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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..b79228e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52190 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52190) diff --git a/old/52190-0.txt b/old/52190-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 712a75f..0000000 --- a/old/52190-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6276 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 *** - -ECCE HOMO - -(_NIETZSCHES AUTOBIOGRAPHY_) - -BY - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - - -TRANSLATED BY - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI - - -POETRY RENDERED BY - -PAUL V. COHN -- FRANCIS BICKLEY - -HERMAN SCHEFFAUER -- DR. G. T. WRENCH - -HYMN TO LIFE (_composed by F. NIETZSCHE_) - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Seventeen - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1911 - - - -CONTENTS - -TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION -AUTHOR'S PREFACE -WHY I AM SO WISE -WHY I AM SO CLEVER -WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS -The Birth of Tragedy -Thoughts out of Season -Human, All-too-Human -The Dawn of Day -The Joyful Wisdom -Thus spake Zarathustra -Beyond Good and Evil -The Genealogy of Morals -The Twilight of the Idols -The Case of Wagner -WHY I AM A FATALITY -EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY -POETRY-- -Songs, Epigrams, etc. -Dionysus-Dithyrambs -Fragments of Dionysus-Dithyrambs -HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE - - - - -TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - - -_Ecce Homo_ is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true -that the pamphlet _Nietzsche contra Wagner_ was prepared a month -later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as -anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of -aphorisms drawn from such previous works as _Joyful Wisdom, Beyond -Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,_ etc. Coming at the end of a -year in which he had produced the _Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the -Idols,_ and _The Antichrist, Ecce Homo_ is not only a coping-stone -worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting -conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his -character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement -as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end, -Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which, -in the _Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that -every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and -intimates when his time seems to have come--that is to say, while he -is still _himself_ while he still knows what he is about, and is able -to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a -manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man -lying on his back, decrepit and exhausted, or to the moribund victim -of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole -life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly -and proudly,--sword in hand. War, which he--and he alone among all -the philosophers of Christendom--had praised so whole-heartedly, at -last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him -a victim on the battlefield--the terrible battlefield of thought, on -which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet -been established or even thought of. - -To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed -for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at -least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and -of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is -aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find -in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and -inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a -Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"--however much they may -have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of -certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only -in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation -and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be -preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of -thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only -as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a -like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices -against Nietzsche's lack of the very virtue they so abundantly possess -or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous -remark: "_Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden_" (Only nobodies are ever modest). - -It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life. -Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday, -it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but -for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche -left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight -years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December -1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares -the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and -inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public -mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he -existed" ("_die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin_"). And, true to his -intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of -the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in -which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to -the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task, -and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, _Dionysus_ versus -_Christ,_--everything comes straight from the shoulder, without -hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without -concealment. Only in one place does he appear to conceal something, and -then he actually leads one to understand that he is doing so. It is in -regard to Wagner, the greatest friend of his life. "Who doubts," he -says, "that I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to -point my heavy guns at Wagner?"--But he adds: "Everything decisive in -this question I kept to myself--I have loved Wagner" (p. 122). - -To point, as many have done, to the proximity of all Nietzsche's autumn -work of the year 1888 to his breakdown at the beginning of 1889, and -to argue that in all its main features it foretells the catastrophe -that is imminent, seems a little too plausible, a little too obvious -and simple to require refutation. That Nietzsche really was in a state -which in medicine is known as _euphoria_--that is to say, that state -of highest well-being and capacity which often precedes a complete -breakdown, cannot, I suppose, be questioned; for his style, his -penetrating vision, and his vigour, reach their zenith in the works -written in this autumn of 1888; but the contention that the matter, the -substance, of these works reveals any signs whatsoever of waning mental -health, or, as a certain French biographer has it, of an inability to -"hold himself and his judgments in check," is best contradicted by -the internal evidence itself. To take just a few examples at random, -examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. of -the present work; consider the reserve and the restraint with which the -idea in Aphorism 7 of that chapter is worked out,--not to speak of the -restraint and self-mastery in the idea itself, namely:-- - -"To be one's enemy's equal--this is the first condition of an -honourable duel. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one -commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage -war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack -only things that are triumphant--if necessary I wait until they become -triumphant. Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find -no allies, against which I stand alone--against which I compromise -nobody but myself.... Thirdly, I never make personal attacks--I use a -personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a -general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent.... -Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal -differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of -disagreeable experiences is lacking." - -And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II., Wagner--the -supposed mortal enemy, the supposed envied rival to Nietzsche--is -treated. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or -who is losing control? - -And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work -and put the question--Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that -we find in these pages? Is it the old countenance with which we are -familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will -the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche -here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed -in _Thus spake Zarathustra,_ five years previously, and is perfectly -conscious of this fidelity (see p. 141); neither can he be even on the -verge of any marked change, because the whole of the third chapter, -in which he reviews his life-work, is simply a reiteration and a -confirmation of his old points of view, which are here made all the -more telling by additional arguments suggested, no doubt, by maturer -thought. