or the symbolism of form which speaks to the understanding -even without poetry, after the two arts were joined finally together -after long development and the musical form had been woven about with -threads of meaning and feeling. People who are backward in musical -development can appreciate a piece of harmony merely as execution, -whilst those who are advanced will comprehend it symbolically. No music -is deep and full of meaning in itself, it does not speak of "will," of -the "thing-in-itself"; that could be imagined by the intellect only in -an age which had conquered for musical symbolism the entire range of -inner life. It was the intellect itself that first <i>gave</i> this meaning -to sound, just as it also gave meaning to the relation between lines -and masses in architecture, but which in itself is quite foreign to -mechanical laws.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">216.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gesture and Speech</span>.—Older than speech is the imitation of gestures, -which is carried on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> unconsciously and which, in the general repression -of the language of gesture and trained control of the muscles, is -still so great that we cannot look at a face moved by emotion without -feeling an agitation of our own face (it may be remarked that feigned -yawning excites real yawning in any one who sees it). The imitated -gesture leads the one who imitates back to the sensation it expressed -in the face or body of the one imitated. Thus men learned to understand -one another, thus the child still learns to understand the mother. -Generally speaking, painful sensations may also have been expressed -by gestures, and the pain which caused them (for instance, tearing -the hair, beating the breast, forcible distortion and straining of -the muscles of the face). On the other hand, gestures of joy were -themselves joyful and lent themselves easily to the communication of -the understanding; (laughter, as the expression of the feeling when -being tickled, serves also for the expression of other pleasurable -sensations). As soon as men understood each other by gestures, -there could be established a <i>symbolism</i> of gestures; I mean, an -understanding could be arrived at respecting the language of accents, -so that first <i>accent</i> and gesture (to which it was symbolically added) -were produced, and later on the accent alone. In former times there -happened very frequently that which now happens in the development of -music, especially of dramatic music,—while music, without explanatory -dance and pantomime (language of gesture), is at first only empty -sound, but by long familiarity with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> combination of music and -movement the ear becomes schooled into instant interpretation of the -figures of sound, and finally attains a height of quick understanding, -where it has no longer any need of visible movement and <i>understands</i> -the sound-poet without it. It is then called absolute music, that -is music in which, without further help, everything is symbolically -understood.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">217.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Spiritualising of Higher Art</span>.—By virtue of extraordinary -intellectual exercise through the art-development of the new music, our -ears have been growing more intellectual. For this reason we can now -endure a much greater volume of sound, much more "noise," because we -are far better practised in listening for the <i>sense</i> in it than were -our ancestors. As a matter of fact, all our senses have been somewhat -blunted, because they immediately look for the sense; that is, they -ask what "it means" and not what "it is,"—such a blunting betrays -itself, for instance, in the absolute dominion of the temperature of -sounds; for ears which still make the finer distinctions, between -<i>eis</i> and <i>des,</i> for instance, are now amongst the exceptions. In -this respect our ear has grown coarser. And then the ugly side of the -world, the one originally hostile to the senses, has been conquered -for music; its power has been immensely widened, especially in the -expression of the noble, the terrible, and the mysterious: our music -now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> gives utterance to things which had formerly no tongue. In the -same way certain painters have rendered the eye more intellectual, and -have gone far beyond that which was formerly called pleasure in colour -and form. Here, too, that side of the world originally considered as -ugly has been conquered by the artistic intellect. What results from -all this? The more capable of thought that eye and ear become, the -more they approach the limit where they become senseless, the seat of -pleasure is moved into the brain, the organs of the senses themselves -become dulled and weak, the symbolical takes more and more the place -of the actual,—and thus we arrive at barbarism in this way as surely -as in any other. In the meantime we may say: the world is uglier than -ever, but it <i>represents</i> a more beautiful world than has ever existed. -But the more the amber-scent of meaning is dispersed and evaporated, -the rarer become those who perceive it, and the remainder halt at -what is ugly and endeavour to enjoy it direct, an aim, however, which -they never succeed in attaining. Thus, in Germany there is a twofold -direction of musical development, here a throng of ten thousand with -ever higher, finer demands, ever listening more and more for the "it -means," and there the immense countless mass which yearly grows more -incapable of understanding what is important even in the form of -sensual ugliness, and which therefore turns ever more willingly to what -in music is ugly and foul in itself, that is, to the basely sensual.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">218.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Stone Is More of a Stone Than Formerly</span>.—As a general rule we no -longer understand architecture, at least by no means in the same way -as we understand music. We have outgrown the symbolism of lines and -figures, just as we are no longer accustomed to the sound-effects of -rhetoric, and have not absorbed this kind of mother's milk of culture -since our first moment of life. Everything in a Greek or Christian -building originally had a meaning, and referred to a higher order of -things; this feeling of inexhaustible meaning enveloped the edifice -like a mystic veil. Beauty was only a secondary consideration in -the system, without in any way materially injuring the fundamental -sentiment of the mysteriously-exalted, the divinely and magically -consecrated; at the most, beauty <i>tempered horror</i>—but this horror was -everywhere presupposed. What is the beauty of a building now? The same -thing as the beautiful face of a stupid woman, a kind of mask.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">219.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Religious Source of the Newer Music</span>.—Soulful music arose out of -the Catholicism re-established after the Council of Trent, through -Palestrina, who endowed the newly-awakened, earnest, and deeply -moved spirit with sound; later on, in Bach, it appeared also in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -Protestantism, as far as this had been deepened by the Pietists and -released from its originally dogmatic character. The supposition -and necessary preparation for both origins is the familiarity with -music, which existed during and before the Renaissance, namely that -learned occupation with music, which was really scientific pleasure -in the masterpieces of harmony and voice-training. On the other hand, -the opera must have preceded it, wherein the layman made his protest -against a music that had grown too learned and cold, and endeavoured -to re-endow Polyhymnia with a soul. Without the change to that deeply -religious sentiment, without the dying away of the inwardly moved -temperament, music would have remained learned or operatic; the -spirit of the counter-reformation is the spirit of modern music (for -that pietism in Bach's music is also a kind of counter-reformation). -So deeply are we indebted to the religious life. Music was the -counter-reformation in the field of art; to this belongs also the -later painting of the Caracci and Caravaggi, perhaps also the baroque -style, in <i>any</i> case more than the architecture of the Renaissance -or of antiquity. And we might still ask: if our newer music could -move stones, would it build them up into antique architecture? I very -much doubt it. For that which predominates in this music, affections, -pleasure in exalted, highly-strained sentiments, the desire to be alive -at any cost, the quick change of feeling, the strong relief-effects of -light and shade, the combination of the ecstatic and the naïve,—all -this has already reigned in the plastic arts and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> created new laws -of style:—but it was neither in the time of antiquity nor of the -Renaissance.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">220.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Beyond in Art</span>.—It is not without deep pain that we acknowledge -the fact that in their loftiest soarings, artists of all ages have -exalted and divinely transfigured precisely those ideas which we now -recognise as false; they are the glorifiers of humanity's religious -and philosophical errors, and they could not have been this without -belief in the absolute truth of these errors. But if the belief in such -truth diminishes at all, if the rainbow colours at the farthest ends of -human knowledge and imagination fade, then this kind of art can never -re-flourish, for, like the <i>Divina Commedia,</i> Raphael's paintings, -Michelangelo's frescoes, and Gothic cathedrals, they indicate not only -a cosmic but also a metaphysical meaning in the work of art. Out of all -this will grow a touching legend that such an art and such an artistic -faith once existed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">221.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Revolution in Poetry.</span>—The strict limit which the French dramatists -marked out with regard to unity of action, time and place, construction -of style, verse and sentence, selection of words and ideas, was -a school as important as that of counterpoint and fugue in the -development of modern music or that of the Gorgianic figures in Greek -oratory. Such a restriction may appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> absurd; nevertheless there is -no means of getting out of naturalism except by confining ourselves -at first to the strongest (perhaps most arbitrary) means. Thus we -gradually learn to walk gracefully on the narrow paths that bridge -giddy abysses, and acquire great suppleness of movement as a result, -as the history of music proves to our living eyes. Here we see how, -step by step, the fetters get looser, until at last they may appear to -be altogether thrown off; this <i>appearance</i> is the highest achievement -of a necessary development in art. In the art of modern poetry there -existed no such fortunate, gradual emerging from self-imposed fetters. -Lessing held up to scorn in Germany the French form, the only modern -form of art, and pointed to Shakespeare; and thus the steadiness of -that unfettering was lost and a spring was made into naturalism—that -is, back into the beginnings of art. From this Goethe endeavoured to -save himself, by always trying to limit himself anew in different ways; -but even the most gifted only succeeds by continuously experimenting, -if the thread of development has once been broken. It is to the -unconsciously revered, if also repudiated, model of French tragedy -that Schiller owes his comparative sureness of form, and he remained -fairly independent of Lessing (whose dramatic attempts he is well -known to have rejected). But after Voltaire the French themselves -suddenly lacked the great talents which would have led the development -of tragedy out of constraint to that apparent freedom; later on -they followed the German example and made a spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> into a sort of -Rousseau-like state of nature and experiments. It is only necessary -to read Voltaire's "Mahomet" from time to time in order to perceive -clearly what European culture has lost through that breaking down of -tradition. Once for all, Voltaire was the last of the great dramatists -who with Greek proportion controlled his manifold soul, equal even to -the greatest storms of tragedy,—he was able to do what no German -could, because the French nature is much nearer akin to the Greek than -is the German; he was also the last great writer who in the wielding -of prose possessed the Greek ear, Greek artistic conscientiousness, -and Greek simplicity and grace; he was, also, one of the last men able -to combine in himself the greatest freedom of mind and an absolutely -unrevolutionary way of thinking without being inconsistent and -cowardly. Since that time the modern spirit, with its restlessness and -its hatred of moderation and restrictions, has obtained the mastery on -all sides, let loose at first by the fever of revolution, and then once -more putting a bridle on itself when it became filled with fear and -horror at itself,—but it was the bridle of rigid logic, no longer that -of artistic moderation. It is true that through that unfettering for a -time we are able to enjoy the poetry of all nations, everything that -has sprung up in hidden places, original, wild, wonderfully beautiful -and gigantically irregular, from folk-songs up to the "great barbarian" -Shakespeare; we taste the joys of local colour and costume, hitherto -unknown to all artistic nations; we make liberal use of the "barbaric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -advantages" of our time, which Goethe accentuated against Schiller in -order to place the formlessness of his <i>Faust</i> in the most favourable -light. But for how much longer? The encroaching flood of poetry of all -styles and all nations <i>must</i> gradually sweep away that magic garden -upon which a quiet and hidden growth would still have been possible; -all poets <i>must</i> become experimenting imitators, daring copyists, -however great their primary strength may be. Eventually, the public, -which has lost the habit of seeing the actual artistic fact in the -<i>controlling</i> of depicting power, in the organising mastery over all -art-means, <i>must</i> come ever more and more to value power for power's -sake, colour for colour's sake, idea for idea's sake, inspiration for -inspiration's sake; accordingly it will not enjoy the elements and -conditions of the work of art, unless <i>isolated,</i> and finally will -make the very natural demand that the artist <i>must</i> deliver it to them -isolated. True, the "senseless" fetters of Franco-Greek art have been -thrown off, but unconsciously we have grown accustomed to consider all -fetters, all restrictions as senseless;—and so art moves towards its -liberation, but, in so doing, it touches—which is certainly highly -edifying—upon all the phases of its beginning, its childhood, its -incompleteness, its sometime boldness and excesses,—in perishing -it interprets its origin and growth. One of the great ones, whose -instinct may be relied on and whose theory lacked nothing but thirty -years <i>more</i> of practice, Lord Byron, once said: that with regard to -poetry in general, the more he thought about it the more convinced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -he was that one and all we are entirely on a wrong track, that we are -following an inwardly false revolutionary system, and that either our -own generation or the next will yet arrive at this same conviction. -It is the same Lord Byron who said that he "looked upon Shakespeare -as the very worst model, although the most extraordinary poet." And -does not Goethe's mature artistic insight in the second half of his -life say practically the same thing?—that insight by means of which -he made such a bound in advance of whole generations that, generally -speaking, it may be said that Goethe's influence has not yet begun, -that his time has still to come. Just because his nature held him fast -for a long time in the path of the poetical revolution, just because -he drank to the dregs of whatsoever new sources, views and expedients -had been indirectly discovered through that breaking down of tradition, -of all that had been unearthed from under the ruins of art, his later -transformation and conversion carries so much weight; it shows that -he felt the deepest longing to win back the traditions of art, and to -give in fancy the ancient perfection and completeness to the abandoned -ruins and colonnades of the temple, with the imagination of the eye at -least, should the strength of the arm be found too weak to build where -such tremendous powers were needed even to destroy. Thus he lived in -art as in the remembrance of the true art, his poetry had become an -aid to remembrance, to the understanding of old and long-departed ages -of art. With respect to the strength of the new age, his demands could -not be satisfied; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> the pain this occasioned was amply balanced by -the joy that they have <i>been</i> satisfied once, and that we ourselves can -still participate in this satisfaction. Not individuals, but more or -less ideal masks; no reality, but an allegorical generality; topical -characters, local colours toned down and rendered mythical almost to -the point of invisibility; contemporary feeling and the problems of -contemporary society reduced to the simplest forms, stripped of their -attractive, interesting pathological qualities, made <i>ineffective</i> in -every other but the artistic sense; no new materials and characters, -but the old, long-accustomed ones in constant new animation and -transformation; that is art, as Goethe <i>understood</i> it later, as the -Greeks and even the French <i>practised</i> it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">222.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">What Remains of Art</span>.—It is true that art has a much greater value in -the case of certain metaphysical hypotheses, for instance when the -belief obtains that the character is unchangeable and that the essence -of the world manifests itself continually in all character and action; -thus the artist's work becomes the symbol of the <i>eternally constant,</i> -while according to our views the artist can only endow his picture with -temporary value, because man on the whole has developed and is mutable, -and even the individual man has nothing fixed and constant. The same -thing holds good with another metaphysical hypothesis: assuming that -our visible world were only a delusion, as metaphysicians declare, -then art would come very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> near to the real world, for there would then -be far too much similarity between the world of appearance and the -dream-world of the artist; and the remaining difference would place -the meaning of art higher even than the meaning of nature, because -art would represent the same forms, the types and models of nature. -But those suppositions are false; and what position does art retain -after this acknowledgment? Above all, for centuries it has taught us -to look upon life in every shape with interest and pleasure and to -carry our feelings so far that at last we exclaim, "Whatever it may -be, life is good." This teaching of art, to take pleasure in existence -and to regard human life as a piece of nature, without too vigorous -movement, as an object of regular development,—this teaching has grown -into us; it reappears as an all-powerful need of knowledge. We could -renounce art, but we should not therewith forfeit the ability it has -taught us,—just as we have given up religion, but not the exalting and -intensifying of temperament acquired through religion. As the plastic -arts and music are the standards of that wealth of feeling really -acquired and obtained through religion, so also, after a disappearance -of art, the intensity and multiplicity of the joys of life which it had -implanted in us would still demand satisfaction. The scientific man is -the further development of the artistic man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">223.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The After-glow of Art</span>.—Just as in old age we remember our youth and -celebrate festivals<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> of memory, so in a short time mankind will stand -towards art: its relation will be that of a <i>touching memory</i> of the -joys of youth. Never, perhaps, in former ages was art dealt with so -seriously and thoughtfully as now when it appears to be surrounded -by the magic influence of death. We call to mind that Greek city in -southern Italy, which once a year still celebrates its Greek feasts, -amidst tears and mourning, that foreign barbarism triumphs ever more -and more over the customs its people brought with them into the land; -and never has Hellenism been so much appreciated, nowhere has this -golden nectar been drunk with so great delight, as amongst these fast -disappearing Hellenes. The artist will soon come to be regarded as a -splendid relic, and to him, as to a wonderful stranger on whose power -and beauty depended the happiness of former ages, there will be paid -such honour as is not often enjoyed by one of our race. The best in us -is perhaps inherited from the sentiments of former times, to which it -is hardly possible for us now to return by direct ways; the sun has -already disappeared, but the heavens of our life are still glowing and -illumined by it, although we can behold it no longer.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_11" id="Footnote_1_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_11"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The allusion is to Goethe's lines: -</p> -<p> -<i>Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht,</i><br /> -<i>Man freut sich ihrer Pracht.</i><br /> -</p><p> -We do not want the stars themselves,<br /> -Their brilliancy delights our hearts.—J.M.K.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FIFTH_DIVISION" id="FIFTH_DIVISION">FIFTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>THE SIGNS OF HIGHER AND LOWER CULTURE.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">224.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ennoblement Through Degeneration</span>.—History teaches that a race of -people is best preserved where the greater number hold one common -spirit in consequence of the similarity of their accustomed and -indisputable principles: in consequence, therefore, of their common -faith. Thus strength is afforded by good and thorough customs, thus -is learnt the subjection of the individual, and strenuousness of -character becomes a birth gift and afterwards is fostered as a habit. -The danger to these communities founded on individuals of strong and -similar character is that gradually increasing stupidity through -transmission, which follows all stability like its shadow. It is on -the more unrestricted, more uncertain and morally weaker individuals -that depends the <i>intellectual progress</i> of such communities, it is -they who attempt all that is new and manifold. Numbers of these perish -on account of their weakness, without having achieved any specially -visible effect; but generally, particularly when they have descendants, -they flare up and from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> time to time inflict a wound on the stable -element of the community. Precisely in this sore and weakened place the -community is <i>inoculated</i> with something new; but its general strength -must be great enough to absorb and assimilate this new thing into its -blood. Deviating natures are of the utmost importance wherever there -is to be progress. Every wholesale progress must be preceded by a -partial weakening. The strongest natures <i>retain</i> the type, the weaker -ones help it to <i>develop.</i> Something similar happens in the case of -individuals;'a deterioration, a mutilation, even a vice and, above all, -a physical or moral loss is seldom without its advantage. For instance, -a sickly man in the midst of a warlike and restless race will perhaps -have more chance of being alone and thereby growing quieter and wiser, -the one-eyed man will possess a stronger eye, the blind man will have a -deeper inward sight and will certainly have a keener sense of hearing. -In so far it appears to me that the famous Struggle for Existence is -not the only point of view from which an explanation can be given of -the progress or strengthening of an individual or a race. Rather must -two different things converge: firstly, the multiplying of stable -strength through mental binding in faith and common feeling; secondly, -the possibility of attaining to higher aims, through the fact that -there are deviating natures and, in consequence, partial weakening and -wounding of the stable strength; it is precisely the weaker nature, as -the more delicate and free, that makes all progress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> at all possible. -A people that is crumbling and weak in any one part, but as a whole -still strong and healthy, is able to absorb the infection of what is -new and incorporate it to its advantage. The task of education in a -single individual is this: to plant him so firmly and surely that, as -a whole, he can no longer be diverted from his path. Then, however, -the educator must wound him, or else make use of the wounds which fate -inflicts, and when pain and need have thus arisen, something new and -noble can be inoculated into the wounded places. With regard to the -State, Machiavelli says that, "the form of Government is of very small -importance, although halfeducated people think otherwise. The great aim -of State-craft should be duration, which out-weighs all else, inasmuch -as it is more valuable than liberty." It is only with securely founded -and guaranteed duration that continual development and ennobling -inoculation are at all possible. As a rule, however, authority, the -dangerous companion of all duration, will rise in opposition to this.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">225.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Free-thinker a Relative Term.</span>—We call that man a free-thinker who -thinks otherwise than is expected of him in consideration of his -origin, surroundings, position, and office, or by reason of the -prevailing contemporary views. He is the exception, fettered minds are -the rule; these latter reproach him, saying that his free principles -either have their origin in a desire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> to be remarkable or else cause -free actions to inferred,—that is to say, actions which are not -compatible with fettered morality. Sometimes it is also said that -the cause of such and such free principles may be traced to mental -perversity and extravagance; but only malice speaks thus, nor does -it believe what it says, but wishes thereby to do an injury, for the -free-thinker; usually bears the proof of his greater goodness and -keenness of intellect written in his face so plainly that the fettered -spirits understand it well enough. But the two other derivations -of free-thought are honestly intended; as a matter of fact, many -free-thinkers are created in one or other of these ways. For this -reason, however, the tenets to which they attain in this manner might -be truer and more reliable than those of the fettered spirits. In the -knowledge of truth, what really matters is the <i>possession</i> of it, -not the impulse under which it was sought, the way in which it was -found. If the free-thinkers are right then the fettered spirits are -wrong, and it is a matter of indifference whether the former have -reached truth through immorality or the latter hitherto retained hold -of untruths through morality. Moreover, it is not essential to the -free-thinker that he should hold more correct views, but that he should -have liberated himself from what was customary, be it successfully or -disastrously. As a rule, however, he will have truth, or at least the -spirit of truth-investigation, on his side; he demands reasons, the -others demand faith.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">226.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of Faith.</span>—The fettered spirit does not take up his position -from conviction, but from habit; he is a Christian, for instance, not -because he had a comprehension of different creeds and could take -his choice; he is an Englishman, not because he decided for England, -but he found Christianity and England ready-made and accepted them -without any reason, just as one who is born in a wine-country becomes -a wine-drinker. Later on, perhaps, as he was a Christian and an -Englishman, he discovered a few reasons in favour of his habit; these -reasons may be upset, but he is not therefore upset in his whole -position. For instance, let a fettered spirit be obliged to bring -forward his reasons against bigamy and then it will be seen whether his -holy zeal in favour of monogamy is based upon reason or upon custom. -The adoption of guiding principles without reasons is called <i>faith.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">227.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conclusions Drawn from the Consequences and Traced Back to Reason and -Un-reason.</span>—All states and orders of society, professions, matrimony, -education, law: all these find strength and duration only in the faith -which the fettered spirits repose in them,—that is, in the absence of -reasons, or at least in the averting of inquiries as to reasons. The -restricted spirits do not willingly acknowledge this, and feel that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> -it is a <i>pudendum.</i> Christianity, however, which was very simple in -its intellectual ideas, remarked nothing of this <i>pudendum,</i> required -faith and nothing but faith, and passionately repulsed the demand -for reasons; it pointed to the success of faith: "You will soon feel -the advantages of faith," it suggested, "and through faith shall ye -be saved." As an actual fact, the State pursues the same course, and -every father brings up his son in the same way: "Only believe this," -he says, "and you will soon feel the good it does." This implies, -however, that the truth of an opinion is proved by its personal -usefulness; the wholesomeness of a doctrine must be a guarantee for -its intellectual surety and solidity. It is exactly as if an accused -person in a court of law were to say, "My counsel speaks the whole -truth, for only see what is the result of his speech: I shall be -acquitted." Because the fettered spirits retain their principles on -account of their usefulness, they suppose that the free spirit also -seeks his own advantage in his views and only holds that to be true -which is profitable to him. But as he appears to find profitable just -the contrary of that which his compatriots or equals find profitable, -these latter assume that his principles are dangerous to them; they say -or feel, "He must not be right, for he is injurious to us."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">228.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Strong, Good Character.</span>—The restriction of views, which habit has -made instinct,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> leads to what is called strength of character. When -any one acts from few but always from the same motives, his actions -acquire great energy; if these actions accord with the principles of -the fettered spirits they are recognised, and they produce, moreover, -in those who perform them the sensation of a good conscience. Few -motives, energetic action, and a good conscience compose what is called -strength of character. The man of strong character lacks a knowledge -of the many possibilities and directions of action; his intellect is -fettered and restricted, because in a given case it shows him, perhaps, -only two possibilities; between these two he must now of necessity -choose, in accordance with his whole nature, and he does this easily -and quickly because he has not to choose between fifty possibilities. -The educating surroundings aim at fettering every individual, by always -placing before him the smallest number of possibilities. The individual -is always treated by his educators as if he were, indeed, something -new, but should become a <i>duplicate.</i> If he makes his first appearance -as something unknown, unprecedented, he must be turned into something -known and precedented. In a child, the familiar manifestation of -restriction is called a good character; in placing itself on the side -of the fettered spirits the child first discloses its awakening common -feeling; with this foundation of common sentiment, he will eventually -become useful to his State or rank.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">229.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Standards and Values of the Fettered Spirits.</span>—There are four -species of things concerning which the restricted spirits say they -are in the right. Firstly: all things that last are right; secondly: -all things that are not burdens to us are right; thirdly: all things -that are advantageous for us are right; fourthly: all things for which -we have made sacrifices are right. The last sentence, for instance, -explains why a war that was begun in opposition to popular feeling -is carried on with enthusiasm directly a sacrifice has been made for -it. The free spirits, who bring their case before the forum of the -fettered spirits, must prove that free spirits always existed, that -free-spiritism is therefore enduring, that it will not become a burden, -and, finally, that on the whole they are an advantage to the fettered -spirits. It is because they cannot convince the restricted spirits on -this last point that they profit nothing by having proved the first and -second propositions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">230.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Esprit Fort.</span></i>—Compared with him who has tradition on his side and -requires no reasons for his actions, the free spirit is always weak, -especially in action; for he is acquainted with too many motives and -points of view, and has, therefore, an uncertain and unpractised hand. -What means exist of making him <i>strong in spite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> of this,</i> so that he -will, at least, manage to survive, and will not perish ineffectually? -What is the source of the strong spirit (<i>esprit fort</i>)! This is -especially the question as to the production of genius. Whence comes -the energy, the unbending strength, the endurance with which the one, -in opposition to accepted ideas, endeavours to obtain an entirely -individual knowledge of the world?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">231.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Rise of Genius.</span>—The ingenuity with which a prisoner seeks the -means of freedom, the most cold-blooded and patient employment of every -smallest advantage, can teach us of what tools Nature sometimes makes -use in order to produce Genius,—a word which I beg will be understood -without any mythological and religious flavour; she, Nature, begins it -in a dungeon and excites to the utmost its desire to free itself. Or -to give another picture: some one who has completely <i>lost his way</i> -in a wood, but who with unusual energy strives to reach the open in -one direction or another, will sometimes discover a new path which -nobody knew previously, thus arise geniuses, who are credited with -originality. It has already been said that mutilation, crippling, -or the loss of some important organ, is frequently the cause of the -unusual development of another organ, because this one has to fulfil -its own and also another function. This explains the source of many a -brilliant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> talent. These general remarks on the origin of genius may be -applied to the special case, the origin of the perfect free spirit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">232.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conjecture As to the Origin of Free-spiritism</span>.—Just as the glaciers -increase when in equatorial regions the sun shines upon the seas -with greater force than hitherto, so may a very strong and spreading -free-spiritism be a proof that somewhere or other the force of feeling -has grown extraordinarily.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">233.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Voice of History.</span>—In general, history <i>appears</i> to teach the -following about the production of genius: it ill-treats and torments -mankind—calls to the passions of envy, hatred, and rivalry—drives -them to desperation, people against people, throughout whole centuries! -Then, perhaps, like a stray spark from the terrible energy thereby -aroused, there flames up suddenly the light of genius; the will, like -a horse maddened by the rider's spur, thereupon breaks out and leaps -over into another domain. He who could attain to a comprehension of the -production of genius, and desires to carry out practically the manner -in which Nature usually goes to work, would have to be just as evil and -regardless as Nature itself. But perhaps we have not heard rightly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">234.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of the Middle of the Road</span>.—It is possible that the -production of genius is reserved to a limited period of mankind's -history. For we must not expect from the future everything that -very defined conditions were able to produce; for instance, not the -astounding effects of religious feeling. This has had its day, and -much that is very? good can never grow again, because it could grow -out of that alone. There will never again be a horizon of life and -culture that is bounded by religion. Perhaps even the type of the -saint is only possible with that certain narrowness of intellect, -which apparently has completely disappeared. And thus the greatest -height of intelligence has perhaps been reserved for a single age; -it appeared—and appears, for we are still in that age—when an -extraordinary, long-accumulated energy of will concentrates itself, -as an exceptional case, upon <i>intellectual</i> aims. That height will no -longer exist when this wildness and energy cease to be cultivated. -Mankind probably approaches nearer to its actual aim in the middle of -its road, in the middle time of its existence than at the end. It may -be that powers with which, for instance, art is a condition, die out -altogether; the pleasure in lying, in the undefined, the symbolical, -in intoxication, in ecstasy might fall into disrepute. For certainly, -when life is ordered in the perfect State, the present will provide -no more motive for poetry, and it would only be those persons who had -remained behind who would ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> for poetical unreality. These, then, -would assuredly look longingly backwards to the times of the imperfect -State, of half-barbaric society, to <i>our</i> times.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">235.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Genius and the Ideal State in Conflict.</span>—The Socialists demand a -comfortable life for the greatest possible number. If the lasting house -of this life of comfort, the perfect State, had really been attained, -then this life of comfort would have destroyed the ground out of which -grow the great intellect and the mighty individual generally, 11 mean -powerful energy. Were this State reached, mankind would have grown too -weary to be still capable of producing genius. Must we not hence wish -that life should retain its forcible character, and that wild forces -and energies should continue, to be called forth afresh? But warm and -sympathetic hearts desire precisely the <i>removal</i> of that wild and -forcible character, and the warmest hearts we can imagine desire it -the most passionately of all, whilst all the time its passion derived -its fire, its warmth, its very existence precisely from that wild -and forcible character; the warmest heart, therefore, desires the -removal of its own foundation, the destruction of itself,—that is, -it desires something illogical, it is not intelligent. The highest -intelligence and the warmest heart cannot exist together in one -person, and the wise man who passes judgment upon life looks beyond -goodness and only regards it as something which is not without value -in the general summing-up of life. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> wise man must <i>oppose</i> those -digressive wishes of unintelligent goodness, because he has an interest -in the continuance of his type and in the eventual appearance of the -highest intellect; at least, he will not advance the founding of the -"perfect State," inasmuch as there is only room in it for wearied -individuals. Christ, on the contrary, he whom we may consider to have -had the warmest heart, advanced the process of making man stupid, -placed himself on the side of the intellectually poor, and retarded -the production of the greatest intellect, and this was consistent. -His opposite, the man of perfect wisdom,—this may be safely -prophesied—will just as necessarily hinder the production of a Christ. -The State is a wise arrangement for the protection of one individual -against another; if its ennobling is exaggerated the individual will at -last be weakened by it, even effaced, —thus the original purpose of -the State will be most completely frustrated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">236.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Zones of Culture.</span>—It may be figuratively said that the ages of -culture correspond to the zones of the various climates, only that they -lie one behind another and not beside each other like the geographical -zones. In comparison with the temperate zone of culture, which it -is our object to enter, the past, speaking generally, gives the -impression of a <i>tropical</i> climate. Violent contrasts, sudden changes -between day and night, heat and colour-splendour, the reverence of -all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> that was sudden, mysterious, terrible, the rapidity with which -storms broke: everywhere that lavish abundance of the provisions of -nature; and opposed to this, in our culture, a clear but by no means -bright sky, pure but fairly unchanging air, sharpness, even cold at -times; thus the two zones are contrasts to each other. When we see -how in that former zone the most raging passions are suppressed and -broken down with mysterious force by metaphysical representations, -we feel as if wild tigers were being crushed before our very eyes in -the coils of mighty serpents; our mental climate lacks such episodes, -our imagination is temperate, even in dreams there does not happen -to us what former peoples saw waking. But should we not rejoice at -this change, even granted that artists are essentially spoiled by the -disappearance of the tropical culture and find us non-artists a little -too timid? In so far artists are certainly right to deny "progress," -for indeed it is doubtful whether the last three thousand years show an -advance in the arts. In the same way, a metaphysical philosopher like -Schopenhauer would have no cause to acknowledge progress with a regard -to metaphysical philosophy and religion if he glanced back over the -last four thousand years. For us, however, the <i>existence</i> even of the -temperate zones of culture is progress.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">237.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Renaissance and Reformation.</span>—The Italian Renaissance contained within -itself all the positive forces to which we owe modern culture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> Such -were the liberation of thought, the disregard of authorities, the -triumph of education over the darkness of tradition, enthusiasm for -science and the scientific past of mankind, the unfettering of the -Individual, an ardour for truthfulness and a dislike of delusion -and mere effect (which ardour blazed forth in an entire company of -artistic characters, who with the greatest moral purity required from -themselves perfection in their works, and nothing but perfection); -yes, the Renaissance had positive forces, which have, <i>as yet,</i> never -become so mighty again in our modern culture. It was the Golden Age -of the last thousand years, in spite of all its blemishes and vices. -On the other hand, the German Reformation stands out as an energetic -protest of antiquated spirits, who were by no means tired of mediæval -views of life, and who received the signs of its dissolution, the -extraordinary flatness and alienation of the religious life, with -deep dejection instead of with the rejoicing that would have been -seemly. With their northern strength and stiff-neckedness they threw -mankind back again, brought about the counter-reformation, that is, -a Catholic Christianity of self-defence, with all the violences of a -state of siege, and delayed for two or three centuries the complete -awakening and mastery of the sciences; just as they probably made for -ever impossible the complete inter-growth of the antique and the modern -spirit. The great task of the Renaissance could not be brought to a -termination, this was prevented by the protest of the contemporary -backward German spirit (which, for its salvation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> had had sufficient -sense in the Middle Ages to cross the Alps again and again). It was -the chance of an extraordinary constellation of politics that Luther -was preserved, and that his protest; gained strength, for the Emperor -protected him in order to employ him as a weapon against the Pope, and -in the same way he was secretly favoured by the Pope in order to use -the Protestant princes as a counter-weight against the Emperor. Without -this curious counter-play of intentions, Luther would have been burnt -like Huss,—and the morning sun of enlightenment would probably have -risen somewhat earlier, and with a splendour more beauteous than we can -now imagine.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">238.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Justice Against the Becoming God.</span>— When the entire history of culture -unfolds itself to our gaze, as a confusion of evil and noble, of true -and false ideas, and we feel almost seasick at the sight of these -tumultuous waves, we then under stand what comfort resides in the -conception of a <i>becoming God.</i> This Deity is unveiled ever more and -more throughout the changes and fortunes of mankind; it is not all -blind mechanism, a senseless and aimless confusion of forces. The -deification of the process of being is a metaphysical outlook, seen as -from a lighthouse overlooking the sea of history, in which a far-too -historical generation of scholars found their comfort. This must not -arouse anger, however erroneous the view may be. Only those who, like -Schopenhauer, deny development<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> also feel none of the misery of this -historical wave, and therefore, because they know nothing of that -becoming God and the need of His supposition, they should in justice -withhold their scorn.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">239.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fruits According to Their Seasons.</span>—Every better future that -is desired for mankind is necessarily in many respects also a worse -future, for it is foolishness to suppose that a new, higher grade of -humanity will combine in itself all the good points of former grades, -and must produce, for instance, the highest form of art. Rather has -every season its own advantages and charms, which exclude those of -the other seasons. That which has grown out of religion and in its -neighbourhood cannot grow again if this has been destroyed; at the -most, straggling and belated off-shoots may lead to deception on that -point, like the occasional outbreaks of remembrance of the old art, a -condition that probably betrays the feeling of loss and deprivation, -but which is no proof of the power from which a new art might be born.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">240.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Increasing Severity of the World.</span>—The higher culture an -individual attains, the less field there is left for mockery and scorn. -Voltaire thanked Heaven from his heart for the invention of marriage -and the Church, by which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> it had so well provided for our cheer. But he -and his time, and before him the sixteenth century, had exhausted their -ridicule on this theme; everything that is now made fun of on this -theme is out of date, and above all too cheap to tempt a purchaser. -Causes are now inquired after; ours is an age of seriousness. Who -cares now to discern, laughingly, the difference between reality and -pretentious sham, between that which man <i>is</i> and that which he wishes -to represent; the feeling of this contrast has quite a different effect -if we seek reasons. The more thoroughly any one understands life, -the less he will mock, though finally, perhaps, he will mock at the -"thoroughness of his understanding."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">241.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Genius of Culture.</span>—If any one wished to imagine a genius of -culture, what would it be like? It handles as its tools falsehood, -force, and thoughtless selfishness so surely that I could only be -called an evil, demoniacal being but its aims, which are occasionally -transparent, are great and good. It is a centaur, half-beast, half-man, -and, in addition, has angel's wings upon its head.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">242.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Miracle-education.</span>—Interest in Education will acquire great -strength only from the moment when belief in a God and His care is -renounced, just as the art of healing you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> only flourish when the -belief in miracle-cures ceased. So far, however, there is universal -belief in the miracle-education; out of the greatest disorder and -confusion of aims and unfavourableness of conditions, the most -fertile and mighty men have been seen to grow; could this happen -naturally? Soon these cases will be more closely looked into, more -carefully examined; but miracles will never be discovered. In similar -circumstances countless persons perish constantly; the few saved have, -therefore, usually grown stronger, because they endured these bad -conditions by virtue of an inexhaustible inborn strength, and this -strength they had also exercised and increased by fighting against -these circumstances; thus the miracle is explained. An education that -no longer believes in miracles must pay attention to three things: -first, how much energy is inherited? secondly, by what means can -new energy be aroused? thirdly, how can the individual be adapted -to so many and manifold claims of culture without being disquieted -and destroying his personality,—in short, how can the individual be -initiated into the counterpoint of private and public culture, how can -he lead the melody and at the same time Accompany it?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">243.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Future of the Physician.</span>—There is now no profession which would -admit of such an enhancement as that of the physician; that is, after -the spiritual physicians the so-called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> pastors, are no longer allowed -to practise their conjuring tricks to public applause, and a cultured -person gets out of their way. The highest mental development of a -physician has not yet been reached, even if he understands the best -and newest methods, is practised in them, and knows how to draw those -rapid conclusions from effects to causes for which the diagnostics are -celebrated; besides this, he must possess a gift of eloquence that -adapts itself to every individual and draws his heart out of his body; -a manliness, the sight of which alone drives away all despondency (the -canker of all sick people), the tact and suppleness of a diplomatist -in negotiations between such as have need of joy for their recovery -and such as, for reasons of health, must (and can) give joy; the -acuteness of a detective and an attorney to divine the secrets of -a soul without betraying them,—in short, a good physician now has -need of all the artifices and artistic privileges of every other -professional class. Thus equipped, he is then ready to be a benefactor -to the whole of society, by increasing good works, mental joys and -fertility, by preventing evil thoughts, projects and villainies (the -evil source of which is so often the belly), by the restoration of a -mental and physical aristocracy (as a maker and hinderer of marriages), -by judiciously checking all so-called soul-torments and pricks of -conscience. Thus from a "medicine man" he becomes a saviour, and -yet need work no miracle, neither is he obliged to let himself be -crucified.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">244.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Neighbourhood of Insanity.</span>—The sum of sensations, knowledge -and experiences, the whole burden of culture, therefore, has become -so great that an overstraining of nerves and powers of thought is a -common danger, indeed the cultivated classes of European countries -are throughout neurotic, and almost every one of their great families -is on the verge of insanity in one of their branches. True, health -is now sought in every possible way; but in the main a diminution of -that tension of feeling, of that oppressive burden of culture, is -needful, which, even though it might be bought at a heavy sacrifice, -would at least give us room for the great hope of a <i>new Renaissance.</i> -To Christianity, to the philosophers, poets, and musicians we owe an -abundance of deeply emotional sensations; in order that these may not -get beyond our control we must invoke the spirit of science, which -on the whole makes us somewhat colder and more sceptical, and in -particular cools the faith in final and absolute truths; it is chiefly -through Christianity that it has grown so wild.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">245.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Bell-founding of Culture.</span>—Culture has been made like a bell, -within a covering of coarser, commoner material, falsehood, violence, -the boundless extension of every individual "I,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> of every separate -people—this was the covering. Is it time to take it off? Has the -liquid set, have the good and useful impulses, the habits of the nobler -nature become so certain and so general that they no longer require to -lean on metaphysics and the errors of religion, no longer have need of -hardnesses and violence as powerful bonds between man and man, people -and people? No sign from any God can any longer help us to answer this -question; our own insight must decide. The earthly rule of man must be -taken in hand by man himself, his "omniscience" must watch over the -further fate of culture with a sharp eye.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">246.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Cyclopes of Culture.</span>—Whoever has seen those furrowed basins which -once contained glaciers, will hardly deem it possible that a time -will come when the same spot will be a valley of woods and meadows -and streams. It is the same in the history of mankind; the wildest -forces break the way, destructively at first, but their activity was -nevertheless necessary in order that later on a milder civilisation -might build up its house These terrible energies—that which is called -Evil—are the cyclopic architects and road-makers of humanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">247.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Circulation of Humanity.</span>—It is possible that all humanity is only -a phase of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> development of a certain species of animal of limited -duration. Man may have grown out of the ape and will return to the -ape again,<a name="FNanchor_1_12" id="FNanchor_1_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_12" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> without anybody taking an interest in the ending of -this curious comedy. Just as with the decline of Roman civilisation -and its most important cause, the spread of Christianity, there was a -general uglification of man within the Roman Empire, so, through the -eventual decline of general culture, there might result a far greater -uglification and finally an animalising of man till he reached the ape. -But just because we are able to face this prospect, we shall perhaps be -able to avert such an end.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">248.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Consoling Speech of a Desperate Advance.</span>—Our age gives the -impression of an intermediate condition; the old ways of regarding the -world, the old cultures still partially exist, the new are not yet -sure and customary and hence are without decision and consistency. It -appears as if everything would become chaotic, as if the old were being -lost, the new worthless and ever becoming weaker. But this is what the -soldier feels who is learning to march; for a time he is more uncertain -and awkward, because his muscles are moved sometimes according to the -old system and sometimes according to the new, and neither gains a' -decisive victory. We waver,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> but it is necessary not to lose courage -and give up what we have newly gained. Moreover, we <i>cannot</i> go back -to the old, we <i>have</i> burnt our boats; there remains nothing but to -be brave whatever happen.—<i>March ahead,</i> only get forward! Perhaps -our behaviour looks like <i>progress</i>; but if not, then the words -of Frederick the Great may also be applied to us, and indeed as a -consolation: "<i>Ah, mon cher Sulzer, vous ne connaissez pas assez cette -race maudite, à laquelle nous appartenons.</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">249.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Suffering from Past Culture.</span>—Whoever has solved the problem of culture -suffers from a feeling similar to that of one who has inherited -unjustly-gotten riches, or of a prince who reigns thanks to the -violence of his ancestors. He thinks of their origin with grief and is -often ashamed, often irritable. The whole sum of strength, joy, vigour, -which he devotes to his possessions, is often balanced by a deep -weariness, he cannot forget their origin. He looks despondingly at the -future; he knows well that his successors will suffer from the past as -he does.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">250.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Manners</span>.—Good manners disappear in proportion as the influence of -a Court and an exclusive aristocracy lessens; this decrease can be -plainly observed from decade to decade by those who have an eye -for public behaviour, which grows visibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> more vulgar. No one any -longer knows how to court and flatter intelligently; hence arises the -ludicrous fact that in cases where we <i>must</i> render actual homage -(to a great statesman or artist, for instance), the words of deepest -feeling, of simple, peasant-like honesty, have to be borrowed, owing to -the embarrassment resulting from the lack of grace and wit. Thus the -public ceremonious meeting of men appears ever more clumsy, but more -full of feeling and honesty without really being so. But must there -always be a decline in manners? It appears to me, rather, that manners -take a deep curve and that we are approaching their lowest point. When -society has become sure of its intentions and principles, so that they -have a moulding effect (the manners we have learnt from former moulding -conditions are now inherited and always more weakly learnt), there will -then be company manners, gestures and social expressions, which must -appear as necessary and simply natural because they are intentions -and principles. The better division of time and work, the gymnastic -exercise transformed into the accompaniment of all beautiful leisure, -increased and severer meditation, which brings wisdom and suppleness -even to the body, will bring all this in its train. Here, indeed, we -might think with a smile of our scholars, and consider whether, as a -matter of fact, they who wish to be regarded as the forerunners of that -new culture are distinguished by their better manners? This is hardly -the case; although their spirit may be willing enough their flesh is -weak. The past of culture is still too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> powerful in their muscles, they -still stand in a fettered position, and are half worldly priests and -half dependent educators of the upper classes, and besides this they -have been rendered crippled and lifeless by the pedantry of science and -by antiquated, spiritless methods. In any case, therefore, they are -physically, and often three-fourths mentally, still the courtiers of an -old, even antiquated culture, and as such are themselves antiquated; -the new spirit that occasionally inhabits these old dwellings often -serves only to make them more uncertain and frightened. In them there -dwell the ghosts of the past as well as the ghosts of the future; -what wonder if they do not wear the best expression or show the most -pleasing behaviour?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">251.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Future of Science.</span>—To him who works and seeks in her, Science -gives much pleasure,—to him who <i>learns</i> her facts, very little. But -as all important truths of science must gradually become commonplace -and everyday matters, even this small amount of pleasure ceases, just -as we have long ceased to take pleasure in learning the admirable -multiplication table. Now if Science goes on giving less pleasure in -herself, and always takes more pleasure in throwing suspicion on the -consolations of metaphysics, religion and art, that greatest of all -sources of pleasure, to which mankind owes almost its whole humanity, -becomes impoverished. Therefore a higher culture must give man a -double brain, two brain-chambers, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> to speak, one to feel science -and the other to feel non-science, which can lie side by side, without -confusion, divisible, exclusive; this is a necessity of health. In one -part lies the source of strength, in the other lies the regulator; -it must be heated with illusions, onesidednesses, passions; and the -malicious and dangerous consequences of over-heating must be averted -by the help of conscious Science. If this necessity of the higher -culture is not satisfied, the further course of human development can -almost certainly be foretold: the interest in what is true ceases as it -guarantees less pleasure; illusion, error, and imagination reconquer -step by step the ancient territory, because they are united to -pleasure; the ruin of science: the relapse into barbarism is the next -result; mankind must begin to weave its web afresh after having, like -Penelope, destroyed it during the night. But who will assure us that it -will always find the necessary strength for this?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">252.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Pleasure in Discernment.</span>—Why is discernment, that essence of the -searcher and the philosopher, connected with pleasure? Firstly, and -above all, because thereby we become conscious of our strength, for -the same reason that gymnastic exercises, even without spectators, are -enjoyable. Secondly, because in the course of knowledge we surpass -older ideas and their representatives, and become, or believe ourselves -to be, conquerors. Thirdly, because even a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> little new knowledge -exalts us above <i>every one,</i> and makes us feel we are the only ones -who know the subject aright. These are the three most important -reasons of the pleasure, but there are many others, according to the -nature of the discerner. A not inconsiderable index of such is given, -where no one would look for it, in a passage of my parenetic work -on Schopenhauer,<a name="FNanchor_2_13" id="FNanchor_2_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_13" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> with the arrangement of which every experienced -servant of knowledge may be satisfied, even though he might wish to -dispense with the ironical touch that seems to pervade those pages. -For if it be true that for the making of a scholar "a number of very -human impulses and desires must be thrown together," that the scholar -is indeed a very noble but not a pure metal, and "consists of a -confused blending of very different impulses and attractions," the -same thing may be said equally of the making and nature of the artist, -the philosopher and the moral genius—and whatever glorified great -names there may be in that list. <i>Everything</i> human deserves ironical -consideration with respect to its <i>origin,</i>—therefore irony is so -<i>superfluous</i> in the world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">253.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fidelity As a Proof of Validity.</span>—It is a perfect sign of a sound -theory if during <i>forty years</i> its originator does not mistrust it; but -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> maintain that there has never yet been a philosopher who has not -eventually deprecated the philosophy of his youth. Perhaps, however, -he has not spoken publicly of this change of opinion, for reasons of -ambition, or, what is more probable in noble natures, out of delicate -consideration for his adherents.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">254.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Increase of What Is Interesting.</span>—In the course of higher education -everything becomes interesting to man, he knows how to find the -instructive side of a thing quickly and to put his finger on the place -where it can fill up a gap in his ideas, or where it may verify a -thought. Through this boredom disappears more and more, and so does -excessive excitability of temperament. Finally he moves among men like -a botanist among plants, and looks upon himself as a phenomenon, which -only greatly excites his discerning instinct.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">255.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Superstition of the Simultaneous.</span>—Simultaneous things hold -together, it is said. A relative dies far away, and at the same time -we dream about him,—Consequently! But countless relatives die and we -do not dream about them. It is like shipwrecked people who make vows; -afterwards, in the temples, we do not see the votive tablets of those -who perished. A man dies, an owl hoots, a clock stops, all at one hour -of the night,—must there not be some connection? Such an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> intimacy -with nature as this supposition implies is flattering to mankind. This -species of superstition is found again in a refined form in historians -and delineators of culture, who usually have a kind of hydrophobic -horror of all that senseless mixture, in which individual and national -life is so rich.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">256.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Action and Not Knowledge Exercised by Science.</span>—The value of strictly -pursuing science for a time does not lie precisely in its results, -for these, in proportion to the ocean of what is worth knowing, are -but an infinitesimally small drop. But it gives an additional energy, -decisiveness, and toughness of endurance; it teaches how to attain an -<i>aim suitably.</i> In so far it is very valuable, with a view to all that -is done later on, to have once been a scientific man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">257.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Youthful Charm of Science.</span>—The search for truth still retains -the charm of being in strong contrast to gray and now tiresome error; -but this charm is gradually disappearing. It is true we still live in -the youthful age of science and are accustomed to follow truth as a -lovely girl; but how will it be when one day she becomes an elderly, -ill-tempered looking woman? In almost all sciences the fundamental -knowledge is either found in earliest times or is still being sought; -what a different attraction this exerts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> compared to that time when -everything essential has been found and there only remains for the -seeker a scanty gleaning (which sensation may be learnt in several -historical disciplines).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">258.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Statue of Humanity.</span>—The genius of culture fares as did Cellini -when his statue of Perseus was being cast; the molten mass threatened -to run short, but it <i>had</i> to suffice, so he flung in his plates and -dishes, and whatever else his hands fell upon. In the same way genius -flings in errors, vices, hopes, ravings, and other things of baser as -well as of nobler metal, for the statue of humanity must emerge and be -finished; what does it matter if commoner material is used here and -there?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">259.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Male Culture.</span>—The Greek culture of the classic age is a male -culture. As far as women are concerned, Pericles expresses everything -in the funeral speech: "They are best when they are as little spoken -of as possible amongst men." The erotic relation of men to youths -was the necessary and sole preparation, to a degree unattainable to -our comprehension, of all manly education (pretty much as for a long -time all higher education of women was only attainable through love -and marriage). All idealism of the strength of the Greek nature threw -itself into that relation, and it is probable that never since have -young men been treated so attentively, so lovingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> so entirely with -a view to their welfare (<i>virtus</i>) as in the fifth and sixth centuries -B.C.—according to the beautiful saying of Hölderlin: "<i>denn liebend -giebt der Sterbliche vom Besten."</i><a name="FNanchor_3_14" id="FNanchor_3_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_14" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> The higher the light in which -this relation was regarded, the lower sank intercourse with woman; -nothing else was taken into consideration than the production of -children and lust; there was no intellectual intercourse, not even real -love-making. If it be further remembered that women were even excluded -from contests and spectacles of every description, there only remain -the religious cults as their sole higher occupation. For although in -the tragedies Electra and Antigone were represented, this was only -<i>tolerated</i> in art, but not liked in real life,—just as now we cannot -endure anything pathetic in <i>life</i> but like it in art. The women had no -other mission than to produce beautiful, strong bodies, in which the -father's character lived on as unbrokenly as possible, and therewith -to counteract the increasing nerve-tension of such a highly developed -culture. This kept the Greek culture young for a relatively long time; -for in the Greek mothers the Greek genius always returned to nature.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">260.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Prejudice in Favour of Greatness.</span>—It is clear that men overvalue -everything great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> and prominent. This arises from the conscious or -unconscious idea that they deem it very useful when one person throws -all his strength into one thing and makes himself into a monstrous -organ. Assuredly, an <i>equal</i> development of all his powers is more -useful and happier for man; for every talent is a vampire which sucks -blood and strength from other powers, and an exaggerated production can -drive the most gifted almost to madness. Within the circle of the arts, -too, extreme natures excite far too much attention; but a much lower -culture is necessary to be captivated by them. Men submit from habit to -everything that seeks power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">261.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tyrants of the Mind.</span>—It is only where the ray of myth falls that -the life of the Greeks shines; otherwise it is gloomy. The Greek -philosophers are now robbing themselves of this myth; is it not as if -they wished to quit the sunshine for shadow and gloom? Yet no plant -avoids the light; and, as a matter of fact, those philosophers were -only seeking a <i>brighter</i> sun; the myth—was not pure enough, not -shining enough for them. They found this light in their knowledge, -in that which each of them called his "truth." But in those times -knowledge shone with a greater glory; it was still young and knew but -little of all the difficulties and dangers of its path; it could still -hope to reach in one single bound the central point of all being, -and from thence to solve the riddle of the world. These philosophers -had a firm belief in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> themselves and their "truth," and with it they -overthrew all their neighbours and predecessors; each one was a -warlike, violent <i>tyrant.</i> The happiness in believing themselves the -possessors of truth was perhaps never greater in the world, but neither -were the hardness, the arrogance, and the tyranny and evil of such a -belief. They were tyrants, they were that, therefore, which every Greek -wanted to be, and which every one was if he <i>was able.</i> Perhaps Solon -alone is an exception; he tells in his poems how he disdained personal -tyranny. But he did it for love of his works, of his law-giving; -and to be a law-giver is a sublimated form of tyranny. Parmenides -also made laws. Pythagoras and Empedocles probably did the same; -Anaximander founded a city. Plato was the incarnate wish to become -the greatest philosophic law-giver and founder of States; he appears -to have suffered terribly over the non-fulfilment of his nature, and -towards his end his soul was filled with the bitterest gall. The more -the Greek philosophers lost in power the more they suffered inwardly -from this bitterness and malice; when the various sects fought for -their truths in the street, then first were the souls of these wooers -of truth completely clogged through envy and spleen; the tyrannical -element then raged like poison within their bodies. These many petty -tyrants would have liked to devour each other; there survived not a -single spark of love and very little joy in their own knowledge. The -saying that tyrants are generally murdered and that their descendants -are short-lived, is true also of the tyrants of the mind. Their history -is short and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> violent, and their after-effects break off suddenly. It -may be said of almost all great Hellenes that they appear to have come -too late: it was thus with Æschylus, with Pindar, with Demosthenes, -with Thucydides: one generation—and then it is passed for ever. That -is the stormy and dismal element in Greek history. We now, it is true, -admire the gospel of the tortoises. To think historically is almost the -same thing now as if in all ages history had been made according to the -theory "The smallest possible amount in the longest possible time!" Oh! -how quickly Greek history runs on! Since then life has never been so -extravagant—so unbounded. I cannot persuade myself that the history of -the Greeks followed that natural course for which it is so celebrated. -They were much too variously gifted to be <i>gradual</i> the orderly manner -of the tortoise when running a race with Achilles, and that is called -natural development. The Geeks went rapidly forward, but equally -rapidly downwards; the movement of the whole machine is so intensified -that a single stone thrown amid its wheels was sufficient to break it. -Such a stone, for instance, was Socrates; the hitherto so wonderfully -regular, although certainly too rapid, development of the philosophical -science was destroyed in one night. It is no idle question whether -Plato, had he remained free from the Socratic charm, would not have -discovered a still higher type of the philosophic man, which type -is for ever lost to us. We look into the ages before him as into a -sculptor's workshop of such types. The fifth and sixth centuries B.C. -seemed to promise something more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> and higher even than they produced; -they stopped short at promising and announcing. And yet there is hardly -a greater loss than the loss of a type, of a new, hitherto undiscovered -highest <i>possibility of the philosophic life:</i>—Even of the older -type the greater number are badly transmitted; it seems to me that -all philosophers, from Thales to Democritus, are remarkably difficult -to recognise, but whoever succeeds in imitating these figures walks -amongst specimens of the mightiest and purest type. This ability is -certainly rare, it was even absent in those later Greeks, who occupied -themselves with the knowledge of the older philosophy; Aristotle, -especially, hardly seems to have had eyes in his head when he stands -before these great ones. And thus it appears as if these splendid -philosophers had lived in vain, or as if they had only been intended -to prepare the quarrelsome and talkative followers of the Socratic -schools. As I have said, here is a gap, a break in development; some -great misfortune must have happened, and the only statue which might -have revealed the meaning and purpose of that great artistic training -was either broken or unsuccessful; what actually happened has remained -for ever a secret of the workshop.</p> - -<p>That which happened amongst the Greeks—namely, that every great -thinker who believed himself to be in possession of the absolute truth -became a tyrant, so that even the mental history of the Greeks acquired -that violent, hasty and dangerous character shown by their political -history,—this type of event was not therewith exhausted, much that is -similar has happened even in more modern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> times, although gradually -becoming rarer and now but seldom showing the pure, naïve conscience -of the Greek philosophers. For on the whole, opposition doctrines and -scepticism now speak too powerfully, too loudly. The period of mental -tyranny is past. It is true that in the spheres of higher culture there -must always be a supremacy, but henceforth this supremacy lies in the -hands of the <i>oligarchs of the mind.</i> In spite of local and political -separation they form a cohesive society, whose members <i>recognise and -acknowledge</i> each other, whatever public opinion and the verdicts of -review and newspaper writers who influence the masses may circulate in -favour of or against them. Mental superiority, which formerly divided -and embittered, nowadays generally <i>unites;</i> how could the separate -individuals assert themselves and swim through life on their own -course, against all currents, if they did not see others like them -living here and there under similar conditions, and grasped their hands -in the struggle as much against the ochlocratic character of the half -mind and half culture as against the occasional attempts to establish -a tyranny with the help of the masses? Oligarchs are necessary to each -other, they are each other's best joy, they understand their signs, but -each is nevertheless free, he fights and conquers in <i>his</i> >place and -perishes rather than submit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">262.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Homer</span>.—The greatest fact in Greek culture remains this, that Homer -became so early Pan-Hellenic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> All mental and human freedom to which -the Greeks attained is traceable to this fact. At the same time -it has actually been fatal to Greek culture, for Homer levelled, -inasmuch as he centralised, and dissolved the more serious instincts -of independence. From time to time there arose from the depths of -Hellenism an opposition to Homer: but he always remained victorious. -All great mental powers have an oppressing effect as well as a -liberating one; but it certainly makes a difference whether it is Homer -or the Bible or Science that tyrannises over mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">263.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Talents</span>.—In such a highly developed humanity as the present, each -individual naturally has access to many talents. Each has an <i>inborn -talent,</i> but only in a few is that degree of toughness, endurance, and -energy born and trained that he really becomes a talent, <i>becomes</i> what -he <i>is,</i> that is, that he discharges it in works and actions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">264.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Witty Person Either Overvalued Or Undervalued.</span>—Unscientific but -talented people value every mark of intelligence, whether it be on -a true or a false track; above all, they want the person with whom -they have intercourse to entertain them with his wit, to spur them -on, to inflame them, to carry them away in seriousness and play, and -in any case to be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> powerful amulet to protect them against boredom. -Scientific natures, on the other hand, know that the gift of possessing -all manner of notions should be strictly controlled by the scientific -spirit: it is not that which shines, deludes and excites, but the often -insignificant truth that is the fruit which he knows how to shake down -from the tree of knowledge. Like Aristotle, he is not permitted to make -any distinction between the "bores" and the "wits," his <i>dæmon</i> leads -him through the desert as well as through tropical vegetation, in order -that he may only take pleasure in the really actual, tangible, true. In -insignificant scholars this produces a general disdain and suspicion of -cleverness, and, on the other hand, clever people frequently have an -aversion to science, as have, for instance, almost all artists.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">265.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sense in School.</span>—School has no task more important than to teach -strict thought, cautious judgment, and logical conclusions, hence -it must pay no attention to what hinders these operations, such as -religion, for instance. It can count on the fact that human vagueness, -custom, and need will later on unstring the bow of all-too-severe -thought. But so long as its influence lasts it should enforce that -which is the essential and distinguishing point in man: "Sense and -Science, the <i>very highest</i> power of man"—as Goethe judges. The great -natural philosopher, Von Baer, thinks that the superiority of all -Europeans, when compared to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> Asiatics, lies in the trained capability -of giving reasons for that which they believe, of which the latter are -utterly incapable. Europe went to the school of logical and critical -thought, Asia still fails to know how to distinguish between truth -and fiction, and is not Conscious whether its convictions spring from -individual observation and systematic thought or from imagination. -Sense in the school has made Europe what it is; in the Middle Ages -it was on the road to become once more a part and dependent of -Asia,—forfeiting, therefore, the scientific mind which it owed to the -Greeks.