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its -cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily -incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the -genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the _Thoughts out of -Season_ (pp. 75-76, 80, 81, 82), a summing up which a most critical -analysis of the essays in question can but verify. Romanticism, -idealism, Christianity, are still scorned and despised; another -outlook, a nobler, braver, and more earthly outlook, is still upheld -and revered; the great yea to life, including all that it contains -that is terrible and questionable, is still pronounced in the teeth of -pessimists, nihilists, anarchists, Christians, and other decadents; and -Germany, "Europe's flatland," is still subjected to the most relentless -criticism. If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere -growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most -careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former -opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are -found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so -radically to have perturbed. - -But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this -autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion -of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would -have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own. This -anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, -suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including -Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler -with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and -Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and -help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de -Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,--this was the man -who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device _amor fati_ upon -his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the -unspeakable suffering he had endured. - -And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's -sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate -instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile -structure--the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,--his terrible -will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite -problems. We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, -Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, -what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity -in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is -highly organised. Disraeli says in _Contarini Fleming_ (Part iv. chap. -v.):-- - - "I have sometimes half believed, although the suspicion is - mortifying, that there is only one step between his state - who deeply indulges in imaginative meditation, and insanity; - for I well remember that at this period of my life, when - I indulged in meditation to a degree that would now be - impossible, and I hope unnecessary, my senses sometimes - appeared to be wandering." - -And artists are the proper judges of artists,--not Oxford Dons, like -Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something -for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly -av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the -eleventh edition of the _Encyclopedia Britannica,_ and implies the -hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is -madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to -go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this -want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's -doctrine still is. - -Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he went mad so late is -the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work -he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he -actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years -of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were -everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at -his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the -phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors. - -No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with -understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, -to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no -longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since -then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will -prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent -pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with -that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and -"the modest" has always confronted everything truly great. - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI. - - - - -PREFACE - - -1 - -As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my -fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made -upon them, it seems to me _above_ all necessary to declare here who -and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well -known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself. But -the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the -smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people -have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made -credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive -at all. I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come -to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I -am _not_ alive.... Under these circumstances, it is a duty--and one -against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the -pride of my instincts, rebel--to say: _Listen! for I am such and such a -person. For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!_ - - - -2 - -I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the -contrary, I am the very opposite in nature to the kind of man that -has been honoured hitherto as virtuous. Between ourselves, it seems -to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I -am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be -even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book! Maybe I have here -succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same -time sympathetic manner--maybe this is the only purpose of the present -work. - -The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to -"improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only -learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols (idols -is the name I give to all ideals) is much more like my business. In -proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been -robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness.... The "true -world" and the "apparent world"--in plain English, the fictitious world -and reality.... Hitherto the _lie_ of the ideal has been the curse of -reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has -become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to -be worshipped which are the exact _opposite_ of the ones which would -ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future. - - - -3 - -He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious -that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be -built for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The -ice is near, the loneliness is terrible--but how serenely everything -lies in the sunshine! how freely one can breathe! how much, one feels, -lies beneath one! Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is -a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks--the -seeking--out of everything strange and questionable in existence, -everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through -long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I -acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally -desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising -and idealising. The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of -their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain -mind endure; how much truth can it dare?--these questions became for -me ever more and more the actual test of values. Error (the belief in -the ideal) is not blindness; error is cowardice.... Every conquest, -every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness -towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self. I do not refute -ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence.... _Nitimur -in vetitum;_ with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; -for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without -exception, Truth. - - - -4 - -In my lifework, my _Zarathustra_ holds a place apart. With it, I gave -my fellow-men the greatest gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. -This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only -the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,--the -whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath -it,--but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of -truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered -without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness. Here it is -not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness -and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would -not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper -heed to the tones--the halcyonic tones--that fall from the lips of -Zarathustra:-- - -"The most silent words are harbingers of the storm; thoughts that come -on dove's feet lead the world. - -"The figs fall from the trees; they are good and sweet, and, when they -fall, their red skins are rent. - -"A north wind am I unto ripe figs. - -"Thus, like figs, do these precepts drop down to you, my friends; now -drink their juice and their sweet pulp. - -"It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and afternoon." - -No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is -demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and -well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out--a slow and gentle gait -is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the -most elect; it is a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? -one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. I Is not Zarathustra, -because of these things, a _seducer?