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">266.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Undervalued Effect of Public School Teaching.</span>—The value of a -public school is seldom sought in those things which are really learnt -there and are carried away never to be lost, but in those things which -are learnt and which the pupil only acquires against his will, in order -to get rid of them again as soon as possible. Every educated person -acknowledges that the reading of the classics, as now practised, is -monstrous proceeding carried on before you people are ripe enough for -it by teachers who with every word, often by their appearance alone, -throw a mildew on a good author. But therein lies the value, generally -unrecognised, of these teachers who speak <i>the abstract language of the -higher culture,</i> which, though dry and difficult to understand, is yet -a sort of higher gymnastics of the brain; and there is value in the -constant recurrence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> in their language of ideas, artistic expressions, -methods and allusions which the young people hardly ever hear in the -conversations of their relatives and in the street. Even if the pupils -only <i>hear,</i> their intellect is involuntarily trained to a scientific -mode of regarding things. It is not possible to emerge from this -discipline entirely untouched by its abstract character, and to remain -a simple child of nature.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">267.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">LEARNING MANY LANGUAGES.</span>—The learning of many languages fills the -memory with words instead of with facts and thoughts, and this is a -vessel which, with every person, can only contain a certain limited -amount of contents. Therefore the learning of many languages is -injurious, inasmuch as it arouses a belief in possessing dexterity and, -as a matter of fact, it lends a kind of delusive importance to social -intercourse. It is also indirectly injurious in that it opposes the -acquirement of solid knowledge and the intention to win the respect of -men in an honest way. Finally, it is the axe which is laid to the root -of a delicate sense of language in our mother-tongue, which thereby -is incurably injured and destroyed. The two nations which produced -the greatest stylists, the Greeks and the French, learned no foreign -languages. But as human intercourse must always grow more cosmopolitan, -and as, for instance, a good merchant in London must now be able to -read and write eight languages, the learning of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> many tongues has -certainly become a necessary evil; but which, when finally carried to -an extreme, will compel mankind to find a remedy, and in some far-off -future there will be a new language, used at first as a language of -commerce, then as a language of intellectual intercourse generally, -then for all, as surely as some time or other there will be aviation. -Why else should philology have studied the laws of languages for a -whole century, and have estimated the necessary, the valuable, and the -successful portion of each separate language?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">268.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The War History of the Individual.</span>—In a single human life that -passes through many styles of culture we find that struggle condense -which would otherwise have been played out between two generations, -between father and son; the closeness of the relationship <i>sharpens</i> -this struggle, because each party ruthlessly drags in the familiar -inward nature of the other party; and thus this struggle in the single -individual becomes most <i>embittered \</i> here every new phase disregards -the earlier ones with cruel injustice and misunderstanding of their -means and aims.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">269.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Quarter of an Hour Earlier.</span>—A mark is found occasionally whose views -are beyond his time, but only to such an extent that he anticipates the -common views of the next decade. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> possesses public opinion before it -is public; that is, he has fallen into the arms of a view that deserves -to be trivial a quarter of an hour sooner than other people. But his -fame is usually far noisier than the fame of those who are really great -and prominent.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">270.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of Reading.</span>—Every strong tendency is one-sided; it approaches -the aim of the straight line and, like this, is exclusive, that is, -it does not touch many other aims, as do weak parties and natures -in their wave-like rolling to-and-fro; it must also be forgiven to -philologists that they are one-sided. The restoration and keeping pure -of texts, besides their explanation, carried on in common for hundreds -of years, has finally enabled the right methods to be found; the whole -of the Middle Ages was absolutely incapable of a strictly philological -explanation, that is, of the simple desire to comprehend what an -author says—it <i>was</i> an achievement, finding these methods, let it -not be undervalued! Through this all science first acquired continuity -and steadiness, so that the art of reading rightly, which is called -philology, attained its summit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">271.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of Reasoning.</span>—The greatest advance that men have made lies -in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> acquisition of the art to <i>reason rightly.</i> It is not so -very natural, as Schopenhauer supposes when he says, "All are capable -of reasoning but few of judging," it is learnt late and has not yet -attained supremacy. False conclusion are the rule in older ages; and -the mythologies of all peoples, their magic and their superstition, -their religious cult and their law are the inexhaustible sources of -proof of this theory.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">272.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Phases of Individual Culture.</span>—Th strength and weakness of mental -productiveness depend far less on inherited talents than on the -accompanying amount of <i>elasticity.</i> Most educated young people of -thirty turn round at this solstice of their lives and are afterwards -disinclined for new mental turnings. Therefore, for the salvation -of a constantly increasing culture, a new generation is immediately -necessary, which will not do very much either, for in order to come up -with the father's culture the son must exhaust almost all the inherited -energy which the father himself possessed at that stage of life when -his son was born; with the little addition he gets further on (for as -here the road is being traversed for the second time progress is—a -little quicker; in order to learn that which the father knew, the son -does not consume quite so much strength). Men of great elasticity, like -Goethe, for instance, get through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> almost more than four generations in -succession would be capable of; but then they advance too quickly, so -that the rest of mankind only comes up with them in the next century, -and even then perhaps not completely, because the exclusiveness of -culture and the consecutiveness of development have been weakened by -the frequent interruptions. Men catch up more quickly with the ordinary -phases of intellectual culture which has been acquired in the course -of history. Nowadays they begin to acquire culture as religiously -inclined children, and perhaps about their tenth year these sentiments -attain to their highest point, and are then changed into weakened forms -(pantheism), whilst they draw near to science; they entirely pass -by God, immortality, and such-like things, but are overcome by the -witchcraft of a metaphysical philosophy. Eventually they find even this -unworthy of belief; art, on the contrary, seems to vouchsafe more and -more, so that for a time metaphysics is metamorphosed and continues to -exist either as a transition to art or as an artistically transfiguring -temperament. But the scientific sense grows more imperious and conducts -man to natural sciences and history, and particularly to the severest -methods of knowledge, whilst art has always a milder and less exacting -meaning. All this usually happens within the first thirty years of a -man's life. It is the recapitulation of a <i>pensum,</i> for which humanity -had laboured perhaps thirty thousand years.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">273.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Retrograded, Not Left Behind.</span>—Whoever, in the present day, still -derives his development from religious sentiments, and perhaps lives -for some length of time afterwards in metaphysics and art, has -assuredly gone back a considerable distance and begins his race with -other modern men under unfavourable conditions; he apparently loses -time and space. But because he stays in those domains where ardour and -energy are liberated and force flows continuously as a volcanic stream -out of an inexhaustible source, he goes forward all the more quickly as -soon as he has freed himself at the right moment from those dominators; -his feet are winged, his breast has learned quieter, longer, and more -enduring breathing. He has only retreated in order to have sufficient -room to leap; thus something terrible and threatening may lie in this -retrograde movement.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">274.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Portion of Our Ego As an Artistic Object.</span>—It is a sign of -superior culture consciously to retain and present a true picture of -certain phases of development which commoner men live through almost -thoughtlessly and then efface from the tablets of their souls: this is -a higher species of the painter's art which only the few understand. -For this it is necessary to isolate those phases artificially. -Historical studies form the qualification for this painting, for they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -constantly incite us in regard to a portion of history, a people, -or a human life, to imagine for ourselves a quite distinct horizon -of thoughts, a certain strength of feelings, the prominence of this -or the obscurity of that. Herein consists the historic sense, that -out of given instances we can quickly reconstruct such systems of -thoughts and feelings, just as we can mentally reconstruct a temple -out of a few pillars and remains of walls accidentally left standing. -The next result is that we understand our fellow-men as belonging to -distinct systems and representatives of different cultures—that is, as -necessary, but as changeable; and, again, that we can separate portions -of our own development and put them down independently.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">275.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Cynics and Epicureans.</span>—The cynic recognises the connection between -the multiplied and stronger pains of the more highly cultivated man -and the abundance of requirements; he comprehends, therefore, that -the multitude of opinions about what is beautiful, suitable, seemly -and pleasing, must also produce very rich sources of enjoyment, but -also of displeasure. In accordance with this view he educates himself -backwards, by giving up many of these opinions and withdrawing from -certain demands of culture; he thereby gains a feeling of freedom -and strength; and gradually, when habit has made his manner of life -endurable, his sensations of displeasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> are, as a matter of fact, -rarer and weaker than those of cultivated people, and approach those of -the domestic animal; moreover, he experiences everything with the charm -of contrast, and—he can also scold to his heart's content; so that -thereby he again rises high above the sensation-range of the animal. -The Epicurean has the same point of view as the cynic; there is usually -only a difference of temperament between them. Then the Epicurean makes -use of his higher culture to render himself independent of prevailing -opinions, he raises himself above them, whilst the cynic only remains -negative. He walks, as it were, in wind-protected, well-sheltered, -half-dark paths, whilst over him, in the wind, the tops of the trees -rustle and show him how violently agitated is the world out there. The -cynic, on the contrary, goes, as it were, naked into the rushing of the -wind and hardens himself to the point of insensibility.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">276.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Microcosm and Macrocosm of Culture.</span>—The best discoveries about -culture man makes within himself when he finds two heterogeneous powers -ruling therein. Supposing some one were living as much in love for -the plastic arts or for music as he was carried away by the spirit of -science, and that he were to regard it as impossible for him to end -this contradiction by the destruction of one and complete liberation of -the other power, there would therefore remain nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> for him to do -but to erect around himself such a large edifice of culture that those -two powers might both dwell within it, although at different ends, -whilst between them there dwelt reconciling, intermediary powers, with -predominant strength to quell, in case of need, the rising conflict. -But such an edifice of culture in the single individual will bear a -great resemblance to the culture of entire periods, and will afford -consecutive analogical teaching concerning it. For wherever the great -architecture of culture manifested itself it was its mission to compel -opposing powers to agree, by means of an overwhelming accumulation of -other less unbearable powers, without thereby oppressing and fettering -them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">277.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Happiness and Culture.</span>—We are moved at the sight of our childhood's -surroundings,—the arbour, the church with its graves, the pond and -the wood,—all this we see again with pain. We are seized with pity -for ourselves; for what have we not passed through since then! And -everything here is so silent, so eternal, only we are so changed, so -moved; we even find a few human beings, on whom Time has sharpened his -teeth no more than on an oak tree,—peasants, fishermen, woodmen—they -are unchanged. Emotion and self-pity at the sight of lower culture is -the sign of higher culture; from which the conclusion may be drawn that -happiness has certainly not been increased by it. Whoever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> wishes to -reap happiness and comfort in life should always avoid higher culture.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">278.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Simile of the Dance.</span>—It must now be regarded as a decisive sign of -great culture if some one possesses sufficient strength and flexibility -to be as pure and strict in discernment as, in other moments, to be -capable of giving poetry, religion, and metaphysics a hundred paces' -start and then feeling their force and beauty. Such a position amid -two such different demands is very difficult, for science urges the -absolute supremacy of its methods, and if this insistence is not -yielded to, there arises the other danger of a weak wavering between -different impulses. Meanwhile, to cast a glance, in simile at least, on -a solution of this difficulty, it may be remembered that <i>dancing</i> is -not the same as a dull reeling to and fro between different impulses. -High culture will resemble a bold dance,—wherefore, as has been said, -there is need of much strength and suppleness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">279.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of the Relieving of Life.</span>—A primary way of lightening life is the -idealisation of all its occurrences; and with the help of painting we -should make it quite clear to ourselves what idealising means. The -painter requires that the spectator should not observe too closely or -too sharply, he forces him back to a certain distance from whence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> -to make his observations; he is obliged to take for granted a fixed -distance of the spectator from the picture,—he must even suppose an -equally certain amount of sharpness of eye in his spectator; in such -things he must on no account waver. Every one, therefore, who desires -to idealise his life must not look at it too closely, and must always -keep his gaze at a certain distance. This was a trick that Goethe, for -instance, understood.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">280.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Aggravation As Relief, and <i>vice Versa.</i></span>—Much that makes life more -difficult in certain grades of mankind serves to lighten it in a -higher grade, because such people have become familiar with greater -aggravations of life. The contrary also happens; for instance, religion -has a double face, according to whether a man looks up to it to relieve -him of his burden and need, or looks down upon it as-upon fetters laid -on him to prevent him from soaring too high into the air.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">281.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Higher Culture Is Necessarily Misunderstood</span>.—He who has strung his -instrument with only two strings, like the scholars who, besides the -<i>instinct of knowledge</i> possess only an acquired <i>religious</i> instinct, -does not understand people who can play upon more strings. It lies -in the nature of the higher, <i>many-stringed</i> culture that it should -always be falsely interpreted by the lower; an example of this is when -art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> appears as a disguised form of the religious. People who are only -religious understand even science as a searching after the religious -sentiment, just as deaf mutes do not know what music is, unless it be -visible movement.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">282.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lamentation</span>.—It is, perhaps, the advantages of our epoch that bring -with them a backward movement and an occasional undervaluing of the -<i>vita contemplativa.</i> But it must be acknowledged that our time is -poor in the matter of great moralists, that Pascal, Epictetus, Seneca, -and Plutarch are now but little read, that work and industry—formerly -in the following of the great goddess Health—sometimes appear to -rage like a disease. Because time to think and tranquillity in -thought are lacking, we no longer ponder over different views, but -content ourselves with hating them. With the enormous acceleration of -life, mind and eye grow accustomed to a partial and false sight and -judgment, and all people are like travellers whose only acquaintance -with countries and nations is derived from the railway. An independent -and cautious attitude of knowledge is looked upon almost as a kind of -madness; the free spirit is brought into disrepute, chiefly through -scholars, who miss their thoroughness and ant-like industry in his -art of regarding things and would gladly banish him into one single -corner of science, while it has the different and higher mission of -commanding the battalion rear-guard of scientific and learned men from -an isolated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> position, and showing them the ways and aims of culture. A -song of lamentation such as that which has just been sung will probably -have its own period, and will cease of its own accord on a forcible -return of the genius of meditation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">283.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Chief Deficiency of Active People.</span>—Active people are usually -deficient in the higher activity, I mean individual activity. They are -active as officials, merchants, scholars, that is as a species, but not -as quite distinct separate and <i>single</i> individuals; in this respect -they are idle. It is the misfortune of the active that their activity -is almost always a little senseless. For instance, we must not ask the -money-making banker the reason of his restless activity, it is foolish. -The active roll as the stone rolls, according to the stupidity of -mechanics. All mankind is divided, as it was at all times and is still, -into slaves and freemen; for whoever has not two-thirds of his day -for himself is a slave, be he otherwise whatever he likes, statesman, -merchant, official, or scholar.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">284.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Favour of the Idle.</span>—As a sign that the value of a contemplative -life has decreased, scholars now vie with active people in a sort of -hurried enjoyment, so that they appear to value this mode of enjoying -more than that which really pertains to them, and which, as a matter -of fact, is a far greater enjoyment. Scholars are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> ashamed of <i>otium.</i> -But there is one noble thing about idleness and idlers. If idleness -is really the <i>beginning</i> of all vice, it finds itself, therefore, at -least in near neighbourhood of all the virtues; the idle man is still -a better man than the active. You do not suppose that in speaking of -idleness and idlers I am alluding to you, you sluggards?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">285.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Modern Unrest.</span>—Modern restlessness increases towards the west, so -that Americans look upon the inhabitants of Europe as altogether -peace-loving and enjoying beings, whilst in reality they swarm about -like wasps and bees. This restlessness is so great that the higher -culture cannot mature its fruits, it is as if the seasons followed each -other too quickly. For lack of rest our civilisation is turning into -a new barbarism. At no period have the active, that is, the restless, -been of <i>more</i> importance. One of the necessary corrections, therefore, -which must be undertaken in the character of humanity is to strengthen -the contemplative element on a large scale. But every individual who -is quiet and steady in heart and head already has the right to believe -that he possesses not only a good temperament, but also a generally -useful virtue, and even fulfils a higher mission by the preservation of -this virtue.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">286.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To What Extent the Active Man Is Lazy.</span>—I believe that every one must -have his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> own opinion about everything concerning which opinions are -possible, because he himself is a peculiar, unique thing, which assumes -towards all other things a new and never hitherto existing attitude. -But idleness, which lies at the bottom of the active man's soul, -prevents him from drawing water out of his own well. Freedom of opinion -is like health; both are individual, and no good general conception can -be set up of either of them. That which is necessary for the health of -one individual is the cause of disease in another, and many means and -ways to the freedom of the spirit are for more highly developed natures -the ways and means to confinement.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">287.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Censor Vitæ</span></i>—Alternations of love and hatred for a long period -distinguish the inward condition of a man who desires to be free in his -judgment of life; he does not forget, and bears everything a grudge, -for good and evil. At last, when the whole tablet of his soul is -written full of experiences, he will not hate and despise existence, -neither will he love it, but will regard it sometimes with a joyful, -sometimes with a sorrowful eye, and, like nature, will be now in a -summer and now in an autumn mood.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">288.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Secondary Result.</span>—Whoever earnestly desires to be free will -therewith and without any compulsion lose all inclination for faults -and vices; he will also be more rarely overcome by anger and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> vexation. -His will desires nothing more urgently than to discern, and the means -to do this,—that is, the permanent condition in which he is best able -to discern.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">289.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of Disease.</span>—The man who is bed-ridden often perceives that -he is usually ill of his position, business, or society, and through -them has lost all self-possession. He gains this piece of knowledge -from the idleness to which his illness condemns him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">290.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sensitiveness in the Country.</span>—If there are no firm, quiet lines on -the horizon of his life, a species of mountain and forest line, man's -inmost will itself becomes restless, inattentive, and covetous, as is -the nature of a dweller in towns; he has no happiness and confers no -happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">291.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Prudence of the Free Spirits.</span>—Free-thinkers, those who live by -knowledge alone, will soon attain the supreme aim of their life and -their ultimate position towards society and State, and will gladly -content themselves, for instance, with a small post or an income that -is just sufficient to enable them to live; for they will arrange to -live in such a manner that a great change of outward prosperity, even -an overthrow of the political order, would not cause an overthrow -of their life. To all these things they devote as little energy as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -possible in order that with their whole accumulated strength, and with -a long breath, they may dive into the element of knowledge. Thus they -can hope to dive deep and be able to see the bottom. Such a spirit -seizes only the point of an event, he does not care for things in the -whole breadth and prolixity of their folds, for he does not wish to -entangle himself in them. He, too, knows the weekdays of restraint, of -dependence and servitude. But from time to time there must dawn for -him a Sunday of liberty, otherwise he could not endure life. It is -probable that even his love for humanity will be prudent and somewhat -short-winded, for he desires to meddle with the world of inclinations -and of blindness only as far as is necessary for the purpose of -knowledge. He must trust that the genius of justice will say something -for its disciple and protege if accusing voices were to call him poor -in love. In his mode of life and thought there is a <i>refined heroism,</i> -which scorns to offer itself to the great mob-reverence, as its -coarser brother does, and passes quietly through and out of the world. -Whatever labyrinths it traverses, beneath whatever rocks its stream has -occasionally worked its way—when it reaches the light it goes clearly, -easily, and almost noiselessly on its way, and lets the sunshine strike -down to its very bottom.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">292.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Forward</span>.—And thus forward upon the path of wisdom, with a firm step -and good confidence! However you may be situated, serve yourself as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -source of experience! Throw off the displeasure at your nature, forgive -yourself your own individuality, for in any case you have in yourself -a ladder with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to knowledge. -The age into which with grief you feel yourself thrown thinks you happy -because of this good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall still -have experiences which men of later ages will perhaps be obliged to -forego. Do not despise the fact of having been religious; consider -fully how you have had a genuine access to art. Can you not, with the -help of these experiences, follow immense stretches of former humanity -with a clearer understanding? Is not that ground which sometimes -displeases you so greatly, that ground of clouded thought, precisely -the one upon which have grown many of the most glorious fruits of older -civilisations? You must have loved religion and art as you loved mother -and nurse,—otherwise you cannot be wise. But you must be able to see -beyond them, to outgrow them; if you, remain under their ban you do -not understand them. You must also be familiar with history and that -cautious play with the balances: "On the one hand—on the other hand." -Go back, treading in the footsteps made by mankind in its great and -painful journey through the desert of the past, and you will learn most -surely whither it is that all later humanity never can or may go again. -And inasmuch as you wish with all your strength to see in advance how -the knots of the future are tied, your own life acquires the value of -an instrument and means of knowledge. It is within your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> power to see -that all you have experienced, trials, errors, faults, deceptions, -passions, your love and your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim. -This aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-links yourself, -and from this necessity to draw a conclusion as to the necessity in -the progress of general culture. When your sight has become strong -enough to see to the bottom of the dark well of your nature and your -knowledge, it is possible that in its mirror you may also behold the -far-away visions of future civilisations. Do you think that such a life -with such an aim is too wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable? -Then you have still to learn that no honey is sweeter than that of -knowledge, and that the overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as -an udder from which you shall draw milk for your refreshment. And only -when old age approaches will you rightly perceive how you listened to -the voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole world through -pleasure; the same life which has its zenith in age has also its zenith -in wisdom, in that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyfulness; you -meet them both, old age and wisdom, upon one ridge of life,—it was -thus intended by Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger, that -the mists of death approach. Towards the light is your last movement; a -joyful cry of knowledge is your last sound.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_12" id="Footnote_1_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_12"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This may remind one of Gobineau's more jocular saying: -"<i>Nous ne descendons pas du singe, mais nous y allons.</i>"—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_13" id="Footnote_2_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_13"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> This refers to his essay, "Schopenhauer as Educator," in -<i>Thoughts Out of Season,</i> vol. ii. of the English edition.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_14" id="Footnote_3_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_14"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> For it is when loving that mortal man gives of his -best.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a><br /><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="SIXTH_DIVISION" id="SIXTH_DIVISION">SIXTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>MAN IN SOCIETY.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">293.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Well-meant Dissimulation.</span>—In intercourse with men a well-meant -dissimulation is often necessary, as if we did not see through the -motives of their actions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">294.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Copies</span>.—We not unfrequently meet with copies of prominent persons; and -as in the case of pictures, so also here, the copies please more than -the originals.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">295.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Public Speaker.</span>—One may speak with the greatest appropriateness, -and yet so that everybody cries out to the contrary,—that is to say, -when one does not speak to everybody.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">296.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Want of Confidence.</span>—Want of confidence among friends is a fault that -cannot be censured without becoming incurable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">297.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Art of Giving.</span>—To have to refuse a gift, merely because it has not -been offered in the right way, provokes animosity against the giver.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">298.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Most Dangerous Partisan.</span>—In every party there is one who, by his -far too dogmatic expression of the party-principles, excites defection -among the others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">299.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Advisers of the Sick.</span>—Whoever gives advice to a sick person acquires -a feeling of superiority over him, whether the advice be accepted or -rejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick persons hate advisers more -than their sickness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">300.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Double Nature of Equality.</span>—The rage for equality may so manifest -itself that we seek either to draw all others down to ourselves (by -belittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or ourselves and all others -upwards (by recognition, assistance, and congratulation).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">301.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Against Embarrassment.</span>—The best way to relieve and calm very -embarrassed people is to give them decided praise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">302.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Preference For Certain Virtues.</span>—We set no special value on the -possession of a virtue until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in -our adversary.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">303.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Why We Contradict.</span>—We often contradict an opinion when it is really -only the tone in which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">304.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Confidence and Intimacy.</span>—Whoever proposes to command the intimacy of -a person is usually uncertain of possessing his confidence. Whoever is -sure of a person's confidence attaches little value to intimacy with -him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">305.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Equilibrium of Friendship.</span>—The right equilibrium of friendship -in our relation to other men is sometimes restored when we put a few -grains of wrong on our own side of the scales.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">306.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Most Dangerous Physicians.</span>—The most dangerous physicians are those -who, like born actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect art -of imposture.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">307.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">When Paradoxes Are Permissible.</span>—In order to interest clever persons in -a theory, it is sometimes only necessary to put it before them in the -form of a prodigious paradox.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">308.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How Courageous People Are Won Over.</span>—Courageous people are persuaded to -a course of action by representing it as more dangerous than it really -is.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">309.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Courtesies</span>.—We regard the courtesies show us by unpopular persons as -offences.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">310.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Keeping People Waiting.</span>—A sure way of exasperating people and of -putting bad thoughts into their heads is to keep them waiting long. -That makes them immoral.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">311.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Against the Confidential.</span>—Persons who give us their full confidence -think they hay thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake people -acquire no rights through gifts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">312.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Mode of Settlement.</span>—It often suffices to give a person whom we have -injured an opportunity to make a joke about us to give him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> personal -satisfaction, and even to make him favourably disposed to us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">313.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Vanity of the Tongue.</span>—Whether man conceals his bad qualities -and vices, or frankly acknowledges them, his vanity in either case -seeks its advantage thereby,—only let it be observed how nicely he -distinguishes those from whom he conceals such qualities from those -with whom he is frank and honest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">314.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Considerate</span>.—To have no wish to offend or injure any one may as well -be the sign of a just as of a timid nature.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">315.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Requisite For Disputation.</span>—He who cannot put his thoughts on ice -should not enter into the heat of dispute.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">316.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intercourse and Pretension.</span>—We forget our pretensions when we are -always conscious of being amongst meritorious people; being alone -implants presumption in us. The young are pretentious, for they -associate with their equals, who are all ciphers but would fain have a -great significance.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">317.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Motives of an Attack</span>.—One does not attack a person merely to hurt -and conquer him, but perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own -strength.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">318.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Flattery</span>.—Persons who try by means of flattery to put us off our -guard in intercourse with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like a -sleeping-draught, which, when it does not send the patient to sleep, -keeps him all the wider awake.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">319.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Good Letter-writer.</span>—A person who does not write books, thinks much, -and lives in unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-writer.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">320.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Ugliest of All.</span>—It may be doubted whether a person who has -travelled much has found anywhere in the world uglier places than those -to be met with in the human face.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">321.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Sympathetic Ones.</span>—Sympathetic natures, ever ready to help in -misfortune, are seldom those that participate in joy; in the happiness -of others they have nothing to occupy them, they are superfluous, they -do not feel themselves in possession of their superiority, and hence -readily show their displeasure.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">322.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Relatives of a Suicide.</span>—The relatives of a suicide take it in -ill part that he did not remain alive out of consideration for their -reputation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">323.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ingratitude Foreseen.</span>—He who makes a large gift gets no gratitude; for -the recipient is already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">324.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Dull Society.</span>—Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts -himself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show -one's wit.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">325.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Presence of Witnesses.</span>—We are doubly willing to jump into the -water after some one who has fallen in, if there are people present who -have not the courage to do so.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">326.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Being Silent.</span>—For both parties in a controversy, the most disagreeable -way of retaliating is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor usually -regards the silence as a sign of contempt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">327.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Friends' Secrets.</span>—Few people will not expose the private affairs of -their friends when at a loss for a subject of conversation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">328.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Humanity</span>.—The humanity of intellectual celebrities consists in -courteously submitting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> unfairness in intercourse with those who are -I not celebrated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">329.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Embarrassed.</span>—People who do not feel sure of themselves in society -seize every opportunity of publicly showing their superiority to close -friends, for instance by teasing them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">330.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thanks</span>.—A refined nature is vexed by knowing that some one owes it -thanks, a coarse nature by knowing that it owes thanks to some one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">331.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Sign of Estrangement.</span>—The surest sign of the estrangement of the -opinions of two persons is when they both say something ironical to -each other and neither of them feels the irony.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">332.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Presumption in Connection With Merit.</span>—Presumption in connection with -merit offends us even more than presumption in persons devoid of merit, -for merit in itself offends us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">333.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Danger in the Voice.</span>—In conversation we are sometimes confused by the -tone of our own voice, and misled to make assertions that do not at all -correspond to our opinions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">334.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Conversation.</span>—Whether in conversation with others we mostly agree -or mostly disagree with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in -both cases.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">335.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fear of Our Neighbour.</span>—We are afraid of the animosity of our -neighbour, because we are apprehensive that he may thereby discover our -secrets.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">336.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Distinguishing by Blaming.</span>—Highly respected persons distribute even -their blame in such fashion that they try to distinguish us therewith. -It is intended to remind us of their serious interest in us. We -misunderstand them entirely when we take their blame literally and -protest against it; we thereby offend them and estrange ourselves from -them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">337.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Indignation at the Goodwill of Others.</span>—We are mistaken as to the -extent to which we think we are hated or feared; because,' though we -ourselves know very well the extent of our divergence from a person, -tendency, or party, those others know us only superficially, and can, -therefore, only hate us superficially. We often meet with goodwill -which is inexplicable to us; but when we comprehend it, it shocks us, -because it shows that we are not considered with sufficient Seriousness -or importance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">338.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thwarting Vanities.</span>—When two persons meet whose vanity is equally -great, they have afterwards a bad impression of each other because -each has been so occupied with the impression he wished to produce on -the other that the other has made no impression upon him; at last it -becomes clear to them both that their efforts have been in vain, and -each puts the blame on the other.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">339.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Improper Behaviour As a Good Sign.</span>—A superior mind takes pleasure in -the tactlessness, pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious -youths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses which have not yet -carried a rider, but, in a short time, will be so proud to carry one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">340.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">When It Is Advisable to Suffer Wrong.</span>—It is well to put up with -accusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the -accuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted -and perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person -may always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may -eventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most -intolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual -may also take place in whole classes of society.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">341.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Little Honoured.</span>—Very conceited persons, who have received -less consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to -deceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle -psychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured. -Should they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn, -they give way to all the greater fury.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">342.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Primitive Conditions Re—echoing in Speech.</span>—By the manner in which -people make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo -of the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything -else; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using -their arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords, -and with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women, -on the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat -at the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">343.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Narrator.</span>—He who gives an account of something readily betrays -whether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes -to excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will -exaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not -usually tell his story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> so well, because he does not think so much -about his subject as about himself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">344.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Reciter.</span>—He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his -own character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and -scenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while -in ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit -pathos or scurrility.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">345.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Comedy Scene in Real Life.</span>—Some one conceives an ingenious idea on -a theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should -hear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the -company at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously -pushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way, -finding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost -breathless—and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of -his mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">346.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unintentionally Discourteous.</span>—When a person treats another with -unintentional discourtesy,—for instance, not greeting him because not -recognising him,—he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his -own sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> in -the other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is -pained by the thought of having injured him,—vanity, fear, or pity may -therefore be aroused; perhaps all three together.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">347.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Masterpiece of Treachery.</span>—To express a tantalising distrust of a -fellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very -moment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece -of wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels -him for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real -traitor has thus acquired a free hand.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">348.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Injure and to Be Injured.</span>—It is far pleasanter to injure -and afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant -forgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and -afterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he -does not wish to be considered inhuman, <i>must</i> forgive; his enjoyment -of the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this -constraint.</p> - - -<p>349.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In a Dispute.</span>—When we contradict another's opinion and at the same -time develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion -usually disturbs the natural attitude of our own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> which appears more -intentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">350.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Artifice.</span>—He who wants to get another to do something difficult -must on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth -his plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye -betrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off -quickly, and allow him no time to put in a word.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">351.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pricks of Conscience After Social Gatherings.</span>—Why does our conscience -prick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated -serious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not -spoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken, -because, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,—in short, -because we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">352.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">We Are Misjudged.</span>—He who always listens to hear how he is judged is -always vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us -("who know us best"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour -in a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us -rightly? The judgments of the indifferent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> wound us deeply, because -they sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some -one hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know -ourselves, how great is then our vexation!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">353.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tyranny of the Portrait.</span>—Artists and statesmen, who out of -particular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an -event, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should -afterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway -that a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in -their representation of him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">354.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relatives As the Best Friends.</span>—The Greeks, who knew so well what a -friend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely -philosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly -(and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised -as worthy of solution,—these same Greeks have designated <i>relatives</i> -by an expression which is the superlative of the word "friend." This is -inexplicable to me.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">355.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Misunderstood Honesty.</span>—When any one quotes himself in conversation -("I then said," "I am accustomed to say"), it gives the impression of -presumption; whereas it often proceeds from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> quite an opposite source; -or at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the -present moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">356.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Parasite.</span>—It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a -person prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually -with a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be -obliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than -in men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">357.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">On the Altar of Reconciliation.</span>—There are circumstances under which -one can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming -hostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he -gladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a -reconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was -formerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any -price.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">358.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Presumption in Demanding Pity.</span>—There are people who, when they have -been in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall -all be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied -because they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human -presumption extend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">359.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bait</span>.—"Every man has his price"—that is not true. But perhaps -every one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will -snap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only -necessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble, -charitable, and self-denying—and to what cause could this glamour not -be given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of <i>their</i> soul; others have -different ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">360.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Attitude in Praising.</span>—When good friends praise a gifted person he -often appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill, -but in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved -towards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun -or shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it -would grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">361.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Experience of Socrates.</span>—If one has become a master in one thing, -one has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most -other things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already -experienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association -with masters disagreeable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">362.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Means of Defence.</span>—In warring against stupidity, the most just and -gentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking -the proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for -a stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said, -their character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of -protection than they injure their opponents by it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">363.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Curiosity</span>.—If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for -the good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the -unfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps -there is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal -love.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">364.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Disappointment in Society.</span>—One man wishes to be interesting for -his opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his -acquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness—and they all meet -with disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks -himself the only play that is to be taken into account.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">365.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Duel.</span>—It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour -that if a man has such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> susceptible feelings that he does not care to -live when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a -right to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With -regard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be -remonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its -greatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness -ever existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood -stand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular -duel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would -be in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious -in their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">366.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nobleness and Gratitude.</span>—A noble soul will be pleased to owe -gratitude, and will not anxiously avoid opportunities of coming under -obligation; it will also be moderate afterwards in the expression of -its gratitude: baser souls, on the other hand, are unwilling to be -under any obligation, or are afterwards immoderate in their expressions -of thanks and altogether too devoted. The latter is, moreover, also the -case with persons of mean origin or depressed circumstances; to show -<i>them</i> a favour seems to them a miracle of grace.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">367.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Occasions of Eloquence.</span>—In order to talk well one man needs a person -who is decidedly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> avowedly his superior to talk to, while another -can only find absolute freedom of speech and happy turns of eloquence -before one who is his inferior. In both cases the cause is the same; -each of them talks well only when he talks <i>sans gêne</i>—the one because -in the presence of something higher he does not feel the impulse of -rivalry and competition, the other because he also lacks the same -impulse in the presence of something lower. Now there is quite another -type of men, who talk well only when debating, with the intention of -conquering. Which of the two types is the more aspiring: the one that -talks well from excited ambition, or the one that talks badly or not at -all from precisely the same motive?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">368.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Talent For Friendship.</span>—Two types are distinguished amongst -people who have a special faculty for friendship. The one is ever -on the ascent, and for every phase of his development he finds a -friend exactly suited to him. The series of friends which he thus -acquires is seldom a consistent one, and is sometimes at variance -and in contradiction, entirely in accordance with the fact that the -later phases of his development neutralise or prejudice the earlier -phases. Such a man may jestingly be called a <i>ladder.</i> The other type -is represented by him who exercises an attractive influence on very -different characters and endowments, so that he wins a whole circle of -friends; these, however, are thereby brought voluntarily into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> friendly -relations with one another in spite of all differences. Such a man -may be called a <i>circle,</i> for this homogeneousness of such different -temperaments and natures must somehow be typified in him. Furthermore, -the faculty for having good friends is greater in many people than the -faculty for being a good friend.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">369.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Tactics in Conversation.</span>—After a conversation with a person one is -best pleased with him I when one has had an opportunity of exhibiting -one's intelligence and amiability in all its glory. Shrewd people who -wish to impress a person favourably make use of this circumstance, -they provide him with the best opportunities for making a good I -joke, and so on in conversation. An amusing conversation might be -imagined between two very shrewd persons, each wishing to impress the -other favourably, and therefore each throwing to the other the finest -chances in conversation, which neither of them accepted, so that the -conversation on the whole might turn out spiritless and unattractive -because each assigned to the other the opportunity of being witty and -charming.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">370.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Discharge of Indignation.</span>—The man who meets with a failure -attributes this failure rather to the ill-will of another than to -fate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> His irritated feelings are alleviated by thinking that a person -and not a thing is the cause of his failure; for he can revenge himself -on persons, but is obliged to swallow down the injuries of fate. -Therefore when anything has miscarried with a prince, those about him -are accustomed to point out some individual as the ostensible cause, -who is sacrificed in the interests of all the courtiers; for otherwise -the prince's indignation would vent itself on them all, as he can take -no revenge on the Goddess of Destiny herself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">371.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Assuming the Colours of the Environment.</span>—Why are likes and dislikes -so contagious that we can hardly live near a very sensitive person -without being filled, like a hogshead, with his <i>fors</i> and <i>againsts</i>? -In the first place, complete forbearance of judgment is very difficult, -and sometimes absolutely intolerable to our vanity; it has the same -appearance as poverty of thought and sentiment, or as timidity and -unmanliness; and so we are, at least, driven on to take a side, perhaps -contrary to our environment, if this attitude gives greater pleasure -to our pride. As a rule, however,—and this is the second point,—we -are not conscious of the transition from indifference to liking or -disliking, but we gradually accustom ourselves to the sentiments of -our environment, and because sympathetic agreement and acquiescence -are so agreeable, we soon wear all the signs and party-colours of our -surroundings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">372.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Irony.</span>—Irony is only permissible as a pedagogic expedient, on the part -of a teacher when dealing with his pupils; its purpose is to humble -and to shame, but in the wholesome way that causes good resolutions -to spring up and teaches people to show honour and gratitude, as they -would to a doctor, to him who has so treated them. The ironical man -pretends to be ignorant, and does it so well that the pupils conversing -with him are deceived, and in their firm belief in their own superior -knowledge they grow bold and expose all their weak points; they lose -their cautiousness and reveal themselves as they are,—until all of -a sudden the light which they have held up to the teacher's face -casts its rays back very humiliatingly upon themselves. Where such a -relation, as that between teacher and pupil, does not exist, irony is a -rudeness and a vulgar conceit. All ironical writers count on the silly -species of human beings, who like to feel themselves superior to all -others in common with the author himself, whom they look upon as the -mouthpiece of their arrogance. Moreover, the habit of irony, like that -of sarcasm, spoils the character; lit gradually fosters the quality of -a malicious superiority; one finally grows like a snappy dog, that has -learnt to laugh as well as to bite.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">373.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arrogance</span>.—There is nothing one should so guard against as the growth -of the weed called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> arrogance, which spoils all one's good harvest; -for there is arrogance in cordiality, in showing honour, in kindly -familiarity, in caressing, in friendly counsel, in acknowledgment of -faults, in sympathy for others,—and all these fine things arouse -aversion when the weed in question grows up among them. The arrogant -man—that is to say, he who desires to appear more than he is <i>or -passes for</i>—always miscalculates. It is true that he obtains a -momentary success, inasmuch as those with whom he is' arrogant -generally give him the amount of honour that he demands, owing to fear -or for the sake of convenience; but they take a bad revenge for it, -inasmuch as they subtract from the value which they hitherto attached -to him just as much as he demands above that amount. There is nothing -for which men ask to be paid dearer than for humiliation. The arrogant -man can make his really great merit so suspicious and small in the eyes -of others that they tread on it with dusty feet. If at all, we should -only allow ourselves a <i>proud</i> manner where we are quite sure of not -being misunderstood and considered as arrogant; as, for instance, with -friends and wives. For in social intercourse there is no greater folly -than to acquire a reputation for arrogance; it is still worse than not -having learnt to deceive politely.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">374.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Tête-à-tête</span></i>—Private conversation is the perfect conversation, -because everything the one' person says receives its particular -colouring, its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> tone, and its accompanying gestures <i>out of strict -consideration for the other person</i> engaged in the conversation, it -therefore corresponds to what takes place in intercourse by letter, -viz., that one and the same person exhibits ten kinds of psychical -expression, according as he writes now to this individual and now to -that one. In duologue there is only a single refraction of thought; -the person conversed with produces it, as the mirror in whom we want -to behold our thoughts anew in their finest form. But how is it when -there are two or three, or even more persons conversing with one? -Conversation then necessarily loses something of its individualising -subtlety, different considerations thwart and neutralise each other; -the style which pleases one does not suit the taste of another. In -intercourse with several individuals a person is therefore to withdraw -within himself and represent facts as they are; but he has also to -remove from the subjects the pulsating ether of humanity which makes -conversation one of the pleasantest things in the world. Listen only -to the tone in which those who mingle with whole groups of men are in -the habit of speaking; it is as if the fundamental base of all speech -were, "It is <i>myself</i>; I say this, so make what you will of it!" That -is the reason why clever ladies usually leave a singular, painful, and -forbidding impression on those who have met them in society; it is -the talking to many people, before many people, that robs them of all -intellectual amiability and shows only their conscious dependence on -themselves, their tactics, and their intention of gaining a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> public -victory in full light; whilst in a private conversation the same ladies -become womanly again, and recover their intellectual grace and charm.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">375.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Posthumous Fame.</span>—There is sense in hoping for recognition in a distant -future only when we take it for granted that mankind will remain -essentially unchanged, and that whatever is great is not for one age -only but will be looked upon as great for all time. But this is an -error. In all their sentiments and judgments concerning what is good -and beautiful mankind have greatly changed; it is mere fantasy to -imagine one's self to be a mile ahead, and that the whole of mankind is -coming <i>our</i> way. Besides, a scholar who is misjudged may at present -reckon with certainty that his discovery will be made by others, and -that, at best, it will be allowed to him later on by some historian -that he also already knew this or that but was not in a position to -secure the recognition of his knowledge. Not to be recognised, is -always interpreted by posterity as lack of power. In short, one should -not so readily speak in favour of haughty solitude. There are, however, -exceptional cases; but it is chiefly our faults, weakness, and follies -that hinder the recognition of our great qualities.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">376.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of Friends.</span>—Just consider with thyself how different are the feelings, -how divided are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> opinions of even the nearest acquaintances; how -even the same opinions in thy friend's mind have quite a different -aspect and strength from what they have in thine own; and how manifold -are the occasions which arise for misunderstanding and hostile -severance. After all this thou wilt say to thyself, "How insecure -is the ground upon which all our alliances and friendships rest, -how liable to cold downpours and bad weather, how lonely is every -creature!" When a person recognises this fact, and, in addition, that -all opinions and the nature and strength of them in his fellow-men -are just as necessary and irresponsible as their actions; when his -eye learns to see this internal necessity of opinions, owing to the -indissoluble interweaving of character, occupation, talent, and -environment,—he will perhaps get rid of the bitterness and sharpness -of the feeling with which the sage exclaimed, "Friends, there are no -friends!" Much rather will he make the confession to himself:—Yes, -there are friends, but they were drawn towards thee by error and -deception concerning thy character; and they must have learnt to be -silent in order to remain thy friends; for such human relationships -almost always rest on the fact that some few things are never said, -are never, indeed, alluded to; but if these pebbles are set rolling -friendship follows afterwards and is broken. Are there any who would -not be mortally injured if they were to learn what their most intimate -friends really knew about them? By getting a knowledge of ourselves, -and by looking upon our nature as a changing sphere of opinions and -moods,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> and thereby learning to despise ourselves a little, we recover -once more our equilibrium with the rest of mankind. It is true that -we have good reason to despise each of our acquaintances, even the -greatest of them; but just as good reason to turn this feeling against -ourselves. And so we will bear with each other, since we bear with -ourselves; and perhaps there will come to each a happier hour, when he -will exclaim:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Friends, there are really no friends!" thus cried<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">th' expiring old sophist;</span><br /> -"Foes, there is really no foe!"—thus shout I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">the incarnate fool.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="SEVENTH_DIVISION" id="SEVENTH_DIVISION">SEVENTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>WIFE AND CHILD.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">377.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Perfect Woman.</span>—The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than -the perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of -animals furnishes grounds in support of this theory.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">378.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Friendship and Marriage.</span>—The best friend will probably get the best -wife, because a good marriage is based on talent for friendship.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">379.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Survival of the Parents.</span>—The undissolved dissonances in the -relation of the character and sentiments of the parents survive in the -nature of the child and make up the history of its inner sufferings.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">380.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Inherited from the Mother.</span>—Every one bears within him an image of -woman, inherited from his mother: it determines his attitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> towards -women as a whole, whether to honour, despise, or remain generally -indifferent to them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">381.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Correcting Nature.</span>—Whoever has not got a good father should procure -one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">382.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fathers and Sons.</span>—Fathers have much to do to make amends for having -sons.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">383.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Error of Gentlewomen.</span>—Gentle-women think that a thing does not -really exist when it is not possible to talk of it in society.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">384.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Male Disease.</span>—The surest remedy for the male disease of -self-contempt is to be loved by a sensible woman.</p> - - -<p>385.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Species of Jealousy.</span>—Mothers are readily jealous of the friends -of sons who are particularly successful. As a rule a mother loves -<i>herself</i> in her son more than the son.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">386.</p> - -<p>RATIONAL IRRATIONALITY.—In the maturity of life and intelligence the -feeling comes over a man that his father did wrong in begetting him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">387.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maternal Excellence.</span>—Some mothers need happy and honoured children, -some need unhappy ones,—otherwise they cannot exhibit their maternal -excellence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">388.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Different Sighs.</span>—Some husbands have sighed over the elopement of their -wives, the greater number, however, have sighed because nobody would -elope with theirs.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">389.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love Matches.</span>—Marriages which are contracted for love (so-called -love-matches) have error for their father and need (necessity) for -their mother.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">390.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Women's Friendships.</span>—Women can enter into friendship with a man -perfectly well; but in order to maintain it the aid of a little -physical antipathy is perhaps required.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">391.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ennui</span>.—Many people, especially women, never feel ennui because they -have never learnt to work properly.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">392.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Element of Love.</span>—In all feminine love something of maternal love -also comes to light.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">393.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unity of Place and Drama.</span>—If married couples did not live together, -happy marriages would be more frequent.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">394.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Usual Consequences of Marriage.</span>—All intercourse which does not -elevate a person, debases him, and <i>vice versa;</i> hence men usually -sink a little when they marry, while women are somewhat elevated. -Over-intellectual men require marriage in proportion as they are -opposed to it as to a repugnant medicine.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">395.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Learning to Command.</span>—Children of unpretentious families must be taught -to command, just as much as other children must be taught to obey.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">396.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wanting to Be in Love.</span>—Betrothed couples who have been matched by -convenience often exert themselves <i>to fall in love,</i> to avoid the -reproach of cold, calculating expediency. In the same manner those who -become converts to Christianity for their advantage exert themselves to -become genuinely pious; because the religious cast of countenance then -becomes easier to them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">397.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">No Standing Still in Love.</span>—A musician who <i>loves</i> the slow <i>tempo</i> -will play the same pieces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> ever more slowly. There is thus no standing -still in any love.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">398.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Modesty</span>.—Women's modesty usually increases with their beauty.<a name="FNanchor_1_15" id="FNanchor_1_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_15" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">399.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marriage on a Good Basis.</span>—A marriage in which each wishes to realise -an individual aim by means of the other will stand well; for instance, -when the woman wishes to become famous through the man and the man -beloved through the woman.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">400.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Proteus-nature.</span>—Through love women actually become what they appear to -be in the imagination of their lovers.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">401.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Love and to Possess.</span>—As a rule women love a distinguished man to -the extent that they wish to possess him exclusively. They would gladly -keep him under lock and key, if their vanity did not forbid, but vanity -demands that he should also appear distinguished before others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">402.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Test of a Good Marriage.</span>—The goodness of a marriage is proved by -the fact that it can stand an "exception."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">403.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bringing Anyone Round to Anything.</span>—One may make any person so weak and -weary by disquietude, anxiety, and excess of work or thought that he -no longer resists anything that appears complicated, but gives way to -it,—diplomatists and women know this.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">404.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Propriety and Honesty.</span>—Those girls who mean to trust exclusively to -their youthful charms for their provision in life, and whose cunning -is further prompted by worldly mothers, have just the same aims as -courtesans, only they are wiser and less honest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">405.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Masks.</span>—There are women who, wherever one examines them, have no -inside, but are mere masks. A man is to be pitied who has connection -with such almost spectre-like and necessarily unsatisfactory creatures, -but it is precisely such women who know how to excite a man's desire -most strongly; he seeks for their soul, and seeks evermore.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">406.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marriage As a Long Talk.</span>—In entering on a marriage one should ask -one's self the question, "Do you think you will pass your time well -with this woman till your old age?" All else in marriage is transitory; -talk, however, occupies most of the time of the association.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">407.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Girlish Dreams.</span>—Inexperienced girls flatter themselves with the notion -that it is in their power to make a man happy; later on they learn that -it is equivalent to underrating a man to suppose that he needs only a -girl to make him happy. Women's vanity requires a man to be something -more than merely a happy husband.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">408.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dying-out of Faust and Marguerite.</span>—According to the very -intelligent remark of a scholar, the educated men of modern Germany -resemble somewhat a mixture of Mephistopheles and Wagner, but are not -at all like Faust, whom our grandfathers (in their youth at least) -felt agitating within them. To them, therefore,—to continue the -remark,—Marguerites are not suited, for two reasons. And because the -latter are no longer desired they seem to be dying out.