_ ... But what, indeed, does he -himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just -the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," -and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is -other than they. - -"Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus -would I have it. - -"Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves -against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath -deceived you. - -"The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but -also to hate his friends. - -"The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why -would ye not pluck at my wreath? - -"Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? -Take heed, lest a statue crush you. - -"Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? -Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers? - -"Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all -believers; therefore is all believing worth so little. - -"Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all -denied me will I come back unto you." - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. - - - - - -On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the -grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I -looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many -good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth -year to-day; I had the _right_ to bury it--that in it which still -had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the -_Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight -of the Idols,_ my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer--all these -things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. _How -could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?_ - -That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life. - - - - -ECCE HOMO - - -HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS - - - - -WHY I AM SO WISE - - - -1 - - -The happiness of my existence, its unique character perhaps, consists -in its fatefulness: to speak in a riddle, as my own father I am already -dead, as my own mother I still live and grow old. This double origin, -taken as it were from the highest and lowest rungs of the ladder of -life, at once a decadent and a beginning, this, if anything, explains -that neutrality, that freedom from partisanship in regard to the -general problem of existence, which perhaps distinguishes me. To the -first indications of ascending or of descending life my nostrils are -more sensitive than those of any man that has yet lived. In this domain -I am a master to my backbone--I know both sides, for I am both sides. -My father died in his six-and-thirtieth year: he was delicate, lovable, -and morbid, like one who is preordained to pay simply a flying visit--a -gracious reminder of life rather than life itself. In the same year -that his life declined mine also declined: in my six-and-thirtieth year -I reached the lowest point in my vitality,--I still lived, but my eyes -could distinguish nothing that lay three paces away from me. At that -time--it was the year 1879--I resigned my professorship at Bâle, lived -through the summer like a shadow in St. Moritz, and spent the following -winter, the most sunless of my life, like a shadow in Naumburg. This -was my lowest ebb. During this period I wrote _The Wanderer and His -Shadow._ Without a doubt I was conversant with shadows then. The winter -that followed, my first winter in Genoa, brought forth that sweetness -and spirituality which is almost inseparable from extreme poverty -of blood and muscle, in the shape of _The Dawn of Day,_ The perfect -lucidity and cheerfulness, the intellectual exuberance even, that this -work reflects, coincides, in my case, not only with the most profound -physiological weakness, but also with an excess of suffering. In the -midst of the agony of a headache which lasted three days, accompanied -by violent nausea, I was possessed of most singular dialectical -clearness, and in absolutely cold blood I then thought out things, for -which, in my more healthy moments, I am not enough of a climber, not -sufficiently subtle, not sufficiently cold. My readers perhaps know -to what extent I consider dialectic a symptom of decadence, as, for -instance, in the most famous of all cases--the case of Socrates. All -the morbid disturbances of the intellect, even that semi-stupor which -accompanies fever, have, unto this day, remained completely unknown to -me; and for my first information concerning their nature and frequency, -I was obliged to have recourse to the learned works which have been -compiled on the subject. My circulation is slow. No one has ever been -able to detect fever in me. A doctor who treated me for some time as -a nerve patient finally declared: "No! there is nothing wrong with -your nerves, it is simply I who am nervous." It has been absolutely -impossible to ascertain any local degeneration in me, nor any organic -stomach trouble, however much I may have suffered from profound -weakness of the gastric system as the result of general exhaustion. -Even my eye trouble, which sometimes approached so parlously near -to blindness, was only an effect and not a cause; for, whenever my -general vital condition improved, my power of vision also increased. -Having admitted all this, do I need to say that I am experienced in -questions of decadence? I know them inside and out. Even that filigree -art of prehension and comprehension in general, that feeling for -delicate shades of difference, that psychology of "seeing through brick -walls," and whatever else I may be able to do, was first learnt then, -and is the specific gift of that period during which everything in -me was subtilised,--observation itself, together with all the organs -of observation. To look upon healthier concepts and values from the -standpoint of the sick, and conversely to look down upon the secret -work of the instincts of decadence from the standpoint of him who is -laden and self-reliant with the richness of life--this has been my -longest exercise, my principal experience. If in anything at all, it -was in this that I became a master. To-day my hand knows the trick, I -now have the knack of reversing perspectives: the first reason perhaps -why a _Transvaluation of all Values_ has been possible to me alone. - - - -2 - - -For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of -such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always -instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily -health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those -remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain -details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself -to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in -life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my -refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and -to be doctored--all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts -respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself -in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of -success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is -that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature -cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound -nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to -a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long -period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered -life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even -trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them--out -of my Will to Health and to Life I made my philosophy.... For this -should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my -vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: -the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of -poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes -recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such -lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral -block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only -which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits -of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for -injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; -that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively -gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a -selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, -whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural -scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, -the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with -that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in -him--he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting -it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can -digest himself and others; he knows how to forget--he is strong enough -to make everything turn to his own advantage. - -Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just -described is none other than myself. - - - -3 - - -This double thread of experiences, this means of access to two worlds -that seem so far asunder, finds in every detail its counterpart in my -own nature--I am my own complement: I have a "second" sight, as well -as a first. And perhaps I also have a third sight. By the very nature -of my origin I was allowed an outlook beyond all merely local, merely -national and limited horizons; it required no effort on my part to be -a "good European." On the other hand, I am perhaps more German