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">409.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Classical Education For Girls.</span>—For goodness' sake let us not give our -classical education to girls! An education which, out of ingenious, -inquisitive, ardent youths, so frequently makes—copies of their -teacher!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">410.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Without Rivals.</span>—Women readily perceive in a man whether his soul -has already been taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> possession of; they wish to be loved without -rivals, and find fault with the objects of his ambition, his -political tasks, his sciences and arts, if he have a passion for such -things. Unless he be distinguished thereby,—then, in the case of a -love-relationship between them, women look at the same time for an -increase of <i>their own</i> distinction; under such circumstances, they -favour the lover.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">411.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Feminine Intellect.</span>—The intellect of women manifests itself as -perfect mastery, presence of mind, and utilisation of all advantages. -They transmit it as a fundamental quality to their children, and the -father adds thereto the darker background of the will. His influence -determines as it were the rhythm and harmony with which the new life -is to be performed; but its melody is derived from the mother. For -those who know how to put a thing properly: women have intelligence, -men have character and passion. This does not contradict the fact -that men actually achieve so much more with their intelligence: they -have deeper and more powerful impulses; and it is these which carry -their understanding (in itself something passive) to such an extent. -Women are often silently surprised at the great respect men pay to -their character. When, therefore, in the choice of a partner men seek -specially for a being of deep and strong character, and women for a -being of intelligence, brilliancy, and presence of mind, it is plain -that at bottom men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> seek for the ideal man, and women for the ideal -woman,—consequently not for the complement but for the completion of -their own excellence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">412.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hesiod's Opinion Confirmed.</span>—It is a sign of women's wisdom that they -have almost always known how to get themselves supported, like drones -in a bee-hive. Let us just consider what this meant originally, and -why men do not depend upon women for their support. Of a truth it -is because masculine vanity and reverence are greater than feminine -wisdom; for women have known how to secure for themselves by their -subordination the greatest advantage, in fact, the upper hand. Even the -care of children may originally have been used by the wisdom of women -as an excuse for withdrawing themselves as much as possible from work. -And at present they still understand when they are really active (as -house-keepers, for instance) how to make a bewildering fuss about it, -so that the merit of their activity is usually ten times over-estimated -by men.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">413.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lovers As Short-sighted People.</span>—A pair of powerful spectacles has -sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love; and whoever has had -sufficient imagination to represent a face or form twenty years older, -has probably gone through life not much disturbed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">414.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Women in Hatred.</span>—In a state of hatred women are more dangerous -than men; for one thing, because they are hampered by no regard for -fairness when their hostile feelings have been aroused; but let their -hatred develop unchecked to its utmost consequences; then also, -because they are expert in finding sore spots (which every man and -every party possess), and pouncing upon them: for which purpose their -dagger-pointed intelligence is of good service (whilst men, hesitating -at the sight of wounds, are often generously and conciliatorily -inclined).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">415.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love</span>.—The love idolatry which women practise is fundamentally and -originally an intelligent device, inasmuch as they increase their -power by all the idealisings of love and exhibit themselves as so much -the more desirable in the eyes of men. But by being accustomed for -centuries to this exaggerated appreciation of love, it has come to pass -that they have been caught in their own net and have forgotten the -origin of the device. They themselves are now still more deceived than -the men, and on that account also suffer more from the disillusionment -which, almost necessarily, enters into the life of every woman—so far, -at any rate, as she has sufficient imagination and intelligence to be -able to be deceived and undeceived.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">416.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Emancipation of Women.</span>—Can women be at all just, when they are -so accustomed to love and to be immediately biased for or against? -For that reason they are also less interested in things and more in -individuals: but when they are interested in things they immediately -become their partisans, and thereby spoil their pure, innocent effect. -Thus there arises a danger, by no means small, in entrusting politics -and certain portions of science to them (history, for instance). For -what is rarer than a woman who really knows what science is? Indeed the -best of them cherish in their breasts a secret scorn for science, as if -they were somehow superior to it. Perhaps all this can be changed in -time; but meanwhile it is so.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">417.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Inspiration in Women's Judgments.</span>—The sudden decisions, for -or against, which women are in the habit of making, the flashing -illumination of personal relations caused by their spasmodic -inclinations and aversions,—in short, the proofs of feminine injustice -have been invested with a lustre by men who are in love, as if all -women had inspirations of wisdom, even without the Delphic cauldron and -the laurel wreaths; and their utterances are interpreted and duly set -forth as Sibylline oracles for long afterwards. When one considers, -however, that for every person and for every cause something can be -said in favour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> of it but equally also something against it, that -things are not only two-sided, but also three and four-sided, it is -almost difficult to be entirely at fault in such sudden decisions; -indeed, it might be said that the nature of things has been so arranged -that women should always carry their point.<a name="FNanchor_2_16" id="FNanchor_2_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_16" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">418.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Being Loved.</span>—As one of every two persons in love is usually the one -who loves, the other the one who is loved, the belief has arisen that -in every love-affair there is a constant amount of love; and that -the more of it the one person monopolises the less is left for the -other. Exceptionally it happens that the vanity of each of the parties -persuades him or her that it is <i>he</i> or <i>she</i> who must be loved; so -that both of them wish to be loved: from which cause many half funny, -half absurd scenes take place, especially in married life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">419.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contradictions in Feminine Minds</span>.—Owing to the fact that women are -so much more personal than objective, there are tendencies included -in the range of their ideas which are logically in contradiction to -one another; they are accustomed in turn to become enthusiastically -fond just of the representatives of these tendencies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> and accept their -systems in the lump; but in such wise that a dead place originates -wherever a new personality afterwards gets the ascendancy. It may -happen that the whole philosophy in the mind of an old lady consists of -nothing but such dead places.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">420.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Who Suffers the More?</span>—After a personal dissension and quarrel between -a woman and a man the latter party suffers chiefly from the idea of -having wounded the other, whilst the former suffers chiefly from the -idea of not having wounded the other sufficiently; so she subsequently -endeavours by tears, sobs, and discomposed mien, to make his heart -heavier.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">421.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Opportunity For Feminine Magnanimity.</span>—If we could disregard the -claims of custom in our thinking we might consider whether nature and -reason do not suggest several marriages for men, one after another: -perhaps that, at the age of twenty-two, he should first marry an -older girl who is mentally and morally his superior, and can be his -leader through all the dangers of the twenties (ambition, hatred, -self-contempt, and passions of all kinds). This woman's affection -would subsequently change entirely into maternal love, and she would -not only submit to it but would encourage the man in the most salutary -manner, if in his thirties he contracted an alliance with quite a young -girl whose education he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> himself should take in hand. Marriage is a -necessary institution for the twenties; a useful, but not necessary, -institution for the thirties; for later life it is often harmful, and -promotes the mental deterioration of the man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">422.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tragedy of Childhood.</span>—Perhaps it not infrequently happens -that noble men with lofty aims have to fight their hardest battle -in childhood; by having perchance to carry out their principles in -opposition to a base-minded father addicted to feigning and falsehood, -or living, like Lord Byron, in constant warfare with a childish and -passionate mother. He who has had such an experience will never be able -to forget all his life who has been his greatest and most dangerous -enemy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">423.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Parental Folly.</span>—The grossest mistakes in judging a man are made by -his parents,—this is a fact, but how is it to be explained? Have -the parents too much experience of the child and cannot any longer -arrange this experience into a unity? It has been noticed that it -is only in the earlier period of their sojourn in foreign countries -that travellers rightly grasp the general distinguishing features of -a people; the better they come to know it, they are the less able to -see what is typical and distinguishing in a people. As soon as they -grow short-sighted their eyes cease to be long-sighted. Do parents, -therefore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> judge their children falsely because they have never stood -far enough away from them? The following is quite another explanation: -people are no longer accustomed to reflect on what is close at hand and -surrounds them, but just accept it. Perhaps the usual thoughtlessness -of parents is the reason why they judge so wrongly when once they are -compelled to judge their children.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">424.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Future of Marriage.</span>—The noble and liberal-minded women who take as -their mission the education and elevation of the female sex, should not -overlook one point of view: Marriage regarded in its highest aspect, -as, the spiritual friendship of two persons of opposite sexes, and -accordingly such as is hoped for in future, contracted for the purpose -of producing and educating a new generation,—such marriage, which -only makes use of the sensual, so to speak, as a rare and occasional -means to a higher purpose, will, it is to be feared, probably need a -natural auxiliary, namely, <i>concubinage.</i> For if, on the grounds of -his health, the wife is also to serve for the sole satisfaction of the -man's sexual needs, a wrong perspective, opposed to the aims indicated, -will have most influence in the choice of a wife. The aims referred to: -the production of descendants, will be accidental, and their successful -education highly improbable. A good wife, who has to be friend, helper, -child-bearer, mother, family-head and manager, and has even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> perhaps -to conduct her own business and affairs separately from those of the -husband, cannot at the same time be a concubine; it would, in general, -be asking too much of her. In the future, therefore, a state of things -might take place the opposite of what existed at Athens in the time -of Pericles; the men, whose wives were then little more to them than -concubines, turned besides to the Aspasias, because they longed for the -charms of a companionship gratifying both to head and heart, such as -the grace and intellectual suppleness of women could alone provide. All -human institutions, just like marriage, allow only a moderate amount of -practical idealising, failing which coarse remedies immediately become -necessary.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">425.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The "Storm and Stress" Period of Women</span>.—In the three or four civilised -countries of Europe, it is possible, by several centuries of education, -to make out of women anything we like,—even men, not in a sexual -sense, of course, but in every other. Under such influences they will -acquire all the masculine virtues and forces, at the same time, of -course, they must also have taken all the masculine weaknesses and -vices into the bargain: so much, as has been said, we can I command. -But how shall we endure the intermediate state thereby induced, which -may even last two or three centuries, during which feminine follies -and injustices, woman's original birthday endowment, will still -maintain the ascendancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> over all that has been otherwise gained and -acquired? This will be the time when indignation will be the peculiar -masculine passion; indignation, because all arts and sciences have been -overflowed and choked by an unprecedented dilettanteism, philosophy -talked to death by brain-bewildering chatter, politics more fantastic -and partisan than ever, and society in complete disorganisation, -because the conservatrices of ancient customs have become ridiculous -to themselves, and have endeavoured in every way to place themselves -outside the pale of custom. If indeed women had their greatest power in -custom, where will they have to look in order to reacquire a similar -plenitude of power after having renounced custom?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">426.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Free-spirit and Marriage.</span>—Will free-thinkers live with women? In -general, I think that, like the prophesying birds of old, like the -truth-thinkers and truth-speakers of the present, they must prefer <i>to -fly alone.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">427.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Happiness of Marriage.</span>—Everything to which we are accustomed draws -an ever-tightening cobweb-net around us; and presently We notice that -the threads have become cords, and that we ourselves sit in the middle -like a spider that has here got itself caught and must feed on its own -blood. Hence the free spirit hates all rules and customs, all that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> -permanent and definitive, hence he painfully tears asunder again and -again the net around him, though in consequence thereof he will suffer -from numerous wounds, slight and severe; for he must break off every -thread <i>from himself,</i> from his body and soul. He must learn to love -where he has hitherto hated, and <i>vice versa.</i> Indeed, it must not be -a thing impossible for him to sow dragon's teeth in the same field in -which he formerly scattered the abundance of his bounty. From this it -can be inferred whether he is suited for the happiness of marriage.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">428.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Intimate.</span>—When we live on too intimate terms with a person it -is as if we were again and again handling a good engraving with our -fingers; the time comes when we have soiled and damaged paper in our -hands, and nothing more. A man's soul also gets worn out by constant -handling; at least, it eventually <i>appears</i> so to us—never again do we -see its original design and beauty. We always lose through too familiar -association with women and friends; and sometimes we lose the pearl of -our life thereby.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">429.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Cradle.</span>—The free spirit will always feel relieved when he -has finally resolved to shake off the motherly care and guardianship -with which women surround him. What harm will a rough wind, from which -he has been so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> anxiously protected, do him? Of what consequence is a -genuine disadvantage, loss, misfortune, sickness, illness, fault, or -folly more or less in his life, compared with the bondage of the golden -cradle, the peacock's-feather fan, and the oppressive feeling that he -must, in addition, be grateful because he is waited on and spoiled like -a baby? Hence it is that the milk which is offered him by the motherly -disposition of the women about him can so readily turn into gall.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">430.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Voluntary Victim.</span>—There is nothing by, which able women can -so alleviate the lives of their husbands, should these be great -and famous, as by becoming, so to speak, the receptacle for the -general disfavour and occasional ill-humour of the rest of mankind. -Contemporaries are usually accustomed to overlook many mistakes, -follies, and even flagrant injustices in their great men if only they -can find some one to maltreat and kill, as a proper victim for the -relief of their feelings. A wife not infrequently has the ambition to -present herself for this sacrifice, and then the husband may indeed -feel satisfied,—he being enough of an egoist to have such a voluntary -storm, rain, and lightning-conductor beside him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">431.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Agreeable Adversaries.</span>—The natural inclination, of women towards -quiet, regular, happily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> tuned existences and intercourse, the oil-like -and calming effect of their influence upon the sea of life, operates -unconsciously against the heroic inner impulse of the free spirit. -Without knowing it, women act as if they were taking away the stones -from the path of the wandering mineralogist in order that he might not -strike his foot against them—when he has gone out for the very purpose -of striking against them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">432.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Discord of Two Concords.</span>—Woman wants to serve, and finds her -happiness therein; the free spirit does not want to be served, and -therein finds his happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">433.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Xantippe</span>.—Socrates found a wife such as he required,—but he -would not have sought her had he known her sufficiently well; even -the heroism of his free spirit would not have gone so far. As a -matter of fact, Xantippe forced him more and more into his peculiar -profession, inasmuch as she made house and home doleful and dismal -to him; she taught him to live in the streets and wherever gossiping -and idling went on, and thereby made him the greatest Athenian -street-dialectician, who had, at last, to compare himself to a gad-fly -which a god had set on the neck of the beautiful horse Athens to -prevent it from resting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">434.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Blind to the Future</span>.—Just as mothers have senses and eye only for -those pains of their children that are evident to the senses and eye, -so the wives of men of high aspirations cannot accustom themselves to -see their husbands suffering, starving, or slighted,—although all this -is, perhaps, not only the proof that they have rightly chosen their -attitude in life, but even the guarantee that their great aims <i>must</i> -be achieved some time. Women always intrigue privately against the -higher souls of their husbands; they want to cheat them out of their -future for the sake of a painless and comfortable present.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">435.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Authority and Freedom.</span>—However highly women may honour their husbands, -they honour still more the powers and ideas recognised by society; they -have been accustomed for millennia to go along with their hands folded -on their breasts, and their heads bent before everything dominant, -disapproving of all resistance to public authority. They therefore -unintentionally, and as if from instinct, hang themselves as a drag -on the wheels of free-spirited, independent endeavour, and in certain -circumstances make their husbands highly impatient, especially when the -latter persuade themselves that it is really love which prompts the -action of their wives. To disapprove of women's methods and generously -to honour the motives that prompt them—that is man's nature and often -enough his despair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">436.</p> - -<p><i><span class="smcap">Ceterum Censeo.</span></i>—It is laughable when a company of paupers decree the -abolition of the right of inheritance, and it is not less laughable -when childless persons labour for the practical law-giving of a -country: they have not enough ballast in their ship to sail safely -over the ocean of the future. But it seems equally senseless if a man -who has chosen for his mission the widest knowledge and estimation of -universal existence, burdens himself with personal considerations for a -family, with the support, protection, and care of wife and child, and -in front of his telescope hangs that gloomy veil through which hardly a -ray from the distant firmament can penetrate. Thus I, too, agree with -the opinion that in matters of the highest philosophy all married men -are to be suspected.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">437.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Finally</span>.—There are many kinds of hemlock, and fate generally finds -an opportunity to put a cup of this poison to the lips of the free -spirit,—in order to "punish" him, as every one then says. What do the -women do about him then? They cry and lament, and perhaps disturb the -sunset-calm of the thinker, as they did in the prison at Athens. "Oh -Crito, bid some one take those women away!" said Socrates at last.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_15" id="Footnote_1_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_15"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The opposite of this aphorism also holds good.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_16" id="Footnote_2_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_16"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> It may be remarked that Nietzsche changed his view -on this subject later on, and ascribed more importance to woman's -intuition. Cf. also Disraeli's reference to the "High Priestesses of -predestination."—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="EIGHTH_DIVISION" id="EIGHTH_DIVISION">EIGHTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - - -<h5>A GLANCE AT THE STATE.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">438.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Asking to Be Heard.</span>—The demagogic disposition and the intention of -working upon the masses is at present common to all political parties; -on this account they are all obliged to change their principles into -great <i>al fresco</i> follies and thus make a show of them. In this matter -there is no further alteration to be made: indeed, it is superfluous -even to raise a finger against it; for here Voltaire's saying applies: -"<i>Quand la populace se mêle de raisonner, tout est perdu."</i> Since this -has happened we have to accommodate ourselves to the new conditions, -as we have to accommodate ourselves when an earthquake has displaced -the old boundaries and the contour of the land and altered the value -of property. Moreover, when it is once for all a question in the -politics of all parties to make life endurable to the greatest possible -majority, this majority may always decide what they understand by an -endurable life; if they believe their intellect capable of finding the -right means to this end why should we doubt about it? They <i>want,</i> -once for all, to be the architects of their own good or ill fortune; -and if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> their feeling of free choice and their pride in the five or -six ideas that their brain conceals and brings to light, really makes -life so agreeable to them that they gladly put up with the fatal -consequences of their narrow-mindedness, there is little to object to, -provided that their narrow-mindedness does not go so far as to demand -that <i>everything</i> shall become politics in this sense, that <i>all</i> shall -live and act according to this standard. For, in the first place, it -must be more than ever permissible for some people to keep aloof from -politics and to stand somewhat aside. To this they are also impelled -by the pleasure of free choice, and connected with this there may -even be some little pride in keeping silence when too many, and only -the many, are speaking. Then this small group must be excused if they -do not attach such great importance to the happiness of the majority -(nations or strata of population may be understood thereby), and are -occasionally guilty of an ironical grimace; for their seriousness lies -elsewhere, their conception of happiness is quite different, and their -aim cannot be encompassed by every clumsy hand that has just five -fingers. Finally, there comes from time to time—what is certainly -most difficult to concede to them, but must also be conceded—a moment -when they emerge from their silent solitariness and try once more the -strength of their lungs; they then call to each other like people lost -in a wood, to make themselves known and for mutual encouragement; -whereby, to be sure, much becomes audible that sounds evil to ears for -which it is not intended.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> Soon, however, silence again prevails in -the wood, such silence that the buzzing, humming, and fluttering of -the countless insects that live in, above, and beneath it, are again -plainly heard.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">439.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Culture and Caste.</span>—A higher culture can only originate where there are -two distinct castes of society: that of the working class, and that of -the leisured class who are capable of true leisure; or, more strongly -expressed, the caste of compulsory labour and the caste of free labour. -The point of view of the division of happiness is not essential when -it is a question of the production of a higher culture; in any case, -however, the leisured caste is more susceptible to suffering and -suffer more, their pleasure in existence is less and their task is -greater. Now supposing there should be quite an interchange between the -two castes, so that on the one hand the duller and less intelligent -families and individuals are lowered from the higher caste into the -lower, and, on the other hand, the freer men of the lower caste obtain -access to the higher, a condition of things would be attained beyond -which one can only perceive the open sea of vague wishes. Thus speaks -to us the vanishing voice of the olden time; but where are there still -ears to hear it?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">440.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Of Good Blood.</span>—That which men and women of good blood possess much -more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> others, and which gives them an undoubted right to be -more highly appreciated, are two arts which are always increased by -inheritance: the art of being able to command, and the art of proud -obedience. Now wherever commanding is the business of the day (as in -the great world of commerce and industry), there results something -similar to these families of good blood, only the noble bearing in -obedience is lacking which is an inheritance from feudal conditions and -hardly grows any longer in the climate of our culture.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">441.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Subordination</span>.—The subordination which is so highly valued in military -and official ranks will soon become as incredible to us as the secret -tactics of the Jesuits have already become; and when this subordination -is no longer possible a multitude of astonishing results will no longer -be attained, and the world will be all the poorer. It must disappear, -for its foundation is disappearing, the belief in unconditional -authority, in ultimate truth; even in military ranks physical -compulsion is not sufficient to produce it, but only the inherited -adoration of the princely as of something superhuman. In <i>freer</i> -circumstances people subordinate themselves only on conditions, in -compliance with a mutual contract, consequently with all the provisos -of self-interest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">442.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The National Army</span>.—The greatest disadvantage of the national army, -now so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> glorified, lies in the squandering of men of the highest -civilisation; it is only by the favourableness of all circumstances -that there are such men at all; how carefully and anxiously should we -deal with them, since long periods are required to create the chance -conditions for the production of such delicately organised brains! But -as the Greeks wallowed in the blood of Greeks, so do Europeans now in -the blood of Europeans: and indeed, taken relatively, it is mostly the -highly cultivated who are sacrificed, those who promise an abundant -and excellent posterity; for such stand in the front of the battle as -commanders, and also expose themselves to most danger, by reason of -their higher ambition. At present, when quite other and higher tasks -are assigned than <i>patria</i> and <i>honor,</i> the rough Roman patriotism is -either something dishonourable or a sign of being behind the times.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">443.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hope As Presumption.</span>—Our social order will slowly melt away, as all -former orders have done, as soon as the suns of new opinions have shone -upon mankind with a new glow. We can only <i>wish</i> this melting away in -the hope thereof, and we are only reasonably entitled to hope when we -believe that we and our equals have more strength in heart and head -than the representatives of the existing state of things. As a rule, -therefore, this hope will be a presumption, an <i>over-estimation.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">444.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">War</span>.—Against war it may be said that it makes the victor stupid and -the vanquished revengeful. In favour of war it may be said that it -barbarises in both its above-named results, and thereby makes more -natural; it is the sleep or the winter period of culture; man emerges -from it with greater strength for good and for evil.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">445.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Prince's Service</span>.—To be able to act quite regardlessly it is -best for a statesman to carry out his work not for himself but for a -prince. The eye of the spectator is dazzled by the splendour of this -general disinterestedness, so that it does not see the malignancy and -severity which the work of a statesman brings with it.<a name="FNanchor_1_17" id="FNanchor_1_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_17" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">446.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Question of Power, Not of Right</span>.—As regards Socialism, in the eyes -of those who always consider higher utility, if it is <i>really</i> a -rising against their oppressors of those who for centuries have been -oppressed and downtrodden, there is no problem of <i>right</i> involved -(notwithstanding the ridiculous, effeminate question," How far -<i>ought</i> we to grant its demands?") but only a problem of <i>power</i>;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> -the same, therefore, as in the case of a natural force,—steam, for -instance,—which is either forced by man into his service, as a -machine-god, or which, in case of defects of the machine, that is to -say, defects of human calculation in its construction, destroys it and -man together. In order to solve this question of power we must know how -strong Socialism is, in what modification it may yet be employed as -a powerful lever in the present mechanism of political forces; under -certain circumstances we should do all we can to strengthen it. With -every great force—be it the most dangerous—men have to think how they -can make of it an instrument for their purposes. Socialism acquires a -<i>right</i> only if war seems to have taken place between the two powers, -the representatives of the old and the new, when, however, a wise -calculation of the greatest possible preservation and advantageousness -to both sides gives rise to a desire for a treaty. Without treaty no -right. So far, however, there is neither war nor treaty on the ground -in question, therefore no rights, no "ought."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">447.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Utilising the Most Trivial Dishonesty</span>.—The power of the press consists -in the fact that every individual who ministers to it only feels -himself bound and constrained to a very small extent. He usually -expresses <i>his</i> opinion, but sometimes also does <i>not</i> express it -in order to serve his party or the politics of his country, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> -even himself. Such little faults of dishonesty, or perhaps only of -a dishonest silence, are not hard to bear by the individual, but -the consequences are extraordinary, because these little faults are -committed by many at the same time. Each one says to himself: "For such -small concessions I live better and can make my income; by the want of -such little compliances I make myself impossible." Because it seems -almost morally indifferent to write a line more (perhaps even without -signature), or not to write it, a person who has money and influence -can make any opinion a public one. He who knows that most people are -weak in trifles, and wishes to attain his own ends thereby, is always -dangerous.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">448.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Loud a Tone in Grievances</span>.—Through the fact that an account of a -bad state of things (for instance, the crimes of an administration, -bribery and arbitrary favour in political or learned bodies) is greatly -exaggerated, it fails in its effect on intelligent people, but has -all the greater effect on the unintelligent (who would have remained -indifferent to an accurate and moderate account). But as these latter -are considerably in the majority, and harbour in themselves stronger -will-power and more impatient desire for action, the exaggeration -becomes the cause of investigations, punishments, promises, and -reorganisations. In so far it is useful to exaggerate the accounts of -bad states of things.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">449.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Apparent Weather</span>—<span class="smcap">Makers of Politics</span>.—Just as people tacitly -assume that he who understands the weather, and foretells it about a -day in advance, makes the weather, so even the educated and learned, -with a display of superstitious faith, ascribe to great statesmen as -their most special work all the important changes and conjunctures that -have taken place during their administration, when it is only evident -that they knew something thereof a little earlier than other people and -made their calculations accordingly,—thus they are also looked upon as -weather-makers—and this belief is not the least important instrument -of their power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">450.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">New and Old Conceptions of Government</span>.—To draw such a distinction -between Government and people as if two separate spheres of power, -a stronger and higher, and a weaker and lower, negotiated and came -to terms with each other, is a remnant of transmitted political -sentiment, which still accurately represents the historic establishment -of the conditions of power in <i>most</i> States. When Bismarck, for -instance, describes the constitutional system as a compromise between -Government and people, he speaks in accordance with a principle which -has its reason in history (from whence, to be sure, it also derives -its admixture of folly, without which nothing human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> can exist). On -the other hand, we must now learn—in accordance with a principle -which has originated only in the <i>brain</i> and has still to <i>make</i> -history—that Government is nothing but an organ of the people,—not -an attentive, honourable "higher" in relation to a "lower" accustomed -to modesty. Before we accept this hitherto unhistorical and arbitrary, -although logical, formulation of the conception of Government, let us -but consider its consequences, for the relation between people and -Government is the strongest typical relation, after the pattern of -which the relationship between teacher and pupil, master and servants, -father and family, leader and soldier, master and apprentice, is -unconsciously formed. At present, under the influence of the prevailing -constitutional system of government, all these relationships are -changing a little,—they are becoming compromises. But how they will -have to be reversed and shifted, and change name and nature, when that -newest of all conceptions has got the upper hand everywhere in people's -minds!—to achieve which, however, a century may yet be required. In -this matter there is nothing <i>further</i> to be wished for except caution -and slow development.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">451.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Justice As the Decoy-cry of Parties</span>.—Well may noble (if not exactly -very intelligent) representatives of the governing classes asseverate: -"We will treat men equally and grant them equal rights"; so far a -socialistic mode of thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> which is based on <i>justice</i> is possible; -but, as has been said, only within the ranks of the governing class, -which in this case <i>practises</i> justice with sacrifices and abnegations. -On the other hand, to <i>demand</i> equality of rights, as do the Socialists -of the subject caste, is by no means the outcome of justice, but of -covetousness. If you expose bloody pieces of flesh to a beast, and -withdraw them again, until it finally begins to roar, do you think that -roaring implies justice?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">452.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Possession and Justice.</span>—When the Socialists point out that the -division of property at the present day is the consequence of countless -deeds of injustice and violence, and, <i>in summa,</i> repudiate obligation -to anything with so unrighteous a basis, they only perceive something -isolated. The entire past of ancient civilisation is built up on -violence, slavery, deception, and error; we, however, cannot annul -ourselves, the heirs of all these conditions, nay, the concrescences -of all this past, and are not entitled to demand the withdrawal of a -single fragment thereof. The unjust disposition lurks also in the souls -of non-possessors; they are not better than the possessors and have no -moral prerogative; for at one time or another their ancestors have been -possessors. Not forcible new distributions, but gradual transformations -of opinion are necessary; justice in all matters must become greater, -the instinct of violence weaker.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">453.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Helmsman of the Passions.