than -modern Germans--mere Imperial Germans--can hope to be,--I, the last -anti-political German. Be this as it may, my ancestors were Polish -noblemen: it is owing to them that I have so much race instinct in my -blood--who knows? perhaps even the _liberum veto_[1] When I think of -the number of times in my travels that I have been accosted as a Pole, -even by Poles themselves, and how seldom I have been taken for a German, -it seems to me as if I belonged to those only who have a sprinkling -of German in them. But my mother, Franziska Oehler, is at any rate -something very German; as is also my paternal grandmother, Erdmuthe -Krause. The latter spent the whole of her youth in good old Weimar, -not without coming into contact with Goethe's circle. Her brother, -Krause, the Professor of Theology in Königsberg, was called to the -post of General Superintendent at Weimar after Herder's death. It is -not unlikely that her mother, my great grandmother, is mentioned in -young Goethe's diary under the name of "Muthgen." She married twice, -and her second husband was Superintendent Nietzsche of Eilenburg. -In 1813, the year of the great war, when Napoleon with his general -staff entered Eilenburg on the 10th of October, she gave birth to a -son. As a daughter of Saxony she was a great admirer of Napoleon, and -maybe I am so still. My father, born in 1813, died in 1849. Previous -to taking over the pastorship of the parish of Röcken, not far from -Lützen, he lived for some years at the Castle of Altenburg, where he -had charge of the education of the four princesses. His pupils are the -Queen of Hanover, the Grand-Duchess Constantine, the Grand-Duchess of -Oldenburg, and the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg. He was full of -loyal respect for the Prussian King, Frederick William the Fourth, from -whom he obtained his living at Röcken; the events of 1848 saddened him -extremely. As I was born on the 15 th of October, the birthday of the -king above mentioned, I naturally received the Hohenzollern names of -Frederick William. There was at all events one advantage in the choice -of this day: my birthday throughout the whole of my childhood was a day -of public rejoicing. I regard it as a great privilege to have had such -a father: it even seems to me that this embraces all that I can claim -in the matter of privileges--life, the great yea to life, excepted. -What I owe to him above all is this, that I do not need any special -intention, but merely a little patience, in order involuntarily to -enter a world of higher and more delicate things. There I am at home, -there alone does my inmost passion become free. The fact that I had -to pay for this privilege almost with my life, certainly does not -make it a bad bargain. In order to understand even a little of _my -Zarathustra,_ perhaps a man must be situated and constituted very much -as I am myself--with one foot beyond the realm of the living. - - - -4 - - -I have never understood the art of arousing ill-feeling against -myself,--this is also something for which I have to thank my -incomparable father,--even when it seemed to me highly desirable -to do so. However un-Christian it may seem, I do not even bear any -ill-feeling towards myself. Turn my life about as you may, you will -find but seldom--perhaps indeed only once--any trace of some one's -having shown me ill-will. You might perhaps discover, however, too -many traces of _goodwill...._ My experiences even with those on whom -every other man has burnt his fingers, speak without exception in their -favour; I tame every bear, I can make even clowns behave decently. -During the seven years in which I taught Greek to the sixth form of -the College at Bâle, I never had occasion to administer a punishment; -the laziest youths were diligent in my class. The unexpected has -always found me equal to it; I must be unprepared in order to keep my -self-command. Whatever the instrument was, even if it were as out of -tune as the instrument "man" can possibly be,--it was only when I was -ill that I could not succeed in making it express something that was -worth hearing. And how often have I not been told by the "instruments" -themselves, that they had never before heard their voices express such -beautiful things.... This was said to me most delightfully perhaps by -that young fellow Heinrich von Stein, who died at such an unpardonably -early age, and who, after having considerately asked leave to do -so, once appeared in Sils-Maria for a three days' sojourn, telling -everybody there that it was _not_ for the Engadine that he had come. -This excellent person, who with all the impetuous simplicity of a -young Prussian nobleman, had waded deep into the swamp of Wagnerism -(and into that of Dübringism[2] into the bargain!), seemed almost -transformed during these three days by a hurricane of freedom, like one -who has been suddenly raised to his full height and given wings. Again -and again I said to him that this was all owing to the splendid air; -everybody felt the same,--one could not stand 6000 feet above Bayreuth -for nothing,--but he would not believe me.... Be this as it may, if -I have been the victim of many a small or even great offence, it was -not "will," and least of all ill-will that actuated the offenders; but -rather, as I have already suggested, it was goodwill, the cause of no -small amount of mischief in f my life, about which I had to complain. -_My_ experience gave me a right to feel suspicious in regard to all -so-called "unselfish" instincts, in regard to the whole of "neighbourly -love" which is ever ready and waiting with deeds or with advice. To -me it seems that these instincts are a sign of weakness, they are an -example of the inability to withstand a stimulus--it is only among -decadents that this _pity_ is called a virtue. What I reproach the -pitiful with is, that they are too ready to forget shame, reverence, -and the delicacy of feeling which knows how to keep at a distance; they -do not remember that this gushing pity stinks of the mob, and that it -is next of kin to bad manners--that pitiful hands may be thrust with -results fatally destructive into a great destiny, into a lonely and -wounded retirement, and into the privileges with which great guilt -endows one. The overcoming of pity I reckon among the noble virtues; -In the "Temptation of Zarathustra" I have imagined a case, in which a -great cry of distress reaches his ears, in which pity swoops down upon -him like a last sin, and would make him break faith with himself. To -remain one's own master in such circumstances, to keep the sublimity -of one's mission pure in such cases,--pure from the many ignoble and -more short-sighted impulses which come into play in so-called unselfish -actions,--this is the rub, the last test perhaps which a Zarathustra -has to undergo--the actual proof of his power. - - - -5 - - -In yet another respect I am no more than my father over again, and as -it were the continuation of his life after an all-too-early death. -Like every man who has never been able to meet his equal, and unto -whom the concept "retaliation" is just as incomprehensible as the -notion of "equal rights," I have forbidden myself the use of any sort -of measure of security or protection--and also, of course, of defence -and "justification"--in all cases in which I have been made the victim -either of trifling or even _very great_ foolishness. My form of -retaliation consists in this: as soon as possible to set a piece of -cleverness at the heels of an act of stupidity; by this means perhaps -it may still be possible to overtake it. To speak in a parable: I -dispatch a pot of jam in order to get rid of a bitter experience.... -Let anybody only give me offence, I shall "retaliate," he can be quite -sure of that: before long I discover an opportunity of expressing my -thanks to the "offender" (among other things even for the offence)--or -of _asking_ him for something, which can be more courteous even than -giving. It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter, -is more good-natured, more straightforward, than silence. Those--who -keep silent are almost always lacking in subtlety and refinement of -heart; silence is an objection, to swallow a grievance must necessarily -produce a bad temper--it even upsets the stomach. All silent people -are dyspeptic. You perceive that I should not like to see rudeness -undervalued; it is by far the most _humane_ form of contradiction, and, -in the midst of modern effeminacy, it is one of our first virtues; If -one is sufficiently rich for it, it may even be a joy to be wrong. If -a god were to descend to this earth, he would have to do nothing but -wrong--to take _guilt_ not punishment, on one's shoulders, is the first -proof of divinity. - - - -6 - - -Freedom from resentment and the understanding of the nature of -resentment--who knows how very much after all I am indebted to my long -illness for these two things? The problem is not exactly simple: a -man must have experienced both through his strength and through his -weakness, If illness and weakness are to be charged with anything at -all, it is with the fact that when they prevail, the very instinct of -recovery, which is the instinct of defence and of war in man, becomes -decayed. He knows not how to get rid of anything, how to come to -terms with anything, and how to cast anything behind him. Everything -wounds him. People and things draw importunately near, all experiences -strike deep, memory is a gathering wound. To be ill is a sort of -resentment in itself. Against this resentment the invalid has only -one great remedy--I call it _Russian fatalism,_ that fatalism which -is free from revolt, and with which the Russian soldier, to whom a -campaign proves unbearable, ultimately lays himself down in the snow. -To accept nothing more, to undertake nothing more, to absorb nothing -more--to cease entirely from reacting.... The tremendous sagacity -of this fatalism, which does not always imply merely the courage for -death, but which in the most dangerous cases may actually constitute -a self-preservative measure, amounts to a reduction of activity in -the vital functions, the slackening down of which is like a sort of -will to hibernate. A few steps farther in this direction we find the -fakir, who will sleep for weeks in a tomb.... Owing to the fact that -one would be used up too quickly if one reacted, one no longer reacts -at all: this is the principle. And nothing on earth consumes a man -more quickly than the passion of resentment. Mortification, morbid -susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst -for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison--this is surely the -most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by -exhausted men. It involves a rapid wasting away of nervous energy, an -abnormal increase of detrimental secretions, as, for instance, that -of bile into the stomach. To the sick man resentment ought to be more -strictly forbidden than anything else--it is _his_ special danger: -unfortunately, however, it is also his most natural propensity. This -was fully grasped by that profound physiologist Buddha. His "religion," -which it would be better to call a system of hygiene, in order to avoid -confounding it with a creed so wretched as Christianity, depended -for its effect upon the triumph over resentment: to make the soul -free therefrom was considered the first step towards recovery. "Not -through hostility is hostility put to flight; through friendship does -hostility end": this stands at the beginning of Buddha's teaching--this -is not a precept of morality, but of physiology. Resentment born of -weakness is not more deleterious to anybody than it is to the weak -man himself--conversely, in the case of that man whose nature is -fundamentally a rich one, resentment is a superfluous feeling, a -feeling to remain master of which is almost a proof of riches. Those -of my readers who know the earnestness-with which my philosophy wages -war against the feelings of revenge and rancour, even to the extent of -attacking the doctrine of "free will" (my conflict with Christianity -is only a particular instance of it), will understand why I wish to -focus attention upon my own personal attitude and the certainty of -my practical instincts precisely in this matter. In my moments of -decadence I forbade myself the indulgence of the above feelings, -because they were harmful; as soon as my life recovered enough riches -and pride, however, I regarded them again as forbidden, but this time -because they were _beneath_ me. That "Russian fatalism" of which I have -spoken manifested itself in me in such a way that for years I held -tenaciously to almost insufferable conditions, places, habitations, -and companions, once chance had placed them on my path--it was better -than changing them, than feeling that they could be changed, than -revolting against them.... He who stirred me from this fatalism, he -who violently tried to shake me into consciousness, seemed to me then -a mortal enemy--in point of fact, there was danger of death each time -this was done. To regard one's self as a destiny, not to wish one's -self "different"--this, in such circumstances, is sagacity, itself. - - - -7 - - -War, on the other hand, is something different. At heart I am a -warrior. Attacking belongs to my instincts. To _be able to be_ an -enemy, to _be_ an enemy--maybe these things presuppose a strong nature; -in any case all strong natures involve these things. Such natures need -resistance, consequently they go in search of obstacles: the pathos of -aggression belongs of necessity to strength as much as the feelings -of revenge and of rancour belong to weakness. Woman, for instance, is -revengeful; her weakness involves this passion, just as it involves -her susceptibility in the presence of other people's suffering. The -strength of the aggressor can be measured by the opposition which -he needs; every increase of growth betrays itself by a seeking out -of more formidable opponents--or problems: for a philosopher who -is combative challenges even problems to a duel. The task is not -to overcome opponents in general, but only those opponents against -whom one has to summon all one's strength, one's skill, and one's -swordsmanship--in fact, opponents who are one's equals.... To be one's -enemy's equal--this is the first condition of an honourable duel. Where -one despises, one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees -something _beneath_ one, one _ought_ not to wage war. My war tactics -can be reduced to four principles A First, I attack only things that -are triumphant--if necessary I wait until they become triumphant. -Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no allies, -against which I stand alone--against which I compromise nobody but -myself.... I have not yet taken one single step before the public eye, -which did not compromise me: that is _my_ criterion of a proper mode -of action. Thirdly, I never make personal attacks--I use a personality -merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, -but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent. In this way I -attacked David Strauss, or rather the success given to a senile book by -the cultured classes of Germany--by this means I caught German culture -red-handed. In this way I attacked Wagner, or rather the falsity or -mongrel instincts of our "culture" which confounds the super-refined -with the strong, and the effete with the great. Fourthly, I attack -only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in -which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is -lacking. On the contrary, attacking is to me a proof of goodwill and, -in certain circumstances, of gratitude. By means of it, I do honour to -a thing, I distinguish a thing; whether I associate my name with that -of an institution or a person, by being _against_ or _for_ either, -is all the same to me. If I wage war against Christianity, I feel -justified in doing so, because in that quarter I have met with no fatal -experiences and difficulties--the most earnest Christians have always -been kindly disposed to me. I, personally, the most essential opponent -of Christianity, am far from holding the individual responsible for -what is the fatality of long ages. - -May I be allowed to hazard a suggestion concerning one last trait -in my character, which in my intercourse with other men has led me -into some difficulties? I am gifted with a sense of cleanliness the -keenness of which is phenomenal; so much so, that I can ascertain -physiologically--that is to say, smell--the proximity, nay, the inmost -core, the "entrails" of every human soul.... This sensitiveness of mine -is furnished with psychological antennæ, wherewith I feel and grasp -every secret: the quality of concealed filth lying at the base of many -a human character which may be the inevitable outcome of base blood, -and which education may have veneered, is revealed to me at the first -glance. If my observation has been correct, such people, whom my sense -of cleanliness rejects, also become conscious, on their part, of the -cautiousness to which my loathing prompts me: and this does not make -them any more fragrant.... In keeping with a custom which I have long -observed,--pure habits and honesty towards myself are among the first -conditions of my existence, I would die in unclean surroundings,--I -swim, bathe, and splash about, as it were, incessantly in water, in -any kind of perfectly transparent and shining element. That is why -my relations with my fellows try my patience to no small extent; my -humanity does not consist in the fact that I understand the feelings -of my fellows, but that I can endure to understand.... My humanity -is a perpetual process of self-mastery. But I need solitude--that is -to say, recovery, return to myself, the breathing of free, crisp, -bracing air.... The whole of my _Zarathustra_ is a dithyramb in honour -of solitude, or, if I have been understood, in honour of purity. Thank -Heaven, it is not in honour of "pure foolery"![3] He who has an eye for -colour will call him a diamond. The loathing of mankind, of the rabble, -was always my greatest danger.... Would you hearken to the words spoken -by Zarathustra concerning deliverance from loathing? - -"What forsooth hath come unto me? How did I deliver myself from -loathing? Who hath made mine eye younger? How did I soar to the height, -where there are no more rabble sitting about the well? - -"Did my very loathing forge me wings and the strength to scent -fountains afar off? Verily to the loftiest heights did I need to fly, -to find once more the spring of joyfulness. - -"Oh, I found it, my brethren! Up here, on the loftiest height, the -spring of joyfulness gusheth forth for me. And there is a life at the -well of which no rabble can drink with you. - -"Almost too fiercely dost thou rush, for me, thou spring of joyfulness! -And ofttimes dost thou empty the pitcher again in trying to fill it. - -"And yet must I learn to draw near thee more humbly. Far too eagerly -doth my heart jump to meet thee. - -"My heart, whereon my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, -over-blessed summer: how my summer heart yearneth for thy coolness! - -"Farewell, the lingering affliction of my spring! Past is the -wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and -summer