</span>—The statesman excites public passions in -order to have the advantage of the counter-passions thereby aroused. To -give an example: a German statesman knows quite well that the Catholic -Church will never have the same plans as Russia; indeed, that it would -far rather be allied with the Turk than with the former country; he -likewise knows that Germany is threatened with great danger from an -alliance between France and Russia. If he can succeed, therefore, in -making France the focus and fortress of the Catholic Church, he has -averted this danger for a lengthy period. He has, accordingly, an -interest in showing hatred against the Catholics in transforming, by -all kinds of hostility, the supporters of the Pope's authority into an -impassioned political power which is opposed to German politics, and -must, as a matter of course, coalesce with France as the adversary of -Germany; his aim is the catholicising of France, just as necessarily -as Mirabeau saw the salvation of his native land in de-catholicising -it. The one State, therefore, desires to muddle millions of minds -of another State in order to gain advantage thereby. It is the same -disposition which supports the republican form of government of a -neighbouring State—<i>le désordre organisé,</i> as Mérimée says—for the -sole reason that it assumes that this form of government makes the -nation weaker, more distracted, less fit for war.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">454.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dangerous Revolutionary Spirits</span>.—Those who are bent on -revolutionising society may be divided into those who seek something -for themselves thereby and those who seek something for their children -and grandchildren. The latter are the more dangerous, for they have the -belief and the good conscience of disinterestedness. The others can be -appeased by favours: those in power are still sufficiently rich and -wise to adopt that expedient. The danger begins as soon as the aims -become impersonal; revolutionists seeking impersonal interests may -consider all defenders of the present state of things as personally -interested, and may therefore feel themselves superior to their -opponents.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">455.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Political Value of Paternity.</span>—When a man has no sons he has not a -full right to join in a discussion concerning the needs of a particular -community. A person must himself have staked his dearest object along -with the others: that alone binds him fast to the State; he must have -in view the well-being of his descendants, and must, therefore, above -all, have descendants in order to take a right and natural share in -all institutions and the changes thereof. The development of higher -morality depends on a person's having sons; it disposes him to be -un-egoistic, or, more correctly, it extends his egoism in its duration -and permits him earnestly to strive after goals which lie beyond his -individual lifetime.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">456.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pride of Descent</span>.—A man may be justly proud of an unbroken line of -<i>good</i> ancestors down to his father,—not however of the line itself, -for every one has that. Descent from good ancestors constitutes the -real nobility of birth; a single break in the chain, one bad ancestor, -therefore, destroys the nobility of birth. Every one who talks about -his nobility should be asked: "Have you no violent, avaricious, -dissolute, wicked, cruel man amongst your ancestors?" If with good -cognisance and conscience he can answer No, then let his friendship be -sought.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">457.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Slaves and Labourers</span>.—The fact that we regard the gratification of -vanity as of more account than all other forms of well-being (security, -position, and pleasures of all sorts), is shown to a ludicrous -extent by every one wishing for the abolition of slavery and utterly -abhorring to put any one into this position (apart altogether from -political reasons), while every one must acknowledge to himself that -in all respects slaves live more securely and more happily than modern -labourers, and that slave labour is very easy labour compared with that -of the "labourer." We protest in the name of the "dignity of man"; but, -expressed more simply, that is just our darling vanity which feels -non-equality, and inferiority in public estimation, to be the hardest -lot of all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> The cynic thinks differently concerning the matter, -because he despises honour:—and so Diogenes was for some time a slave -and tutor.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">458.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Leading Minds and Their Instruments</span>.—We see that great statesmen, and -in general all who have to employ many people to carry out their plans, -sometimes proceed one way and sometimes another; they either choose -with great skill and care the people suitable for their plans, and then -leave them a comparatively large amount of liberty, because they know -that the nature of the persons selected impels them precisely to the -point where they themselves would have them go; or else they choose -badly, in fact take whatever comes to hand, but out of every piece of -clay they form something useful for their purpose. These latter minds -are the more high-handed; they also desire more submissive instruments; -their knowledge of mankind is usually much smaller, their contempt of -mankind greater than in the case of the first mentioned class, but the -machines they construct generally work better than the machines from -the workshops of the former.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">459.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arbitrary Law Necessary</span>.—Jurists dispute whether the most perfectly -thought-out law or that which is most easily understood should prevail -in a nation. The former, the best model of which is Roman Law, seems -incomprehensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> to the layman, and is therefore not the expression of -his sense of justice. Popular laws, the Germanic, for instance, have -been rude, superstitious, illogical, and in part idiotic, but they -represented very definite, inherited national morals and sentiments. -But where, as with us, law i no longer custom, it can only <i>command</i> -and be compulsion; none of us any longer possesses a traditional sense -of justice; we must therefore content ourselves with <i>arbitrary laws,</i> -which are the expressions of the necessity that there <i>must be</i> law. -The most logical is then in any case the most acceptable, because it -is the most <i>impartial,</i> granting even that in every case the smallest -unit of measure in the relation of crime and punishment is arbitrarily -fixed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">460.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Great Man of the Masses</span>.—The recipe for what the masses call a -great man is easily given. In all circumstances let a person provide -them with something very pleasant, or first let him put it into their -heads that this or that would be very pleasant, and then let him give -it to them. On no account give it <i>immediately,</i> however: but let -him acquire it by the greatest exertions, or seem thus to acquire -it. The masses must have the impression that there is a powerful, -nay indomitable strength of will operating; at least it must seem to -be there operating. Everybody admires a strong will, because nobody -possesses it, and everybody says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> to himself that if he did possess -it there would no longer be any bounds for him and his egoism. If, -then, it becomes evident that such a strong will effects something -very agreeable to the masses, instead of hearkening to the wishes -of covetousness, people admire once more, and wish good luck to -themselves. Moreover, if he has all the qualities of the masses, they -are the less ashamed before him, and he is all the more popular. -Consequently, he may be violent, envious, rapacious, intriguing, -flattering, fawning, inflated, and, according to circumstances, -anything whatsoever.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">461.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Prince and God</span>.—People frequently commune with their princes in the -same way as with their God, as indeed the prince himself was frequently -the Deity's representative, or at least His high priest. This almost -uncanny disposition of veneration, disquiet, and shame, grew, and has -grown, much weaker, but occasionally it flares up again, and fastens -upon powerful persons generally. The cult of genius is an echo of this -veneration of Gods and Princes. Wherever an effort is made to exalt -particular men to the superhuman, there is also a tendency to regard -whole grades of the population as coarser and baser than they really -are.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">462.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Utopia</span>.—In a better arranged society the heavy work and trouble -of life will be assigned to those who suffer least through it, to the -most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> obtuse, therefore; and so step by step up to those who are most -sensitive to the highest and sublimest kinds of suffering, and who -therefore still suffer notwithstanding the greatest alleviations of -life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">463.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Delusion in Subversive Doctrines</span>.—There are political and social -dreamers who ardently and eloquently call for the overthrow of all -order, in the belief that the proudest fane of beautiful humanity -will then rear itself immediately, almost of its own accord. In these -dangerous dreams there is still an echo of Rousseau's superstition, -which believes in a marvellous primordial goodness of human nature, -buried up, as it were; and lays all the blame of that burying-up on -the institutions of civilisation, on society, State, and education. -Unfortunately, it is well known by historical experiences that -every such overthrow reawakens into new life the wildest energies, -the long-buried horrors and extravagances of remotest ages; that -an overthrow, therefore, may possibly be a source of strength to a -deteriorated humanity, but never a regulator, architect, artist, -or perfecter of human nature. It was not <i>Voltaire's</i> moderate -nature, inclined towards regulating, purifying, and reconstructing, -but <i>Rousseau's</i> passionate follies and half-lies that aroused the -optimistic spirit of the Revolution, against which I cry, "<i>Écrasez -l'infâme!</i>" Owing to this <i>the Spirit of enlightenment and progressive -development</i> has been long scared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> away; let us see—each of us -individually—if it is not possible to recall it!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">464.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Moderation</span>.—When perfect resoluteness in thinking and investigating, -that is to say, freedom of spirit, has become a feature of character, -it produces moderation of conduct; for it weakens avidity, attracts -much extant energy for the furtherance of intellectual aims, and shows -the semi-usefulness, or uselessness and danger, of all sudden changes.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">465.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Resurrection of the Spirit.</span>—A nation usually renews its youth on -a political sick-bed, and there finds again the spirit which it had -gradually lost in seeking and maintaining power. Culture is indebted -most of all to politically weakened periods.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">466.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">New Opinions in the Old Home.</span>—The overthrow of opinions is not -immediately followed by the overthrow of institutions; on the contrary, -the new opinions dwell for a long time in the desolate and haunted -house of their predecessors, and conserve it even for want of a -habitation.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">467.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Public Education.</span>—In large States public education will always be -extremely mediocre, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> the same reason that in large kitchens the -cooking is at best only mediocre.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">468.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Innocent Corruption.</span>—In all institutions into which the sharp breeze -of public criticism does not penetrate an innocent corruption grows up -like a fungus (for instance, in learned bodies and senates).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">469.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Scholars As Politicians.</span>—To scholars who become politicians the comic -role is usually assigned; they have to be the good conscience of a -state policy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">470.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Wolf Hidden Behind the Sheep.</span>—Almost every politician, in certain -circumstances, has such need of an honest man that he breaks into the -sheep-fold like a famished wolf; not, however, to devour a stolen -sheep, but to hide himself behind its woolly back.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">471.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Happy Times.</span>—A happy age is no longer possible, because men only wish -for it but do not desire to have it; and each individual, when good -days come for him, learns positively to pray for disquiet and misery. -The destiny of mankind is arranged for <i>happy moments</i>—every life has -such—but not for happy times. Nevertheless, such times will continue -to exist in man's imagination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> as "over the hills and far away," an -heirloom of his earliest ancestors; for the idea of the happy age, from -the earliest times to the present, has no doubt been derived from the -state in which man, after violent exertions in hunting and warfare, -gives himself over to repose, stretches out his limbs, and hears the -wings of sleep rustle around him. It is a false conclusion when, in -accordance with that old habit, man imagines that after <i>whole periods</i> -of distress and trouble he will be able also to enjoy the state of -happiness in <i>proportionate increase and duration.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">472.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Religion and Government.</span>—So long as the State, or, more properly, the -Government, regards itself as the appointed guardian of a number of -minors, and on their account considers the question whether religion -should be preserved or abolished, it is highly probable that it will -always decide for the preservation thereof. For religion satisfies -the nature of the individual in times of loss, destitution, terror, -and distrust, in cases, therefore, where the Government feels -itself incapable of doing anything directly for the mitigation of -the spiritual sufferings of the individual; indeed, even in general -unavoidable and next to inevitable evils (famines, financial crises, -and wars) religion gives to the masses an attitude of tranquillity and -confiding expectancy. Whenever the necessary or accidental deficiencies -of the State Government, or the dangerous consequences<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> of dynastic -interests, strike the eyes of the intelligent and make them refractory, -the unintelligent will only think they see the finger of God therein -and will submit with patience to the dispensations from <i>on high</i> -(a conception in which divine and human modes of government usually -coalesce); thus internal civil peace and continuity of development -will be preserved. The power, which lies in the unity of popular -feeling, in the existence of the same opinions and aims for all, is -protected and confirmed by religion,—the rare cases excepted in -which a priesthood cannot agree with the State about the price, and -therefore comes into conflict with it. As a rule the State will know -how to win over the priests, because it needs their most private and -secret system for educating souls, and knows how to value servants who -apparently, and outwardly, represent quite other interests. Even at -present no power can become "legitimate" without the assistance of the -priests; a fact which Napoleon understood. Thus, absolutely paternal -government and the careful preservation of religion necessarily go -hand-in-hand. In this connection it must be taken for granted that -the rulers and governing classes are enlightened concerning the -advantages which religion affords, and consequently feel themselves -to a certain extent superior to it, inasmuch as they use it as a -means; thus freedom of spirit has its origin here. But how will it be -when the totally different interpretation of the idea of Government, -such as is taught in <i>democratic</i> States, begins to prevail? When -one sees in it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> nothing but the instrument of the popular will, no -"upper" in contrast to an "under," but merely a function of the sole -sovereign, the people? Here also only the same attitude which the -people assume towards religion can be assumed by the Government; -every diffusion of enlightenment will have to find an echo even in -the representatives, and the utilising and exploiting of religious -impulses and consolations for State purposes will not be so easy -(unless powerful party leaders occasionally exercise an influence -resembling that of enlightened despotism). When, however, the State -is not permitted to derive any further advantage from religion, or -when people think far too variously on religious matters to allow the -State to adopt a consistent and uniform procedure with respect to them, -the way out of the difficulty will necessarily present itself, namely -to treat religion as a private affair and leave it to the conscience -and custom of each single individual. The first result of all is that -religious feeling seems to be strengthened, inasmuch as hidden and -suppressed impulses thereof, which the State had unintentionally or -intentionally stifled, now break forth and rush to extremes; later -on, however, it is found that religion is over-grown with sects, and -that an abundance of dragon's teeth were sown as soon as religion was -made a private affair. The spectacle of strife, and the hostile laying -bare of all the weaknesses of religious confessions, admit finally of -no other expedient except that every better and more talented person -should make irreligiousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> his private affair, a sentiment which now -obtains the upper hand even in the minds of the governing classes, -and, almost against their will, gives an anti-religious character to -their measures. As soon as this happens, the sentiment of persons -still religiously disposed, who formerly adored the State as something -half sacred or wholly sacred, changes into decided <i>hostility to the -State;</i> they lie in wait for governmental measures, seeking to hinder, -thwart, and disturb as much as they can, and, by the fury of their -contradiction, drive the opposing parties, the irreligious ones, into -an almost fanatical enthusiasm <i>for</i> the State; in connection with -which there is also the silently co-operating influence, that since -their separation from religion the hearts of persons in these circles -are conscious of a void, and seek by devotion to the State to provide -themselves provisionally with a substitute for religion, a kind of -stuffing for the void. After these perhaps lengthy transitional -struggles, it is finally decided whether the religious parties are -still strong enough to revive an old condition of things, and turn the -wheel backwards: in which case enlightened despotism (perhaps less -enlightened and more timorous than formerly), inevitably gets the -State into its hands,—or whether the non-religious parties achieve -their purpose, and, possibly through schools and education, check the -increase of their opponents during several generations, and finally -make them no longer possible. Then, however, their enthusiasm for the -State also abates: it always becomes more obvious that along with -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> religious adoration which regards the State as a mystery and a -supernatural institution, the reverent and pious relation to it has -also been convulsed. Henceforth individuals see only that side of the -State which may be useful or injurious to them, and press forward by -all means to obtain an influence over it. But this rivalry soon becomes -too great; men and parties change too rapidly, and throw each other -down again too furiously from the mountain when they have only just -succeeded in getting aloft. All the measures which such a Government -carries out lack the guarantee of permanence; people then fight shy of -undertakings which would require the silent growth of future decades -or centuries to produce ripe fruit. Nobody henceforth feels any other -obligation to a law than to submit for the moment to the power which -introduced the law; people immediately set to work, however, to -undermine it by a new power, a newly-formed majority. Finally—it may -be confidently asserted—the distrust of all government, the insight -into the useless and harassing nature of these short-winded struggles, -must drive men to an entirely new resolution: to the abrogation of -the conception of the State and the abolition of the contrast of -"private and public." Private concerns gradually absorb the business -of the State; even the toughest residue which is left over from the -old work of governing (the business, for instance, which is meant to -protect private persons from private persons) will at last some day -be managed by private enterprise. The neglect, decline, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> <i>death -of the State,</i> the liberation of the private person (I am careful -not to say the individual), are the consequences of the democratic -conception of the State; that is its mission. When it has accomplished -its task,—which, like everything human, involves much rationality -and irrationality,—and when all relapses into the old malady have -been overcome, then a new leaf in the story-book of humanity will be -unrolled, on which readers will find all kinds of strange tales and -perhaps also some amount of good. To repeat shortly what has been -said: the interests of the tutelary Government and the interests of -religion go hand-in-hand, so that when the latter begins to decay -the foundations of the State are also shaken. The belief in a divine -regulation of political affairs, in a mystery in the existence of -the State, is of religious origin: if religion disappears, the State -will inevitably lose its old veil of Isis, and will no longer arouse -veneration. The sovereignty of the people, looked at closely, serves -also to dispel the final fascination and superstition in the realm -of these sentiments; modern democracy is the historical form of the -<i>decay of the State.</i> The outlook which results from this certain -decay is not, however, unfortunate in every respect; the wisdom and -the selfishness of men are the best developed of all their qualities; -when the State no longer meets the demands of these impulses, chaos -will least of all result, but a still more appropriate expedient than -the State will get the mastery over the State. How man organising forces -have already been seen to die<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>< out! For example, that of the <i>gens</i> -or clan which for millennia was far mightier than the power of the -family, and indeed already ruled and regulated long before the latter -existed. We ourselves see the important notions of the right and might -of the family, which once possessed the supremacy as far as the Roman -system extended, always becoming paler and feebler. In the same way a -later generation will also see the State become meaningless in certain -parts of the world,—an idea which many contemporaries can hardly -contemplate without alarm and horror. To <i>labour</i> for the propagation -and realisation of this idea is, certainly, another thing; one must -think very presumptuously of one's reason, and only half understand -history, to set one's hand to the plough at present—when as yet no -one can show us the seeds that are afterwards to be sown upon the -broken soil. Let us, therefore, trust to the "wisdom and selfishness -of men" that the State may <i>yet</i> exist a good while longer, and that -the destructive attempts of over-zealous, too hasty sciolists may be in -vain!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">473.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Socialism, With Regard to Its Means.</span>—Socialism is the fantastic -younger brother of almost decrepit despotism, which it wants to -succeed; its efforts are, therefore, in the deepest sense reactionary. -For it desires such an amount of State power as only despotism has -possessed,—indeed, it outdoes all the past, in that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> aims at the -complete annihilation of the individual, whom it deems an unauthorised -luxury of nature, which is to be improved by it into an appropriate -<i>organ of the general community.</i> Owing to its relationship, it always -appears in proximity to excessive developments of power, like the -old typical socialist, Plato, at the court of the Sicilian tyrant; -it desires (and under certain circumstances furthers) the Cæsarian -despotism of this century, because, as has been said, it would like to -become its heir. But even this inheritance would not suffice for its -objects, it requires the most submissive prostration of all citizens -before the absolute State, such as has never yet been realised; and -as it can no longer even count upon the old religious piety towards -the State, but must rather strive involuntarily and continuously for -the abolition thereof,—because it strives for the abolition of all -existing <i>States,</i>—it can only hope for existence occasionally, here -and there for short periods, by means of the extremest terrorism. It is -therefore silently preparing itself for reigns of terror, and drives -the word "justice" like a nail into the heads of the half-cultured -masses in order to deprive them completely of their understanding -(after they had already suffered seriously from the half-culture), and -to provide them with a good conscience for the bad game they are to -play. Socialism may serve to teach, very brutally and impressively, the -danger of all accumulations of State power, and may serve so far to -inspire distrust of the State itself. When its rough voice strikes up -the way-cry "<i>as much State as possible</i>,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> the shout at first becomes -louder than ever,—but soon the opposition cry also breaks forth, with -so much greater force: "<i>as little State as possible.</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">474.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Development of the Mind Feared by the State.</span>—The Greek <i>polis</i> -was, like every organising political power, exclusive and distrustful -of the growth of culture; its powerful fundamental impulse seemed -almost solely to have a paralysing and obstructive effect thereon. -It did not want to let any history or any becoming have a place in -culture; the education laid down in the State laws was meant to -be obligatory on all generations to keep them at <i>one</i> stage of -development. Plato also, later on, did not desire it to be otherwise -in his ideal State. <i>In spite of</i> the polis culture developed itself -in this manner; indirectly to be sure, and against its will, the polis -furnished assistance because the ambition of individuals therein was -stimulated to the utmost, so that, having once found the path of -intellectual development, they followed it to its farthest extremity. -On the other hand, appeal should not be made to the panegyric of -Pericles, for it is only a great optimistic dream about the alleged -necessary connection between the Polis and Athenian culture; -immediately before the night fell over Athens the plague and the -breakdown of tradition, Thucydides makes this culture flash up once -more like of the evil day that had preceded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">475.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">European Man and the Destruction of Nationalities.</span>—Commerce and -industry, interchange of books and letters, the universality of -all higher culture, the rapid changing of locality and landscape, -and the present nomadic life of all who are not landowners,—these -circumstances necessarily bring with them a weakening, and finally -a destruction of nationalities, at least of European nationalities; -so that, in consequence of perpetual crossings, there must arise -out of them all a mixed race, that of the European man. At present -the isolation of nations, through the rise of <i>national</i> enmities, -consciously or unconsciously counteracts this tendency; but -nevertheless the process of fusing advances slowly, in spite of those -occasional counter-currents. This artificial nationalism is, however, -as dangerous as was artificial Catholicism, for it is essentially -an un natural condition of extremity and martial la which has been -proclaimed by the few over the many, and requires artifice, lying, -and force maintain its reputation. It is not the interests the many -(of the peoples), as they probably say, but it is first of all the -interests of certain princely dynasties, and then of certain commercial -and social classes, which impel to this nationalism; once we have -recognised this fact, we should just fearlessly style ourselves <i>good -Europeans</i> and labour actively for the amalgamation of nations; in -which efforts Germans may assist by virtue of their hereditary position -as <i>interpreters and intermediaries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> between nations.</i> By the way, the -great problem of the <i>Jews</i> only exists within the national States, -inasmuch as their energy and higher intelligence, their intellectual -and volitional capital, accumulated from generation to generation in -tedious schools of suffering, must necessarily attain to universal -supremacy here to an extent provocative of envy and hatred; so that -the literary misconduct is becoming prevalent in almost all modern -nations —and all the more so as they again set up to be national—of -sacrificing the Jews as the scape-goats of all possible public -and private abuses. So soon as it is no longer a question of the -preservation or establishment of nations, but of the production and -training of a European mixed-race of the greatest possible strength, -the Jew is just as useful and desirable an ingredient as any other -national remnant. Every nation, every individual, has unpleasant and -even dangerous qualities,—it is cruel to require that the Jew should -be an exception. Those qualities may even be dangerous and frightful -in a special degree in his case; and perhaps the young Stock-Exchange -Jew is in general the most repulsive invention of the human species. -Nevertheless, in a general summing up, I should like to know how much -must be excused in a nation which, not without blame on the part of -all of us, has had the most mournful history of all nations, and to -which we owe the most loving of men (Christ), the most upright of sages -(Spinoza), the mightiest book, and the most effective moral law in the -world? Moreover, in the darkest times of the Middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> Ages, when Asiatic -clouds had gathered darkly over Europe, it was Jewish free-thinkers, -scholars, and physicians who upheld the banner of enlightenment and of -intellectual independence under the severest personal sufferings, and -defended Europe against Asia; we owe it not least to their efforts that -a more natural, more reasonable, at all events un-mythical, explanation -of the world was finally able to get the upper hand once more, and -that the link of culture which now unites us with the enlightenment -of Greco-Roman antiquity has remained unbroken. If Christianity has -done everything to orientalise the Occident, Judaism has assisted -essentially in occidentalising it anew; which, in a certain sense, is -equivalent to making Europe's mission and history a <i>continuation of -that of Greece</i>.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">476.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Apparent Superiority of the Middle Ages.</span>—The Middle Ages present in -the Church an institution with an absolutely universal aim, involving -the whole of humanity,—an aim, moreover, which—presumedly—concerned -man's highest interests; in comparison therewith the aims of the States -and nations which modern history exhibits make a painful impression; -they seem petty, base, material, and restricted in extent. But this -different impression on our imagination should certainly not determine -our judgment; for that universal institution corresponded to feigned -and fictitiously fostered needs, such as the need of salvation, which, -wherever they did not already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> exist, it had first of all to create: -the, new institutions, however, relieve actual distresses; and the -time is coming when institutions will arise to minister to the common, -genuine needs of all men, and to cast that fantastic prototype, the -Catholic Church, into shade and oblivion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">477.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">War Indispensable.</span>—It is nothing but fanaticism and beautiful soulism -to expect very much (or even, much only) from humanity when it has -forgotten how to wage war. For the present we know of no other means -whereby the rough energy of the camp, the deep impersonal hatred, the -cold-bloodedness of murder with a good conscience, the general ardour -of the system in the destruction of the enemy, the proud indifference -to great losses, to one's own existence and that of one's friends, the -hollow, earthquake-like convulsion of the soul, can be as forcibly -and certainly communicated to enervated nations as is done by every -great war: owing to the brooks and streams that here break forth, -which, certainly, sweep stones and rubbish of all sorts along with -them and destroy the meadows of delicate cultures, the mechanism in -the workshops of the mind is afterwards, in favourable circumstances, -rotated by new power. Culture can by no means dispense with passions, -vices, and malignities. When the Romans, after having become Imperial, -had grown rather tired of war, they attempted to gain new strength -by beast-baitings, gladiatoral combats,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> and Christian persecutions. -The English of to-day, who appear on the whole to have also renounced -war, adopt other means in order to generate anew those vanishing -forces; namely, the dangerous exploring expeditions, sea voyages and -mountaineerings, nominally undertaken for scientific purposes, but in -reality to bring home surplus strength from adventures and dangers of -all kinds. Many other such substitutes for war will be discovered, but -perhaps precisely thereby it will become more and more obvious that -such a highly cultivated and therefore necessarily enfeebled humanity -as that of modern Europe not only needs wars, but the greatest and most -terrible wars,—consequently occasional relapses into barbarism,—lest, -by the means of culture, it should lose its culture and its very -existence.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">478.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Industry in the South and the North.</span>—Industry arises in two entirely -different ways. The artisans of the South are not industrious because -of acquisitiveness but because of the constant needs of others. The -smith is industrious because some one is always coming who wants a -horse shod or a carriage mended. If nobody came he would loiter about -in the market-place. In a fruitful land he has little trouble in -supporting himself, for that purpose he requires only a very small -amount of work, certainly no industry; eventually he would beg and -be contented. The industry of English<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> workmen, on the contrary, has -acquisitiveness behind it; it is conscious of itself and its aims; with -property it wants power, and with power the greatest possible liberty -and individual distinction.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">479.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wealth As the Origin of a Nobility of Race</span>.—Wealth necessarily -creates an aristocracy of race, for it permits the choice of the most -beautiful women and the engagement of the best teachers; it allows a -man cleanliness, time for physical exercises, and, above all, immunity -from dulling physical labour. So far it provides all the conditions -for making man, after a few generations, move and even act nobly and -handsomely: greater freedom of character and absence of niggardliness, -of wretchedly petty matters, and of abasement before bread-givers. It -is precisely these negative qualities which are the most profitable -birthday gift, that of happiness, for the young man; a person who is -quite poor usually comes to grief through nobility of disposition, -he does not get on, and acquires nothing, his race is not capable -of living. In this connection, however, it must be remembered that -wealth produces almost the same effects whether one have three hundred -or thirty thousand thalers a year; there is no further essential -progression of the favourable conditions afterwards. But to have less, -to beg in boyhood and to abase one's self is terrible, although it may -be the proper starting-point for such as seek their happiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> in the -splendour of courts, in subordination to the mighty, and influential, -or for such as wish to be heads of the Church. (It teaches how to slink -crouching into the underground passages to favour.)</p> - - -<p class="parnum">480.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Envy and Inertia in Different Courses.</span>—The two opposing parties, -the socialist and the national,—or whatever they may be called in -the different countries of Europe,—are worthy of each other; envy -and laziness are the motive powers in each of them. In the one camp -they desire to work as little as possible with their hands, in the -other as little as possible with their heads; in the latter they hate -and envy prominent, self-evolving individuals, who do not willingly -allow themselves to be drawn up in rank and file for the purpose of -a collective effect; in the former they hate and envy the better -social caste, which is more favourably circumstanced outwardly, whose -peculiar mission, the production of the highest blessings of culture, -makes life inwardly all the harder and more painful. Certainly, if it -be possible to make the spirit of the collective effect the spirit of -the higher classes of society, the socialist crowds are quite right, -when they also seek outward equalisation between themselves and these -classes, since they are certainly internally equalised with one another -already in head and heart. Live as higher men, and always do the deeds -of higher culture,—thus everything that lives will acknowledge your -right, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> order of society, whose summit ye are, will be safe -from every evil glance and attack!</p> - - -<p class="parnum">481.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">High Politics and Their Detriments.</span>—Just as a nation does not suffer -the greatest losses that war and readiness for war involve through -the expenses of the war, or the stoppage of trade and traffic, or -through the maintenance of a standing army,—however great these -losses may now be, when eight European States expend yearly the sum -of five milliards of marks thereon,—but owing to the fact that -year after year its ablest, strongest, and most industrious men are -withdrawn in extraordinary numbers from their proper occupations and -callings to be turned into soldiers: in the same way, a nation that -sets about practising high politics and securing a decisive voice -among the great Powers does not suffer its greatest losses where -they are usually supposed to be. In fact, from this time onward it -constantly sacrifices a number of its most conspicuous talents upon -the "Altar of the Fatherland" or of national ambition, whilst formerly -other spheres of activity were open to those talents which are now -swallowed up by politics. But apart from these public hecatombs, and -in reality much more horrible, there is a drama which is constantly -being performed simultaneously in a hundred thousand acts; every able, -industrious, intellectually striving man of a nation that thus covets -political laurels, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> swayed by this covetousness, and no longer -belongs entirely to himself alone as he did formerly; the new daily -questions and cares of the public welfare devour a daily tribute of -the intellectual and emotional capital of every citizen; the sum of -all these sacrifices and losses of, individual energy and labour is -so enormous, that the political growth of a nation almost necessarily -entails an intellectual impoverishment and lassitude, a diminished -capacity for the performance of works that require great concentration -and specialisation. The question may finally be asked: "Does it then -<i>pay,</i> all this bloom and magnificence of the total (which indeed only -manifests itself as the fear of the new Colossus in other nations, and -as the compulsory favouring by them of national trade and commerce) -when all the nobler, finer, and more intellectual plants and products, -in which its soil was hitherto so rich, must be sacrificed to this -coarse and opalescent flower of the nation?"