noontide! - -"A summer in the loftiest heights, with cold springs and blessed -stillness: oh come, my friends, that the stillness may wax even more -blessed! - -"For this is our height and our home: too high and steep is our -dwelling for all the unclean and their appetites. - -"Do but cast your pure eyes into the well of my joyfulness, my friends! -How could it thus become muddy! It will laugh back at you with its -purity. - -"On the tree called Future do we build our nest: eagles shall bring -food in their beaks unto us lonely ones! - -"Verily not the food whereof the unclean might partake. They would -think they ate fire and would burn their mouths! - -"Verily, no abodes for the unclean do we here hold in readiness! To -their bodies our happiness would seem an ice-cavern, and to their -spirits also! - -"And like strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the -eagles, companions of the snow, and playmates of the sun: thus do -strong winds live. - -"And like a wind shall I one day blow amidst them, and take away their -soul's breath with my spirit: thus my future willeth it. - -"Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low lands; and this is -his counsel to his foes and to all those who spit and spew: 'Beware of -spitting against the wind!'" - - -[Footnote 1: The right which every Polish deputy, whether a great or an -inferior nobleman, possessed of forbidding the passing of any measure -by the Diet, was called in Poland the _liberum veto_ (in Polish _nie -pozwalam_), and brought all legislation to a standstill.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Eugen Dübring is a philosopher and political economist -whose general doctrine might be characterised as a sort of abstract -Materialism with an optimistic colouring.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: This, of course, is a reference to Wagner's _Parsifal._ -See my note on p. 96 of _The Will to Power_ vol. i.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I AM SO CLEVER - - - -1 - - -Why do I know more things than other people? Why, in fact, am I so -clever? I have never pondered over questions that are not questions. I -have never squandered my strength. Of actual religious difficulties, -for instance, I have no experience. I have never known what it is to -feel "sinful." In the same way I completely lack any reliable criterion -for ascertaining what constitutes a prick of conscience: from all -accounts a prick of conscience does not seem to be a very estimable -thing.... Once it was done I should hate to leave an action of mine -in the lurch; I should prefer completely to omit the evil outcome, -the consequences, from the problem concerning the value of an action. -In the face of evil consequences one is too ready to lose the proper -standpoint from which one's deed ought to be considered. A prick of -conscience strikes me as a sort of "evil eye." Something that has -failed should be honoured all the more jealously, precisely because -it has failed--this is much more in keeping with my morality.--"God," -"the immortality of the soul," "salvation," a "beyond"--to all these -notions, even as a child, I never paid any attention whatsoever, nor -did I waste any time upon them,--maybe I was never _naif_ enough for -that?--I am quite unacquainted with atheism as a result, and still -less as an event in my life: in me it is inborn, instinctive. I am -too inquisitive, too incredulous, too high spirited, to be satisfied -with such a palpably clumsy solution of things. God is a too palpably -clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy -towards us thinkers--at bottom He is really no more than a coarse -and rude _prohibition_ of us: ye shall not think!... I am much more -interested in another question,--a question upon which the "salvation -of humanity" depends to a far greater degree than it does upon any -piece of theological curiosity: I refer to nutrition. For ordinary -purposes, it may be formulated as follows: "How precisely must _thou_ -feed thyself in order to attain to thy maximum of power, or _virtù_ -in the Renaissance style,--of virtue free from moralic acid?" My -experiences in regard to this matter have been as bad as they possibly -could be; I am surprised that I set myself this question so late in -life, and that it took me so long to draw "rational" conclusions -from my experiences. Only the absolute worth-_1_ lessness of German -culture--its "idealism"--can to some extent explain how it was that -precisely in this matter I was so backward that my ignorance was almost -saintly. This "culture," which from first to last teaches one to lose -sight of actual things and to hunt after thoroughly problematic and -so-called ideal aims, as, for instance, "classical culture"--as if it -were not hopeless from the start to try to unite "classical" and -"German" in one concept. It is even a little comical--try and imagine -a "classically cultured" citizen of Leipzig!--Indeed, I can say, that -up to a very mature age, my food was entirely bad--expressed morally, -it was "impersonal," "selfless," "altruistic," to the glory of cooks -and all other fellow-Christians. It was through the cooking in vogue -at Leipzig, for instance, together with my first study of Schopenhauer -(1865), that I earnestly renounced my "Will to Live." To spoil one's -stomach by absorbing insufficient nourishment--this problem seemed to -my mind solved with admirable felicity by the above-mentioned cookery. -(It is said that in the year 1866 changes were introduced into this -department.) But as to German cookery in general--what has it not got -on its conscience! Soup _before_ the meal (still called _alla tedesca_ -in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled -to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of -pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely -bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the _ancients,_ and not alone -of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect -took its origin--that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.... -German intellect is indigestion; it can assimilate nothing. But even -English diet, which in comparison with German, and indeed with French -alimentation, seems to me to constitute a "return to Nature,"--that is -to say, to cannibalism,--is profoundly opposed to my own instincts. It -seems to me to give the intellect heavy feet, in fact, Englishwomen's -feet.... The best cooking is that of Piedmont. Alcoholic drinks do -not agree with me; a single glass of wine or beer a day is amply -sufficient to turn life into a valley of tears for me;--in Munich live -my antipodes. Although I admit that this knowledge came to me somewhat -late, it already formed part of my experience even as a child. As a boy -I believed that the drinking of wine and the smoking of tobacco were at -first but the vanities of youths, and later merely bad habits. Maybe -the poor wine of Naumburg was partly responsible for this poor opinion -of wine in general. In order to believe that wine was exhilarating, I -should have had to be a Christian--in other words, I should have had to -believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity. Strange to say, whereas -small quantities of alcohol, taken with plenty of water, succeed in -making me feel out of sorts, large quantities turn me almost into a -rollicking tar. Even as a boy I showed my bravado in this respect. To -compose a long Latin essay in one night, to revise and recopy it, to -aspire with my pen to emulating the exactitude and the terseness of my -model, Sallust, and to pour a few very strong grogs over it all--this -mode of procedure, while I was a pupil at the venerable old school of -Pforta, was not in the least out of keeping with my physiology, nor -perhaps with that of Sallust, however much it may have been alien to -dignified Pforta. Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more -and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, -who have experienced what vegetarianism is,--just as Wagner, who -converted me back to meat, experienced it,--cannot with sufficient -earnestness advise all more _spiritual_ natures to abstain absolutely -from alcohol. Water answers the purpose.... I have a predilection in -favour of those places where in all directions one has opportunities -of drinking from running brooks (Nice, Turin, Sils). _In vino Veritas_: -it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the -world about the concept "Truth"--with me spirit moves on the face of -the waters.... Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A -heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first -principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active -as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. -For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call -interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table -d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between -meals, coffee should be given up--coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is -beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, -but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the -whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own -standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate -limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which -to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to -drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as -possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to -the accompaniment of free bodily motion--nor in one in which even the -muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in -the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is -the real sin against the Holy Spirit. - - - -2. - - -To the question of nutrition, that of locality and climate is next of -kin. Nobody is so constituted as to be able to live everywhere and -anywhere; and he who has great duties to perform, which lay claim -to all his strength, has, in this respect, a very limited choice. -The influence of climate upon the bodily functions, affecting their -acceleration or retardation, extends so far, that a blunder in the -choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from -his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that -he never even comes face to face with it. Animal vigour never acquires -enough strength in him in order to reach that pitch of artistic freedom -which makes his own soul whisper to him: I, alone, can do that.... Ever -so slight a tendency to laziness in the intestines, once it has become -a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something -"German" out of a genius; the climate of Germany, alone, is enough to -discourage the strongest and most heroically disposed intestines. The -tempo of the body's functions is closely bound up with the agility or -the clumsiness of the spirit's feet; spirit itself is indeed only a -form of these organic functions. Let anybody make a list of the places -in which men of great intellect have been found, and are still found; -where wit, subtlety, and malice constitute happiness; where genius -is almost necessarily at home: all of them rejoice in exceptionally -dry air. Paris, Provence, Florence, Jerusalem, Athens--these names -prove something, namely: that genius is conditioned by dry air, by a -pure sky--that is to say, by rapid organic functions, by the constant -and ever-present possibility of procuring for one's self great and -even enormous quantities of strength. I have a certain case in mind -in which a man of remarkable intellect and independent spirit became -a narrow, craven specialist and a grumpy old crank, simply owing to -a lack of subtlety in his instinct for climate. And I myself might -have been an example of the same thing, if illness had not compelled -me to reason, and to reflect upon reason realistically. Now that I -have learnt through long practice to read the effects of climatic and -meteorological influences, from my own body, as though from a very -delicate and reliable instrument, and that I am able to calculate the -change in degrees of atmospheric moisture by means of physiological -observations upon myself, even on so short a journey as that from -Turin to Milan; I think with horror of the ghastly fact that my -whole life, until the last ten years,--the most perilous years,--has -always been spent in the wrong, and what to me ought to have been -the most forbidden, places. Naumburg, Pforta, Thuringia in general, -Leipzig, Bâle, Venice--so many ill-starred places for a constitution -like mine. If I cannot recall one single happy reminiscence of my -childhood and youth, it is nonsense to suppose that so-called "moral" -causes could account for this--as, for instance, the incontestable -fact that I lacked companions that could have satisfied me; for this -fact is the same to-day as it ever was, and it does not prevent me -from being cheerful and brave. But it was ignorance in physiological -matters--that confounded "Idealism"--that was the real curse of my -life. This was the superfluous and foolish element in my existence; -something from which nothing could spring, and for which there can be -no settlement and no compensation. As the outcome of this "Idealism" -I regard all the blunders, the great aberrations of instinct, and -the "modest specialisations" which drew me aside from the task of my -life; as, for instance, the fact that I became a philologist--why -not at least a medical man or anything else which might have opened -my eyes? My days at Bâle, the whole of my intellectual routine, -including my daily time-table, was an absolutely senseless abuse of -extraordinary powers, without the slightest compensation for the -strength that I spent, without even a thought of what I was squandering -and how its place might be filled. I lacked all subtlety in egoism, -all the fostering care of an imperative instinct; I was in a state -in which one is ready to regard one's self as anybody's equal, a -state of "disinterestedness," a forgetting of one's distance from -others--something, in short, for which I can never forgive myself. -When I had well-nigh reached the end of my tether, simply because I -had almost reached my end, I began to reflect upon the fundamental -absurdity of my life--"Idealism." It was _illness_ that first brought -me to reason. - - - -3 - - -After the choice of nutrition, the choice of climate and locality, the -third matter concerning which one must not on any account make a -blunder, is the choice of the manner in which one _recuperates one's -strength._ Here, again, according to the extent to which a spirit is -_sui generis,_ the limits of that which he can allow himself--in other -words, the limits of that which is beneficial to him--become more and -more confined. As far as I in particular am concerned, _reading_ in -general belongs to my means of recuperation; consequently it belongs -to that which rids me of myself, to that which enables me to wander -in strange sciences and strange souls--to that, in fact, about which -I am no longer in earnest. Indeed, it is while reading that I recover -from _my_ earnestness. During the time that I am deeply absorbed in -my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur -to me to allow any one to speak or even to think in my presence. -For that is what reading would mean.... Has any one ever actually -noticed, that, during the period of profound tension to which the -state of pregnancy condemns not only the mind, but also, at bottom, -the whole organism, accident and every kind of external stimulus acts -too acutely and strikes too deep? Accident and external stimuli must, -as far as possible, be avoided: a sort of walling-of-one's-self-in is -one of the primary instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy. -Shall I allow a strange thought to steal secretly over the wall? -For that is what reading would mean.... The periods of work and -fruit-fulness are followed by periods of recuperation: come hither, -ye delightful, intellectual, intelligent books! Shall I read German -books?... I must go back six months to catch myself with a book in -my hand. What was it? An excellent study by Victor Brochard upon the -Greek sceptics, in which my Laertiana[1] was used to advantage. The -sceptics!--the only _honourable_ types among that double-faced and -sometimes quintuple-faced throng, the philosophers!.... Otherwise I -almost always take refuge in the same books: altogether their number -is small; they are books which are precisely my proper fare. It is -not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library -makes me ill. Neither is it my nature to love much or many kinds of -things. Suspicion or even hostility towards new books is much more -akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration," _largeur de cœur,_ -and other forms of "neighbour-love." ... It is to a small number of -old French authors, that I always return again and again; I believe -only in French culture, and regard everything else in Europe which -calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take -the German kind into consideration.... The few instances of higher -culture with which I have met in Germany were all French in their -origin. The most striking example of this was Madame Cosima Wagner, -by far the most decisive voice in matters of taste that I have ever -heard. If I do not read, but literally love Pascal? as the most -instinctive sacrifice to Christianity, killing himself inch by inch, -first bodily, then spiritually, according to the terrible consistency -of this most appalling form of inhuman cruelty; if I have something -of Montaigne's mischievousness in my soul, and--who knows?--perhaps -also in my body; if my artist's taste endeavours to defend the names -of Molière, Corneille, and Racine, and not without bitterness, against -such a wild genius as Shakespeare--all this does not prevent me from -regarding even the latter-day Frenchmen also as charming companions. -I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of -more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could -be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day. Let me -mention a few at random--for their number is by no means small--Paul -Bourget, Pierre Loti, Gyp, Meilhac, Anatole France, Jules Lemaitre; -or, to point to one of strong race, a genuine Latin, of whom I am -particularly fond, Guy de Maupassant. Between ourselves, I prefer this -generation even to its masters, all of whom were corrupted by German -philosophy (Taine, for instance, by Hegel, whom he has to thank for -his misunderstanding of great men and great periods). Wherever Germany -extends her sway, she _ruins_ culture. It was the war which first saved -the spirit of France.... Stendhal is one of the happiest accidents of -my life--for everything that marks an epoch in it has been brought -to me by accident and never by means of a recommendation. He is quite -priceless, with his psychologist's eye, quick at forestalling and -anticipating; with his grasp of facts, which is reminiscent of the same -art in the greatest of all masters of facts (_ex ungue Napoleonem_); -and, last but not least, as an honest atheist--a specimen which is -both rare and difficult to discover in France--all honour to Prosper -Mérimée!... Maybe that I am even envious of Stendhal? He robbed -me of the best atheistic joke, which I of all people could have -perpetrated: "God's only excuse is that He does not exist" ... I myself -have said somewhere--What has been the greatest objection to Life -hitherto?