<a name="FNanchor_2_18" id="FNanchor_2_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_18" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - - -<p class="parnum">482.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Repeated Once More.</span>—Public opinion—private laziness.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_17" id="Footnote_1_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_17"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This aphorism may have been suggested by Nietzsche's -observing the behaviour of his great contemporary, Bismarck, towards -the dynasty.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_18" id="Footnote_2_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_18"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> This is once more an allusion to modern Germany.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="NINTH_DIVISION" id="NINTH_DIVISION">NINTH DIVISION.</a></h4> - -<h5>MAN ALONE BY HIMSELF.</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">483.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Enemies of Truth.</span>—Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth -than lies.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">484.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Topsy-turvy World.</span>—We criticise a thinker more severely when he puts -an unpleasant statement before us; and yet it would be more reasonable -to do so when we find his statement pleasant.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">485.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Decided Character.</span>—A man far oftener appears to have a decided -character from persistently following his temperament than from -persistently following his principles.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">486.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The One Thing Needful.</span>—One thing a man must have: either a naturally -light disposition or a disposition <i>lightened</i> by art and knowledge.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">487.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Passion For Things</span>.—Whoever sets his passion on things (sciences, -arts, the common weal, the interests of culture) withdraws much fervour -from his passion for persons (even when they are the representatives -of those things; as statesmen, philosophers, and artists are the -representatives of their creations).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">488.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Calmness in Action.</span>—As a cascade in its descent becomes more -deliberate and suspended, so the great man of action usually acts with -<i>more</i> calmness than his strong passions previous to action would lead -one to expect.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">489.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Not Too Deep.</span>—Persons who grasp a matter in all its depth seldom -remain permanently true to it. They have just brought the depth up into -the light, and there is always much evil to be seen there.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">490.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Illusion of Idealists.</span>—All idealists imagine that the cause which -they serve is essentially better than all other causes, and will not -believe that if their cause is really to flourish it requires precisely -the same evil-smelling manure which all other human undertakings have -need of.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">491.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-observation.</span>—Man is exceedingly well protected from himself and -guarded against his self-exploring and self-besieging; as a rule he can -perceive nothing of himself but his outworks. The actual fortress is -inaccessible, and even invisible, to him, unless friends and enemies -become traitors and lead him inside by secret paths.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">492.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Right Calling.</span>—Men can seldom hold on to a calling unless they -believe or persuade themselves that it is really more important than -any other. Women are the same with their lovers.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">493.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nobility of Disposition</span>.—Nobility of disposition consists largely in -good-nature and absence of distrust, and therefore contains precisely -that upon which money-grabbing and successful men take a pleasure in -walking with superiority and scorn.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">494.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Goal and Path.</span>—Many are obstinate with regard to the once-chosen path, -few with regard to the goal.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">495.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Offensiveness in an Individual Way of Life.</span>—All specially -individual lines of conduct excite irritation against him who adopts -them; people feel themselves reduced to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> level of commonplace -creatures by the extraordinary treatment he bestows on himself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">496.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Privilege of Greatness.</span>—It is the privilege of greatness to confer -intense happiness with insignificant gifts.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">497.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unintentionally Noble.</span>—A person behaves with unintentional nobleness -when he has accustomed himself to seek naught from others and always to -give to them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">498.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Condition of Heroism.</span>—When a person wishes to become a hero, the -serpent must previously have become a dragon, otherwise he lacks his -proper enemy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">499.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Friends</span>.—Fellowship in joy, and, not sympathy in sorrow, makes people -friends.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">500.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Making Use of Ebb and Flow</span>.—For the purpose of knowledge we must know -how to make use of the inward current which draws us towards a thing, -and also of the current which after a time draws us away from it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">501.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Joy in Itself</span>.—"Joy in the Thing" people say; but in reality it is joy -in itself by means of the thing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">502.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Unassuming Man</span>.—He who is unassuming towards persons manifests his -presumption all the more with regard to things (town, State, society, -time, humanity). That is his revenge.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">503.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Envy and Jealousy.</span>—Envy and jealousy are the pudenda of the human -soul. The comparison may perhaps be carried further.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">504.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Noblest Hypocrite.</span>—It is a very noble hypocrisy not to talk of -one's self at all.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">505.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vexation</span>.—Vexation is a physical disease, which is not by any means -cured when its cause is subsequently removed.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">506.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Champions of Truth</span>.—Truth does not find fewest champions when it -is dangerous to speak it, but when it is dull.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">507.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">More Troublesome Even Than Enemies</span>.—Persons of whose sympathetic -attitude we are not, in all circumstances, convinced, while for -some reason or other (gratitude, for instance) we are obliged to -maintain the appearance of unqualified sympathy with them, trouble our -imagination far more than our enemies do.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">508.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Free Nature</span>.—We are so fond of being out among Nature, because it has -no opinions about us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">509.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Each Superior in One Thing</span>.—In civilised intercourse every one feels -himself superior to all others in at least one thing; kindly feelings -generally are based thereon, inasmuch as every one can, in certain -circumstances, render help, and is therefore entitled to accept help -without shame.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">510.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Consolatory Arguments</span>.—In the case of a death we mostly use -consolatory arguments not so much to alleviate the grief as to make -excuses for feeling so easily consoled.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">511.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Persons Loyal to Their Convictions.</span>—Whoever is very busy retains his -general views and opinions almost unchanged. So also does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> every one -who labours in the service of an idea; he will nevermore examine the -idea itself, he no longer has any time to do so; indeed, it is against -his interests to consider it as still admitting of discussion.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">512.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Morality and Quantity</span>.—The higher morality of one man as compared -with that of another, often lies merely in the fact that his aims are -quantitively greater. The other, living in a circumscribed sphere, is -dragged down by petty occupations.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">513.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">"The Life" As the Proceeds of Life</span>.—A man may stretch himself out ever -so far with his knowledge; he may seem to himself ever so objective, -but eventually he realises nothing therefrom but his own biography.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">514.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap"><span class="smcap">Iron Necessity</span></span>.—Iron necessity is a thing which has been found, in the -course of history, to be neither iron nor necessary.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">515.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">From Experience</span>.—The unreasonableness of a thing is no argument -against its existence, but rather a condition thereof.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">516.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Truth</span>.—Nobody dies nowadays of fatal truths, there are too many -antidotes to them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">517.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Fundamental Insight</span>.—There is no pre-established harmony between the -promotion of truth and the welfare of mankind.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">518.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Man's Lot</span>.—He who thinks most deeply knows that he is always in the -wrong, however he may act and decide.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">519.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Truth As Circe</span>.—Error has made animals into men; is truth perhaps -capable of making man into an animal again?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">520.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger of Our Culture</span>.—We belong to a period of which the culture -is in danger of being destroyed by the appliances of culture.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">521.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Greatness Means Leading the Way</span>.—No stream is large and copious of -itself, but becomes great by receiving and leading on so many tributary -streams. It is so, also, with all intellectual greatnesses. It is only -a question of some one indicating the direction to be followed by so -many affluents; not whether he was richly or poorly gifted originally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">522.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Feeble Conscience</span>.—People who talk about their importance to mankind -have a feeble conscience for common bourgeois rectitude, keeping of -contracts, promises, etc.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">523.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Desiring to Be Loved</span>.—The demand to be loved is the greatest of -presumptions.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">524.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contempt For Men</span>.—The most unequivocal sign of contempt for man is -to regard everybody merely as a means to <i>one's own</i> ends, or of no -account whatever.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">525.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Partisans Through Contradiction</span>.—Whoever has driven men to fury -against himself has also gained a party in his favour.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">526.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Forgetting Experiences</span>.—Whoever thinks much and to good purpose -easily forgets his own experiences, but not the thoughts which these -experiences have called forth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">527.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sticking to an Opinion</span>.—One person sticks to an opinion because he -takes pride in having acquired it himself,—another sticks to it -because he has learnt it with difficulty and is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> proud of having -understood it; both of them, therefore, out of vanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">528.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Avoiding the Light</span>.—Good deeds avoid the light just as anxiously as -evil deeds; the latter fear that pain will result from publicity (as -punishment), the former fear that pleasure will vanish with publicity -(the pure pleasure <i>per se,</i> which ceases as soon as satisfaction of -vanity is added to it).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">529.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Length of the Day</span>.—When one has much to put into them, a day has a -hundred pockets.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">530.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Genius of Tyranny</span>.—When an invincible desire to obtain tyrannical -power has been awakened in the soul, and constantly keeps up its -fervour, even a very mediocre talent (in politicians, artists, etc.) -gradually becomes an almost irresistible natural force.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">531.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Enemy's Life.</span>—He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an -interest in the preservation of the enemy's life.<a name="FNanchor_1_19" id="FNanchor_1_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_19" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">532.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">More Important</span>.—Unexplained, obscure matters are regarded as more -important than explained, clear ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">533.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Valuation of Services Rendered.</span>—We estimate services rendered to -us according to the value set on them by those who render them, not -according to the value they have for us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">534.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unhappiness</span>.—The distinction associated with unhappiness (as if it -were a sign of stupidity, unambitiousness, or commonplaceness to feel -happy) is so great that when any one says to us, "How happy you are!" -we usually protest.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">535.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Imagination in Anguish</span>.—When one is afraid of anything, one's -imagination plays the part of that evil spirit which springs on one's -back just when one has the heaviest load to bear.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">536.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of Insipid Opponents</span>.—We sometimes remain faithful to a -cause merely because its opponents never cease to be insipid.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">537.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Value of a Profession</span>.—A profession makes us thoughtless; that -is its greatest blessing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> For it is a bulwark behind which we are -permitted to withdraw when commonplace doubts and cares assail us.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">538.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Talent</span>.—Many a man's talent appears less than it is, because he has -always set himself too heavy tasks.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">539.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Youth</span>.—Youth is an unpleasant period; for then it is not possible or -not prudent to be productive in any sense whatsoever.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">540.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Too Great Aims</span>.—Whoever aims publicly at great things and at length -perceives secretly that he is too weak to achieve them, has usually -also insufficient strength to renounce his aims publicly, and then -inevitably becomes a hypocrite.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">541.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Current.</span>—Mighty waters sweep many stones and shrubs away with -them; mighty spirits many foolish and confused minds.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">542.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dangers of Intellectual Emancipation</span>.—In a seriously intended -intellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also -hope to find their advantage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">543.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Incarnation of the Mind</span>.—When any one thinks much and to good -purpose, not only his face but also his body acquires a sage look.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">544.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Seeing Badly and Hearing Badly.</span>—The man who sees little always sees -less than there is to see; the man who hears badly always hears -something more than there is to hear.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">545.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-enjoyment in Vanity</span>.—The vain man does not wish so much to be -prominent as to feel himself prominent; he therefore disdains none of -the expedients for self-deception and self-out-witting. It is not the -opinion of others that he sets his heart on, but his opinion of their -opinion</p> - - -<p class="parnum">546.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Exceptionally Vain</span>.—He who is usually self-sufficient becomes -exceptionally vain, and keenly alive to fame and praise when he is -physically ill. The more he loses himself the more he has to endeavour -to regain his position by means of the opinion of others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">547.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The "Witty."</span>—Those who seek wit do not possess it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">548.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Hint to the Heads of Parties</span>.—When one can make people publicly -support a cause they have also generally been brought to the point of -inwardly declaring themselves in its favour, because they wish to be -regarded as consistent.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">549.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contempt</span>.—Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to -self-contempt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">550.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tie of Gratitude</span>.—There are servile souls who carry so far their -sense of obligation for benefits received that they strangle themselves -with the tie of gratitude.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">551.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Prophet's Knack</span>.—In predicting beforehand the procedure of -ordinary individuals, it must be taken for granted that they always -make use of the smallest intellectual expenditure in freeing themselves -from disagreeable situations.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">552.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Man's Sole Right</span>.—He who swerves from the traditional is a victim of -the unusual; he who keeps to the traditional is its slave. The man is -ruined in either case.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">553.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Below the Beast.</span>—When a man roars with laughter he surpasses all the -animals by his vulgarity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">554.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Partial Knowledge</span>.—He who speaks a foreign language imperfectly has -more enjoyment therein than he who speaks it well. The enjoyment is -with the partially initiated.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">555.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dangerous Helpfulness</span>.—There are people who wish to make human life -harder for no other reason than to be able afterwards to offer men -their life-alleviating recipes—their Christianity, for example.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">556.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Industriousness and Conscientiousness</span>.—Industriousness and -conscientiousness are often antagonists, owing to the fact that -industriousness wants to pluck the fruit sour from the tree while -conscientiousness wants to let it hang too long, until it falls and is -bruised.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">557.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Casting Suspicion.</span>—We endeavour to cast suspicion on persons whom we -cannot endure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">558.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Conditions Are Lacking</span>.—Many people wait all their lives for the -opportunity to be good in <i>their own way.</i></p> - - -<p class="parnum">559.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lack of Friends.</span>—Lack of friends leads to the inference that a person -is envious or presumptuous. Many a man owes his friends merely to the -fortunate circumstance that he has no occasion for envy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">560.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Danger in Manifoldness.</span>—With one talent more we often stand less -firmly than with one less; just as a table stands better on three feet -than on four.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">561.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Exemplar For Others.</span>—Whoever wants to set a good example must add a -grain of folly to his virtue; people then imitate their exemplar and at -the same time raise themselves above him, a thing they love to do.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">562.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Being a Target.</span>—The bad things others say about us are often not -really aimed at us, but are the manifestations of spite or ill-humour -occasioned by quite different causes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">563.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Easily Resigned.</span>—We suffer but little on account of ungratified wishes -if we have exercised our imagination in distorting the past.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">564.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In Danger</span>.—One is in greatest danger of being run over when one has -just got out of the way of a carriage.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">565.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Role According to the Voice.</span>—Whoever is obliged to speak louder -than he naturally does (say, to a partially deaf person or before a -large audience), usually exaggerates what he has to communicate. Many -a one becomes a conspirator, malevolent gossip, or intriguer, merely -because his voice is best suited for whispering.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">566.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love and Hatred.</span>—Love and hatred are not blind, but are dazzled by the -fire which they carry about with them.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">567.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Advantageously Persecuted.</span>—People who cannot make their merits -perfectly obvious to the world endeavour to awaken a strong hostility -against themselves. They have then the consolation of thinking that -this hostility stands between their merits and the acknowledgment -thereof—-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> and that many others think the same thing, which is very -advantageous for their recognition.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">568.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Confession</span>.—We forget our fault when we have confessed it to another -person, but he does not generally forget it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">569.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-sufficiency</span>.—The Golden Fleece of self-sufficiency is a -protection against blows, but not against needle-pricks.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">570.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Shadows in the Flame.</span>—The flame is not so bright to itself as to those -whom it illuminates,—so also the wise man.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">571.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Our Own Opinions.</span>—The first opinion that occurs to us when we are -suddenly asked about anything is not usually our own, but only the -current opinion belonging to our caste, position, or family; our own -opinions seldom float on the surface.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">572.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Origin of Courage.</span>—The ordinary man is as courageous and -invulnerable as a hero when he does not see the danger, when he has no -eyes for it. Reversely, the hero has his one vulnerable spot upon the -back, where he has no eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">573.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger in the Physician.</span>—One must be born for one's physician, -otherwise one comes to grief through him.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">574.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marvellous Vanity.</span>—Whoever has courageously prophesied the weather -three times and has been successful in his hits, acquires a certain -amount of inward confidence in his prophetic gift. We give credence to -the marvellous and irrational when it flatters our self-esteem.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">575.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Profession.</span>—A profession is the backbone of life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">576.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger of Personal Influence.</span>—Whoever feels that he exercises a -great inward influence over another person must give him a perfectly -free rein, must, in fact, welcome and even induce occasional -opposition, otherwise he will inevitably make an enemy.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">577.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Recognition of the Heir.</span>—Whoever has founded something great in an -unselfish spirit is careful to rear heirs for his work. It is the sign -of a tyrannical and ignoble nature to see opponents in all possible -heirs, and to live in a state of self-defence against them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">578.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Partial Knowledge.</span>—Partial knowledge is more triumphant than complete -knowledge; it takes things to be simpler than they are, and so makes -its theory more popular and convincing.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">579.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Unsuitable For a Party-man</span>.—Whoever thinks much is unsuitable for a -party-man; his thinking leads him too quickly beyond the party.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">580.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Bad Memory.</span>—The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several -times the same good things for the <i>first</i> time.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">581.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-affliction</span>.—Want of consideration is often the sign of a -discordant inner nature, which craves for stupefaction.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">582.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martyrs</span>.—The disciples of a martyr suffer more than the martyr.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">583.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arrears of Vanity</span>.—The vanity of many people who have no occasion to -be vain is the inveterate habit, still surviving from the time when -people had no right to the belief in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> themselves and only begged it in -small sums from others.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">584.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap"><i>Punctum Saliens</i> of Passion</span>.—A person falling into a rage or into a -violent passion of love reaches a point when the soul is full like a -hogshead, but nevertheless a drop of water has still to be added, the -good will for the passion (which is also generally called the evil -will). This item only is necessary, and then the hogshead overflows.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">585.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Gloomy Thought</span>.—It is with men as with the charcoal fires in the -forest. It is only when young men have cooled down and have got -charred, like these piles, that they become <i>useful.</i> As long as they -fume and smoke they are perhaps more interesting, but they are useless -and too often uncomfortable. Humanity ruthlessly uses every individual -as material for the heating of its great machines; but what then is the -purpose of the machines, when all individuals (that is, the human race) -are useful only to maintain them? Machines that are ends in themselves: -is that the <i>umana commedia</i>?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">586.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Hour-hand of Life</span>.—Life consists of rare single moments of the -greatest importance, and of countless intervals during which, at best, -the phantoms of those moments hover around us. Love, the Spring, every -fine melody, the mountains,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> the moon, the sea—all speak but once -fully to the heart, if, indeed, they ever do quite attain to speech. -For many people have not those moments at all, and are themselves -intervals and pauses in the symphony of actual life.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">587.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Attack Or Compromise</span>.—We often make the mistake of showing violent -enmity towards a tendency, party, or period, because we happen only -to get a sight of its most exposed side, its stuntedness, or the -inevitable "faults of its virtues,"—perhaps because we ourselves have -taken a prominent part in them. We then turn our backs on them and -seek a diametrically opposite course; but the better way would be to -seek out their strong good sides, or to develop them in ourselves. To -be sure, a keener glance and a better will are needed to improve the -becoming and the imperfect than are required to see through it in its -imperfection and to deny it.</p> - -<p class="parnum">588.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Modesty</span>.—There is true modesty (that is the knowledge that we are -not the works we create); and it is especially becoming in a great -mind, because such a mind can well grasp the thought of absolute -irresponsibility (even for the good it creates). People do not hate -a great man's presumptuousness in so far as he feels his strength, -but because he wishes to prove it by injuring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> others, by dominating -them, and seeing how long they will stand it. This, as a rule, is even -a proof of the absence of a secure sense of power, and makes people -doubt his greatness. We must therefore beware of presumption from the -stand-point of wisdom.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">589.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Day's First Thought</span>.—The best way to begin a day well is to think, -on awakening, whether we cannot give pleasure during the day to at -least one person. If this could become a substitute for the religious -habit of prayer our fellow-men would benefit by the change.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">590.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Presumption As the Last Consolation</span>.—When we so interpret a -misfortune, an intellectual defect, or a disease that we see therein -our predestined fate, our trial, or the mysterious punishment of our -former misdeeds, we thereby make our nature interesting and exalt -ourselves in imagination above our fellows. The proud sinner is a -well-known figure in all religious sects.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">591.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Vegetation of Happiness</span>.—Close beside the world's woe, and -often upon its volcanic soil, man has laid out his little garden of -happiness. Whether one regard life with the eyes of him who only seeks -knowledge therefrom, or of him who submits and is resigned, or of him -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> rejoices over surmounted difficulties—everywhere one will find -some happiness springing up beside the evil—and in fact always the -more happiness the more volcanic the soil has been,—only it would be -absurd to say that suffering itself is justified by this happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">592.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Path of Our Ancestors</span>.—It is sensible when a person develops still -further in himself the <i>talent</i> upon which his father or grandfather -spent much trouble, and does not shift to something entirely new; -otherwise he deprives himself of the possibility of attaining -perfection in any one craft. That is why the proverb says, "Which road -shouldst thou ride?—That of thine ancestors."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">593.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanity and Ambition As Educators</span>.—As long as a person has not become -an instrument of general utility, ambition may torment him; if, -however, that point has been reached, if he necessarily works like a -machine for the good of all, then vanity may result; it will humanise -him in small matters and make him more sociable, endurable, and -considerate, when ambition has completed the coarser work of making him -useful.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">594.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Philosophical Novices.</span>—Immediately we have comprehended the wisdom of -a philosopher, we go through the streets with a feeling as if we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> had -been re-created and had become great men; for we encounter only those -who are ignorant of this wisdom, and have therefore to deliver new and -unknown verdicts concerning everything. Because we now recognise a -law-book we think we must also comport ourselves as judges.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">595.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pleasing by Displeasing</span>.—People who prefer to attract attention, and -thereby to displease, desire the same thing as those who neither wish -to please nor to attract attention, only they seek it more ardently and -indirectly by means of a step by which they apparently move away from -their goal. They desire influence and power, and therefore show their -superiority, even to such an extent that it becomes disagreeable; for -they know that he who has finally attained power, pleases in almost all -he says and does, and that even when he displeases he still seems to -please. The free spirit also, and in like manner the believer, desire -power, in order some day to please thereby; when, on account of their -doctrine, evil fate, persecution, dungeon, or execution threaten them, -they rejoice in the thought that their teaching will thus be engraved -and branded on the heart of mankind; though its effect is remote they -accept their fate as a painful but powerful means of still attaining to -power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">596.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap"><i>casus Belli</i> and the Like</span>.—The prince who, for his determination -to make war against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> his neighbour, invents a <i>casus belli,</i> is like -a father who foists on his child a mother who is henceforth to be -regarded as such. And are not almost all publicly avowed motives of -action just such spurious mothers?</p> - - -<p class="parnum">597.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Passion and Right</span>.—Nobody talks more passionately of his rights than -he who, in the depths of his soul, is doubtful about them. By getting -passion on his side he seeks to confound his understanding and its -doubts,—he thus obtains a good conscience, and along with it success -with his fellow-men.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">598.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Trick of the Resigning One</span>.—He who protests against marriage, -after the manner of Catholic priests, will conceive of it in its -lowest and vulgarest form. In the same way he who disavows the honour -of his contemporaries will have a mean opinion of it; he can thus -dispense with it and struggle against it more easily. Moreover, he -who denies himself much in great matters will readily indulge himself -in small things. It might be possible that he who is superior to the -approbation of his contemporaries would nevertheless not deny himself -the gratification of small vanities.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">599.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Years of Presumption</span>.—The proper period of presumption in gifted -people is between their twenty-sixth and thirtieth years; it is the -time of early ripeness, with a large residue of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> sourness. On the -ground of what we feel within ourselves we demand honour and humility -from men who see little or nothing of it, and because this tribute -is not immediately forthcoming we revenge ourselves by the look, the -gesture of arrogance, and the tone of voice, which a keen ear and -eye recognise in every product of those years, whether it be poetry, -philosophy, or pictures and music. Older men of experience smile -thereat, and think with emotion of those beautiful years in which one -resents the fate of <i>being</i> so much and <i>seeming</i> so little. Later on -one really <i>seems</i> more,—but one has lost the good belief in <i>being</i> -much,—unless one remain for life an incorrigible fool of vanity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">600.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Deceptive and Yet Defensible.</span>—Just as in order to pass by an abyss or -to cross a deep stream on a plank we require a railing, not to hold -fast by,—for it would instantly break down with us,—but to give -the notion of security to the eye, so in youth we require persons -who unconsciously render us the service of that railing. It is true -they would not help us if we really wished to lean upon them in great -danger, but they afford the tranquillising sensation of protection -close to one (for instance, fathers, teachers, friends, as all three -usually are).</p> - - -<p class="parnum">601.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Learning to Love</span>.—One must learn to love, one must learn to be kind, -and this from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> childhood onwards; when education and chance give us no -opportunity for the exercise of these feelings our soul becomes dried -up, and even incapable of understanding the fine devices of loving men. -In the same way hatred must be learnt and fostered, when one wants to -become a proficient hater,—otherwise the germ of it will gradually die -out.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">602.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ruin As Ornament</span>.—Persons who pass through numerous mental phases -retain certain sentiments and habits of their earlier states, which -then project like a piece of inexplicable antiquity and grey stonework -into their new thought and action, often to the embellishment of the -whole surroundings.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">603.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love and Honour</span>.—Love desires, fear avoids. That is why one cannot -be both loved and honoured by the same person, at least not at the -same time.<a name="FNanchor_2_20" id="FNanchor_2_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_20" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> For he who honours recognises power,—that is to say, he -fears it, he is in a state of reverential fear (<i>Ehr-furcht</i>) But love -recognises no power, nothing that divides, detaches, superordinates, -or subordinates. Because it does not honour them, ambitious people -secretly or openly resent being loved.</p> - -<p class="parnum"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">604.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Prejudice in Favour of Cold Natures.</span>—People who quickly take fire -grow cold quickly, and therefore are, on the whole, unreliable. For -those, therefore, who are always cold, or pretend to be so, there -is the favourable prejudice that they are particularly trustworthy, -reliable persons; they are confounded with those who take fire slowly -and retain it long.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">605.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Danger in Free Opinions</span>.—Frivolous occupation with free opinions -has a charm, like a kind of itching; if one yields to it further, -one begins to chafe the places; until at last an open, painful wound -results; that is to say, until the free opinion begins to disturb and -torment us in our position in life and in our human relations.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">606.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Desire For Sore Affliction</span>.—When passion is over it leaves behind an -obscure longing for it, and even in disappearing it casts a seductive -glance at us. It must have afforded a kind of pleasure to have -been beaten with this scourge. Compared with it, the more moderate -sensations appear insipid; we still prefer, apparently, the more -violent displeasure to languid delight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">607.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dissatisfaction With Others and With the World.</span>—When, as so frequently -happens, we vent our dissatisfaction on others when we are really -dissatisfied with ourselves, we are in fact attempting to mystify and -deceive our judgment; we desire to find a motive <i>a posteriori</i> for -this dissatisfaction, in the mistakes or deficiencies of others, and -so lose sight of ourselves. Strictly religious people, who have been -relentless judges of themselves, have at the same time spoken most ill -of humanity generally; there has never been a saint who reserved sin -for himself and virture for others, any more than a man who, according -to Buddha's rule, hides his good qualities from people and only shows -his bad ones.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">608.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Confusion of Cause and Effect</span>.—Unconsciously we seek the principles -and opinions which are suited to our temperament, so that at last it -seems as if these principles and opinions had formed our character -and given it support and stability, whereas exactly the contrary has -taken place. Our thoughts and judgments are, apparently, to be taken -subsequently as the causes of our nature, but as a matter of fact <i>our</i> -nature is the cause of our so thinking and judging. And what induces -us to play this almost unconscious comedy? Inertness and convenience, -and to a large extent also the vain desire to be regarded as thoroughly -consistent and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> homogeneous in nature and thought; for this wins -respect and gives confidence and power.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">609.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Age in Relation to Truth</span>.—Young people love what is interesting and -exceptional, indifferent whether it is truth or falsehood. Riper minds -love what is interesting and extraordinary when it is truth. Matured -minds, finally, love truth even in those in whom it appears plain and -simple and is found tiresome by ordinary people, because they have -observed that truth is in the habit of giving utterance to its highest -intellectual verities with all the appearance of simplicity.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">610.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Men As Bad Poets.</span>—Just as bad poets seek a thought to fit the rhyme -in the second half of the verse, so men in the second half of life, -having become more scrupulous, are in the habit of seeking pursuits, -positions, and conditions which suit those of their earlier life, so -that outwardly all sounds well, but their life is no longer ruled and -continuously determined anew by a powerful thought: in place thereof -there is merely the intention of finding a rhyme.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">611.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ennui and Play.</span>—Necessity compels us to work, with the product of -which the necessity is appeased; the ever new awakening of necessity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> -however, accustoms us to work. But in the intervals in which necessity -is appeased and asleep, as it were, we are attacked by ennui. What is -this? In a word it is the habituation to work, which now makes itself -felt as a new and additional necessity; it will be all the stronger the -more a person has been accustomed to work, perhaps, even, the more a -person has suffered from necessities. In order to escape ennui, a man -either works beyond the extent of his former necessities, or he invents -play, that is to say, work that is only intended to appease the general -necessity for work. He who has become satiated with play, and has no -new necessities impelling him to work, is sometimes attacked by the -longing for a third state, which is related to play as gliding is to -dancing, as dancing is to walking, a blessed, tranquil movement; it is -the artists' and philosophers' vision of happiness.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">612.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lessons from Pictures.</span>—If we look at a series of pictures of -ourselves, from the time of later childhood to the time of mature -manhood, we discover with pleased surprise that the man bears more -resemblance to the child than to the youth: that probably, therefore, -in accordance with this fact, there has been in the interval a -temporary alienation of the fundamental character, over which the -collected, concentrated force of the man has again become master. With -this observation this other is also in accordance, namely, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> all -strong influences of passions, teachers, and political events, which -in our youthful years draw us hither and thither, seem later on to be -referred back again to a fixed standard; of course they still continue -to exist and operate within us, but our fundamental sentiments and -opinions have now the upper hand, and use their influence perhaps as a -source of strength, but are no longer merely regulative, as was perhaps -the case in our twenties. Thus even the thoughts and sentiments of the -man appear more in accordance with those of his childish years,—and -this objective fact expresses itself in the above-mentioned subjective -fact.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">613.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Tone of Voice of Different Ages.</span>—The tone in which youths speak, -praise, blame, and versify, displeases an older person because it is -too loud, and yet at the same time dull and confused like a sound in -a vault, which acquires such a loud ring owing to the emptiness; for -most of the thought of youths does not gush forth out of the fulness -of their own nature, but is the accord and the echo of what has been -thought, said, praised or blamed around them. As their sentiments, -however (their inclinations and aversions), resound much more forcibly -than the reasons thereof, there is heard, whenever they divulge these -sentiments, the dull, clanging tone which is a sign of the absence -or scarcity of reasons. The tone of riper age is rigorous, abruptly -concise, moderately loud, but, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> everything distinctly articulated, -is heard very far off. Old age, finally, often brings a certain -mildness and consideration into the tone of the voice, and as it were, -sweetens it; in many cases, to be sure it also sours it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">614.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Atavist and the Forerunner.</span>—The man of unpleasant character, -full of distrust, envious of the success of fellow-competitors and -neighbours, violent and enraged at divergent opinions, shows that he -belongs to an earlier grade of culture, and is, therefore, an atavism; -for the way in which he behaves to people was right and suitable only -for an age of club-law; he is an <i>atavist.</i> The man of a different -character, rich in sympathy, winning friends everywhere, finding all -that is growing and becoming amiable, rejoicing at the honours and -successes of others and claiming no privilege of solely knowing the -truth, but full of a modest distrust,—he is a forerunner who presses -upward towards a higher human culture. The man of unpleasant character -dates from the times when the rude basis of human intercourse had -yet to be laid, the other lives on the upper floor of the edifice of -culture, removed as far as possible from the howling and raging wild -beast imprisoned in the cellars.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">615.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Consolation For Hypochondriacs.</span>—When a great thinker is temporarily -subjected to hypochondriacal self-torture he can say to himself, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> -way of consolation: "It is thine own great strength on which this -parasite feeds and grows; if thy strength were smaller thou wouldst -have less to suffer." The statesman may say just the same thing when -jealousy and vengeful feeling, or, in a word, the tone of the <i>bellum -omnium contra omnes,</i> for which, as the representative of a nation, he -must necessarily have a great capacity, occasionally intrudes into his -personal relations and makes his life hard.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">616.</p> - -<p>Estranged from the Present.—There are great advantages in estranging -one's self for once to a large extent from one's age, and being as -it were driven back from its shores into the ocean of past views of -things. Looking thence towards the coast one commands a view, perhaps -for the first time, of its aggregate formation, and when one again -approaches the land one has the advantage of understanding it better, -on the whole, than those who have never left it.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">617.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sowing and Reaping on the Field of Personal Defects.</span>—Men like Rousseau -understand how to use their weaknesses, defects, and vices as manure -for their talent. When Rousseau bewails the corruption and degeneration -of society as the evil results of culture, there is a personal -experience at the bottom of it, the bitterness which gives sharpness to -his general condemnation and poisons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> the arrows with which he shoots; -he unburdens himself first as an individual, and thinks of getting a -remedy which, while benefiting society directly, will also benefit -himself indirectly by means of society.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">618.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Philosophically Minded.</span>—We usually endeavour to acquire <i>one</i> -attitude of mind, <i>one</i> set of opinions for all situations and events -of life—it is mostly called being philosophically minded. But for -the acquisition of knowledge it may be of greater importance not to -make ourselves thus uniform, but to hearken to the low voice of the -different situations in life; these bring their own opinions with -them. We thus take an intelligent interest in the life and nature of -many persons by not treating ourselves as rigid, persistent single -individuals.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">619.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">In the Fire of Contempt.</span>—It is a fresh step towards independence when -one first dares to give utterance to opinions which it is considered as -disgraceful for a person to entertain; even friends and acquaintances -are then accustomed to grow anxious. The gifted nature must also pass -through this fire; it afterwards belongs far more to itself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">620.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Self-sacrifice.</span>—In the event of choice, a great sacrifice is preferred -to a small one, because we compensate ourselves for the great sacrifice -by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> self-admiration, which is not possible in the case of a small one.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">621.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Love As an Artifice.</span>—Whoever really wishes to <i>become acquainted -with</i> something new (whether it be a person, an event, or a book), -does well to take up the matter with all possible love, and to avert -his eye quickly from all that seems hostile, objectionable, and false -therein,—in fact to forget such things; so that, for instance, he -gives the author of a book the best start possible, and straightway, -just as in a race, longs with beating heart that he may reach the goal. -In this manner one penetrates to the heart of the new thing, to its -moving point, and this is called becoming acquainted with it. This -stage having been arrived at, the understanding afterwards makes its -restrictions; the over-estimation and the temporary suspension of the -critical pendulum were only artifices to lure forth the soul of the -matter.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">622.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thinking Too Well and Too Ill of the World.</span>—Whether we think too -well or too ill of things, we always have the advantage of deriving -therefrom a greater pleasure, for with a too good preconception we -usually put more sweetness into things (experiences) than they actually -contain. A too bad preconception causes a pleasant disappointment, the -pleasantness that lay in the things themselves is increased by the -pleasantness of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> surprise. A gloomy temperament, however, will have -the reverse experience in both cases.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">623.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Profound People.</span>—Those whose strength lies in the deepening of -impressions—they are usually called profound people—are relatively -self-possessed and decided in all sudden emergencies, for in the first -moment the impression is still shallow, it only then <i>becomes</i> deep. -Long foreseen, long expected events or persons, however, excite such -natures most, and make them almost incapable of eventually having -presence of mind on the arrival thereof.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">624.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Intercourse With the Higher Self.</span>—Every one has his good day, when -he finds his higher self; and true humanity demands that a person -shall be estimated according to this state and not according to his -work-days of constraint and bondage. A painter, for instance, should be -appraised and honoured according to the most exalted vision he could -see and represent. But men themselves commune very differently with -this their higher self, and are frequently their own playactors, in so -far as they repeatedly imitate what they are in those moments. Some -stand in awe and humility before their ideal, and would fain deny it; -they are afraid of their higher self because, when it speaks, it speaks -pretentiously. Besides, it has a ghost-like freedom of coming and -staying away just as it pleases; on that account it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> is often called a -gift of the gods, while in fact everything else is a gift of the gods -(of chance); this, however, is the man himself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">625.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lonely People.</span>—Some people are so much accustomed to being alone -in self-communion that they do not at all compare themselves with -others, but spin out their soliloquising life in a quiet, happy mood, -conversing pleasantly, and even hilariously, with themselves. If, -however, they are brought to the point of comparing themselves with -others, they are inclined to a brooding under-estimation of their own -worth, so that they have first to be compelled by others <i>to form</i> once -more a good and just opinion of themselves, and even from this acquired -opinion they will always want to subtract and abate something. We must -not, therefore, grudge certain persons their loneliness or foolishly -commiserate them on that account, as is so often done.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">626.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Without Melody.</span>—There are persons to whom a constant repose in -themselves and the harmonious ordering of all their capacities is -so natural that every definite activity is repugnant to them. They -resemble music which consists of nothing but prolonged, harmonious -accords, without even the tendency to an organised and animated melody -showing itself. All external movement serves only to restore to the -boat its equilibrium<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> on the sea of harmonious euphony. Modern men -usually become excessively impatient when they meet such natures, who -<i>will never be anything in</i> the world, only it is not allowable to say -of them that they <i>are nothing.</i> But in certain moods the sight of them -raises the unusual question: "Why should there be melody at all? Why -should it not suffice us when life mirrors itself peacefully in a deep -lake?" The Middle Ages were richer in such natures than our times. How -seldom one now meets with any one who can live on so peacefully and -happily with himself even in the midst of the crowd, saying to himself, -like Goethe, "The best thing of all is the deep calm in which I live -and grow in opposition to the world, and gain what it cannot take away -from me with fire and sword."</p> - - -<p class="parnum">627.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To Live and Experience.</span>—If we observe how some people can deal with -their experiences—their unimportant, everyday experiences—so that -these become soil which yields fruit thrice a year; whilst others—and -how many!—are driven through the surf of the most exciting adventures, -the most diversified movements of times and peoples, and yet always -remain light, always remain on the surface, like cork; we are finally -tempted to divide mankind into a minority (minimality) of those who -know how to make much out of little, and a majority of those who -know how to make little out of much; indeed, we even meet with the -counter-sorcerers who, instead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> of making the world out of nothing, -make a nothing out of the world.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">628.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Seriousness in Play.</span>—-In Genoa one evening, in the twilight, I heard -from a tower a long chiming of bells; it was never like to end, and -sounded as if insatiable above the noise of the streets, out into the -evening sky and sea-air, so thrilling, and at the same time so childish -and so sad. I then remembered the words of Plato, and suddenly felt the -force of them in my heart: "<i>Human matters, one and all, are not worthy -of great seriousness; nevertheless ...</i>"</p> - - -<p class="parnum">629.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Conviction and Justice.</span>—The requirement that a person must afterwards, -when cool and sober, stand by what he says, promises, and resolves -during passion, is one of the heaviest burdens that weigh upon mankind. -To have to acknowledge for all future time the consequences of anger, -of fiery revenge, of enthusiastic devotion, may lead to a bitterness -against these feelings proportionate to the idolatry with which they -are idolised, especially by artists. These cultivate to its full extent -the <i>esteem of the passions,</i> and have always done so; to be sure, they -also glorify the terrible satisfaction of the passions which a person -affords himself, the outbreaks of vengeance, with death, mutilation, or -voluntary banishment in their train, and the resignation of the broken -heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> In any case they keep alive curiosity about the passions; it is -as if they said: "Without passions you have no experience whatever." -Because we have sworn fidelity (perhaps even to a purely fictitious -being, such as a god), because we have surrendered our heart to a -prince, a party, a woman, a priestly order, an artist, or a thinker, -in a state of infatuated delusion that threw a charm over us and made -those beings appear worthy of all veneration, and every sacrifice—are -we, therefore, firmly and inevitably bound? Or did we not, after all, -deceive ourselves then? Was there not a hypothetical promise, under the -tacit presupposition that those beings to whom we consecrated ourselves -were really the beings they seemed to be in our imagination? Are we -under obligation to be faithful to our errors, even with the knowledge -that by this fidelity we shall cause injury to our higher selves? No, -there is no law, no obligation of that sort; we <i>must</i> become traitors, -we must act unfaithfully and abandon our ideals again and again. We -cannot advance from one period of life into another without causing -these pains of treachery and also suffering from them. Might it be -necessary to guard against the ebullitions of our feelings in order -to escape these pains? Would not the world then become too arid, too -ghost-like for us? Rather will we ask ourselves whether these pains -are <i>necessary</i> on a change of convictions, or whether they do not -depend on a <i>mistaken</i> opinion and estimate. Why do we admire a person -who remains true to his convictions and despise him who changes them? -I fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> the answer must be, "because every one takes for granted that -such a change is caused only by motives of more general utility or of -personal trouble." That is to say, we believe at bottom that nobody -alters his opinions as long as they are advantageous to him, or at -least as long as they do not cause him any harm. If it is so, however, -it furnishes a bad proof of the <i>intellectual</i> significance of all -convictions. Let us once examine how convictions arise, and let us see -whether their importance is not greatly over-estimated; it will thereby -be seen that the <i>change</i> of convictions also is in all circumstances -judged according to a false standard, that we have hitherto been -accustomed to suffer <i>too much</i> from this change.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">630.</p> - -<p>Conviction is belief in the possession of absolute truth on any matter -of knowledge. This belief takes it for granted, therefore, that there -are absolute truths; also, that perfect methods have been found for -attaining to them; and finally, that every one who has convictions -makes use of these perfect methods. All three notions show at once that -the man of convictions is not the man of scientific thought; he seems -to us still in the age of theoretical innocence, and is practically -a child, however grown-up he may be. Whole centuries, however, have -been lived under the influence of those childlike presuppositions, and -out of them have flowed the mightiest sources of human strength. The -countless numbers who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> sacrificed themselves for their convictions -believed they were doing it for the sake of absolute truth. They were -all wrong, however; probably no one has ever sacrificed himself for -Truth; at least, the dogmatic expression of the faith of any such -person has been unscientific or only partly scientific. But really, -people wanted to carry their point because they believed that they -<i>must be</i> in the right. To allow their belief to be wrested from -them probably meant calling in question their eternal salvation. In -an affair of such extreme importance the "will" was too audibly the -prompter of the intellect. The presupposition of every believer of -every shade of belief has been that he <i>could not</i> be confuted; if the -counter-arguments happened to be very strong, it always remained for -him to decry intellect generally, and, perhaps, even to set up the -"<i>credo quia absurdum est</i>" as the standard of extreme fanaticism. It -is not the struggle of opinions that has made history so turbulent; but -the struggle of belief in opinions,—that is to say, of convictions. -If all those who thought so highly of their convictions, who made -sacrifices of all kinds for them, and spared neither honour, body, -nor life in their service, had only devoted half of their energy to -examining their right to adhere to this or that conviction and by what -road they arrived at it, how peaceable would the history of mankind now -appear! How much more knowledge would there be! All the cruel scenes -in connection with the persecution of heretics of all kinds would have -been avoided, for two reasons: firstly, because the inquisitors would -above all have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> inquired of themselves, and would have recognised -the presumption of defending absolute truth; and secondly, because -the heretics themselves would, after examination, have taken no more -interest in such badly established doctrines as those of all religious -sectarians and "orthodox" believers.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">631.</p> - -<p>From the ages in which it was customary to believe in the possession -of absolute truth, people have inherited a profound <i>dislike</i> of all -sceptical and relative attitudes with regard to questions of knowledge; -they mostly prefer to acquiesce, for good or evil, in the convictions -of those in authority (fathers, friends, teachers, princes), and they -have a kind of remorse of conscience when they do not do so. This -tendency is quite comprehensible, and its results furnish no ground -for condemnation of the course of the development of human reason. -The scientific spirit in man, however, has gradually to bring to -maturity the virtue of <i>cautious forbearance,</i> the wise moderation, -which is better known in practical than in theoretical life, and -which, for instance, Goethe has represented in "Antonio," as an object -of provocation for all Tassos,—that is to say, for unscientific and -at the same time inactive natures. The man of convictions has in -himself the right not to comprehend the man of cautious thought, the -theoretical Antonio; the scientific man, on the other hand, has no -right to blame the former on that account, he takes no notice thereof, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> knows, moreover, that in certain cases the former will yet cling -to him, as Tasso finally clung to Antonio.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">632.</p> - -<p>He who has not passed through different phases of conviction, but -sticks to the faith in whose net he was first caught, is, under -all circumstances, just on account of this unchangeableness, a -representative of <i>atavistic</i> culture; in accordance with this lack -of culture (which always presupposes plasticity for culture), he -is severe, unintelligent, unteachable, without liberality, an ever -suspicious person, an unscrupulous person who has recourse to all -expedients for enforcing his opinions because he cannot conceive that -there must be other opinions; he is, in such respects, perhaps a -source of strength, and even wholesome in cultures that have become -too emancipated and languid, but only because he strongly incites to -opposition: for thereby the delicate organisation of the new culture, -which is forced to struggle with him, becomes strong itself.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">633.</p> - -<p>In essential respects we are still the same men as those of the time -of the Reformation; how could it be otherwise? But the fact that we -<i>no longer</i> allow ourselves certain means for promoting the triumph -of our opinions distinguishes us from that age, and proves that we -belong to a higher culture. He who still combats and overthrows -opinions with calumnies and outbursts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> of rage, after the manner of -the Reformation men, obviously betrays the fact that he would have -burnt his adversaries had he lived in other times, and that he would -have resorted to all the methods of the Inquisition if he had been -an opponent of the Reformation. The Inquisition was rational at that -time; for it represented nothing else than the universal application of -martial law, which had to be proclaimed throughout the entire domain -of the Church, and which, like all martial law, gave a right to the -extremest methods, under the presupposition, of course, (which we now -no longer share with those people), that the Church <i>possessed</i> truth -and had to preserve it at all costs, and at any sacrifice, for the -salvation of mankind. Now, however, one does not so readily concede to -any one that he possesses the truth; strict methods of investigation -have diffused enough of distrust and precaution, so that every one who -violently advocates opinions in word and deed is looked upon as an -enemy of our modern culture, or, at least, as an atavist. As a matter -of fact the pathos that man possesses truth is now of very little -consequence in comparison with the certainly milder and less noisy -pathos of the search for truth, which is never weary of learning afresh -and examining anew.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">634.</p> - -<p>Moreover, the methodical search for truth is itself the outcome of -those ages in which convictions were at war with each other. If the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> -individual had not cared about <i>his</i> "truth," that is to say, about -carrying his point, there would have been no method of investigation; -thus, however, by the eternal struggle of the claims of different -individuals to absolute truth, people went on step by step to find -irrefragable principles according to which the rights of the claims -could be tested and the dispute settled. At first people decided -according to authorities; later on they criticised one another's ways -and means of finding the presumed truth; in the interval there was a -period when people deduced the consequences of the adverse theory, and -perhaps found them to be productive of injury and unhappiness; from -which it was then to be inferred by every one that the conviction of -the adversary involved an error. The <i>personal struggle of the thinker</i> -at last so sharpened his methods that real truths could be discovered, -and the mistakes of former methods exposed before the eyes of all.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">635.</p> - -<p>On the whole, scientific methods are at least as important results -of investigation as any other results, for the scientific spirit is -based upon a knowledge of method, and if the methods were lost, all -the results of science could not prevent the renewed prevalence of -superstition and absurdity. Clever people may <i>learn</i> as much as -they like of the results of science, but one still notices in their -conversation, and especially in the hypotheses they make, that they -lack the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> scientific spirit; they have not the instinctive distrust of -the devious courses of thinking which, in consequence of long training, -has taken root in the soul of every scientific man. It is enough for -them to find any kind of hypothesis on a subject, they are then all -on fire for it, and imagine the matter is thereby settled. To have -an opinion is with them equivalent to immediately becoming fanatical -for it, and finally taking it to heart as a conviction. In the case -of an unexplained matter they become heated for the first idea that -comes into their head which has any resemblance to an explanation—a -course from which the worst results constantly follow, especially in -the field of politics. On that account everybody should nowadays have -become thoroughly acquainted with at least <i>one</i> science, for then -surely he knows what is meant by method, and how necessary is the -extremest carefulness. To women in particular this advice is to be -given at present; as to those who are irretrievably the victims of all -hypotheses, especially when these have the appearance of being witty, -attractive, enlivening, and invigorating. Indeed, on close inspection -one sees that by far the greater number of educated people still desire -convictions from a thinker and nothing but <i>convictions,</i> and that -only a small minority want <i>certainty.</i> The former want to be forcibly -carried away in order thereby to obtain an increase of strength; the -latter few have the real interest which disregards personal advantages -and the increase of strength also. The former class, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> greatly -predominate, are always reckoned upon when the thinker comports himself -and labels himself as a <i>genius,</i> and thus views himself as a higher -being to whom authority belongs. In so far as genius of this kind -upholds the ardour of convictions, and arouses distrust of the cautious -and modest spirit of science, it is an enemy of truth, however much it -may think itself the wooer thereof.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">636.</p> - -<p>There is, certainly, also an entirely different species of genius, that -of justice; and I cannot make up my mind to estimate it lower than any -kind of philosophical, political, or artistic genius. Its peculiarity -is to go, with heartfelt aversion, out of the way of everything that -blinds and confuses people's judgment of things; it is consequently -an <i>adversary of convictions,</i> for it wants to give their own to all, -whether they be living or dead, real or imaginary—and for that purpose -it must know thoroughly; it therefore places everything in the best -light and goes around it with careful eyes. Finally, it will even give -to its adversary the blind or short-sighted "conviction" (as men call -it,—among women it is called "faith"), what is due to conviction—for -the sake of truth.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">637.</p> - -<p>Opinions evolve out of <i>passions; indolence of intellect</i> allows those -to congeal into <i>convictions.</i> He, however, who is conscious of himself -as a <i>free,</i> restless, lively spirit can prevent this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> congelation by -constant change; and if he is altogether a thinking snowball, he will -not have opinions in his head at all, but only certainties and properly -estimated probabilities. But we, who are of a mixed nature, alternately -inspired with ardour and chilled through and through by the intellect, -want to kneel before justice, as the only goddess we acknowledge. The -<i>fire</i> in us generally makes us unjust, and impure in the eyes of our -goddess; in this condition we are not permitted to take her hand, and -the serious smile of her approval never rests upon us. We reverence -her as the veiled Isis of our life; with shame we offer her our pain -as penance and sacrifice when the fire threatens to burn and consume -us. It is the <i>intellect</i> that saves us from being utterly burnt and -reduced to ashes; it occasionally drags us away from the sacrificial -altar of justice or enwraps us in a garment of asbestos. Liberated from -the fire, and impelled by the intellect, we then pass from opinion to -opinion, through the change of parties, as noble <i>betrayers</i> of all -things that can in any way be betrayed—and nevertheless without a -feeling of guilt.</p> - - -<p class="parnum">638.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Wanderer.</span>—He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any -extent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as -a wanderer on the face of the earth—and not even as a traveller -<i>towards</i> a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly -wants to observe and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens -in the world; therefore he cannot attach his heart too firmly to -anything individual; he must have in himself something wandering that -takes pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be sure such a man will -have bad nights, when he is weary and finds the gates of the town that -should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may also find that, as in -the East, the desert reaches to the gates, that wild beasts howl far -and near, that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take away his -beasts of burden. Then the dreadful night closes over him like a second -desert upon the desert, and his heart grows weary of wandering. Then -when the morning sun rises upon him, glowing like a Deity of anger, -when the town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of the dwellers -therein still more desert, uncleanliness, deceit, and insecurity than -outside the gates—and the day is almost worse than the night. Thus -it may occasionally happen to the wanderer; but then there come as, -compensation the delightful mornings of other lands and days, when -already in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of muses dancing -by, close to him, in the mist of the mountain; when afterwards, in -the symmetry of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under -the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-places all manner of -good and bright things are flung to him, the gifts of all the free -spirits who are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes, and who, -like himself, alternately merry and thoughtful, are wanderers and -philosophers. Born<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the -question how the day, between the hours of ten and twelve, can have -such a pure, transparent, and gloriously cheerful countenance: they -seek the <i>ante-meridian</i> philosophy.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_19" id="Footnote_1_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_19"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This is why Nietzsche pointed out later on that he had an -interest in the preservation of Christianity, and that he was sure his -teaching would not undermine this faith—just as little as anarchists -have undermined kings; but have left them seated all the more firmly on -their thrones.—J.M.K.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_20" id="Footnote_2_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_20"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Women never understand this.—J.M.K.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="AN_EPODE" id="AN_EPODE">AN EPODE.</a></h4> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 30%; font-weight: bold;">AMONG FRIENDS.</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">(Translated by T. COMMON.)</p> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 30%;"> -Nice, when mute we lie a-dreaming,<br /> -Nicer still when we are laughing,<br /> -'Neath the sky heaven's chariot speeding,<br /> -On the moss the book a-reading,<br /> -Sweetly loud with friends all laughing<br /> -Joyous, with white teeth a-gleaming.<br /> -Do I well, we're mute and humble;<br /> -Do I ill—we'll laugh exceeding;<br /> -Make it worse and worse, unheeding,<br /> -Worse proceeding, more laughs needing,<br /> -Till into the grave we stumble.<br /> -Friends! Yea! so shall it obtain?<br /> -Amen! Till we meet again.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -II.<br /> -<br /> -No excuses need be started!<br /> -Give, ye glad ones, open hearted,<br /> -To this foolish book before you<br /> -Ear and heart and lodging meet;<br /> -Trust me, 'twas not meant to bore you,<br /> -Though of folly I may treat!<br /> -What I find, seek, and am needing,<br /> -Was it e'er in book for reading?<br /> -Honour now fools in my name,<br /> -Learn from out this book by reading<br /> -How "our sense" from reason came.<br /> -Thus, my friends, shall it obtain?<br /> -Amen! Till we meet again.<br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Human All-Too-Human, Part 1, by -Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMAN ALL-TOO-HUMAN, PART 1 *** - -***** This file should be named 51935-h.htm or 51935-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/3/51935/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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