--God.... - - - -4 - - -It was Heinrich Heine who gave me the most perfect idea of what a -lyrical poet could be. In vain do I search through all the kingdoms of -antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and -passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which -perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me,--I estimate the value of -men, of races, according to the extent to which they are unable to -conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him. And with -what mastery he wields his native tongue! One day it will be said of -Heine and me that we were by far the greatest artists of the German -language that have ever existed, and that we left all the efforts that -mere Germans made in this language an incalculable distance behind -us. I must be profoundly related to Byron's _Manfred:_ of all the -dark abysses in this work I found the counterparts in my own soul--at -the age of thirteen I was ripe for this book. Words fail me, I have -only a look, for those who dare to utter the name of _Faust_ in the -presence of _Manfred._ The Germans are _incapable_ of conceiving -anything sublime: for a proof of this, look at Schumann! Out of anger -for this mawkish Saxon, I once deliberately composed a counter-overture -to _Manfred,_ of which Hans von Bülow declared he had never seen the -like before on paper: such compositions amounted to a violation of -Euterpe. When I cast about me for my highest formula of Shakespeare, -I find invariably but this one: that he conceived the type of Cæsar. -Such things a man cannot guess--he either is the thing, or he is not. -The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. -This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he -can no longer endure his own work.... After casting a glance between -the pages of my _Zarathustra,_ I pace my room to and fro for half -an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears. -I know of no more heartrending reading than Shakespeare: how a man -must have suffered to be so much in need of playing the clown! Is -Hamlet _understood_? It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one -mad.... But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be -an abyss, a philosopher.... We all fear the truth.... And, to make a -confession; I feel instinctively certain and convinced that Lord Bacon -is the originator, the self-torturer, of this most sinister kind of -literature: what do I care about the miserable gabble of American -muddlers and blockheads? But the power for the greatest realism in -vision is not only compatible with the greatest realism in deeds, -with the monstrous in deeds, with crime--_it actually presupposes the -latter._ ... We do not know half enough about Lord Bacon--the first -realist in all the highest acceptation of this word--to be sure of -everything he did, everything he willed, and everything he experienced -in his inmost soul.... Let the critics go to hell! Suppose I had -christened my _Zarathustra_ with a name not my own,--let us say with -Richard Wagner's name,--the acumen of two thousand years would not have -sufficed to guess that the author of _Human, all-too-Human_ was the -visionary of _Zarathustra._ - - - -5 - - -As I am speaking here of the recreations of my life, I feel I must -express a word or two of gratitude for that which has refreshed me by -far the most heartily and most profoundly. This, without the slightest -doubt, was my intimate relationship with Richard Wagner. All my other -relationships with men I treat quite lightly; but I would not have the -days I spent at Tribschen--those days of confidence, of cheerfulness, -of sublime flashes, and of profound moments--blotted from my life -at any price. I know not what Wagner may have been for others; but -no cloud ever darkened _our_ sky. And this brings me back again to -France,--I have no arguments against Wagnerites, and _hoc genus omne_ -who believe that they do honour to Wagner by believing him to be -like themselves; for such people I have only a contemptuous curl of -my lip. With a nature like mine, which is so strange to everything -Teutonic, that even the presence of a German retards my digestion, my -first meeting with Wagner was the first moment in my life in which I -breathed freely: I felt him, I honoured him, as a foreigner, as the -opposite and the incarnate contradiction of all "German virtues." We -who as children breathed the marshy atmosphere of the fifties, are -necessarily pessimists in regard to the concept "German"; we cannot -be anything else than revolutionaries--we can assent to no state of -affairs which allows the canting bigot to be at the top. I care not -a jot whether this canting bigot acts in different colours to-day, -whether he dresses in scarlet or dons the uniform of a hussar.[2] Very -well, then! Wagner was a revolutionary--he fled from the Germans.... -As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris; that subtlety -of all the five senses which Wagner's art presupposes, those fingers -that can detect slight gradations, psychological morbidity--all these -things can be found only in Paris. Nowhere else can you meet with -this passion for questions of form, this earnestness in matters of -_mise-en-scène,_ which is the Parisian earnestness _par excellence._ -In Germany no one has any idea of the tremendous ambition that fills -the heart of a Parisian artist. The German is a good fellow. Wagner was -by no means a good fellow.... But I have already said quite enough -on the subject of Wagner's real nature (see _Beyond Good and Evil,_ -Aphorism 269), and about those to whom he is most closely related. -He is one of the late French romanticists, that high-soaring and -heaven-aspiring band of artists, like Delacroix and Berlioz, who in -their inmost nacres are sick and incurable, and who are all fanatics -of _expression,_ and virtuosos through and through.... Who, in sooth, -was the first intelligent follower of Wagner? Charles Baudelaire, the -very man who first understood Delacroix--that typical decadent, in whom -a whole generation of artists saw their reflection; he was perhaps the -last of them too.... What is it that I have never forgiven Wagner? -The fact that he condescended to the Germans--that he became a German -Imperialist.... Wherever Germany spreads, she _ruins_ culture. - - - -6 - - -Taking everything into consideration, I could never have survived my -youth without Wagnerian music. For I was condemned to the society -of Germans. If a man wish to get rid of a feeling of insufferable -oppression, he has to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner. -Wagner is the counter-poison to everything essentially German--the fact -that he is a poison too, I do not deny. From the moment that _Tristan_ -was arranged for the piano--all honour to you, Herr von Bülow!--I was -a Wagnerite. Wagner's previous works seemed beneath me--they were too -commonplace, too "German." ... But to this day I am still seeking for a -work which would be a match to _Tristan_ in dangerous fascination, and -possess the same gruesome and dulcet quality of infinity; I seek among -all the arts in vain. All the quaint features of Leonardo da Vinci's -work lose their charm at the sound of the first bar in _Tristan._ -This work is without question Wagner's _non plus ultra_; after its -creation, the composition of the _Mastersingers_ and of the _Ring_ was -a relaxation to him. To become more healthy--this in a nature like -Wagner's amounts to going backwards. The curiosity of the psychologist -is so great in me, that I regard it as quite a special privilege -to have lived at the right time, and to have lived precisely among -Germans, in order to be ripe for this work. The world must indeed be -empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for this "infernal -voluptuousness": it is allowable, it is even imperative, to employ a -mystic formula for this purpose. I suppose I know better than any one -the prodigious feats of which Wagner was capable, the fifty worlds of -strange ecstasies to which no one else had wings to soar; and as I am -alive to-day and strong enough to turn even the most suspicious and -most dangerous things to my own advantage, and thus to grow stronger, -I declare Wagner to have been the greatest benefactor of my life. The -bond which unites us is the fact that we have suffered greater agony, -even at each other's hands, than most men are able to bear nowadays, -and this will always keep our names associated in the minds of men. -For, just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among Germans, so, in -truth, am I, and ever will be. Ye lack two centuries of psychological -and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But ye can never -recover the time lost. - - - -7 - - -To the most exceptional of my readers I should like to say just one -word about what I really exact from music. It must be cheerful and yet -profound, like an October afternoon. It must be original, exuberant, -and tender, and like a dainty, soft woman in roguishness and grace ... I -shall never admit that a German _can_ understand what music is. Those -musicians who are called German, the greatest and most famous foremost, -are all foreigners, either Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen--or Jews; -or else, like Heinrich Schütz, Bach, and Händel, they are Germans of -a strong race which is now extinct. For my own part, I have still -enough of the Pole left in me to let all other music go, if only I -can keep Chopin. For three reasons I would except Wagner's _Siegfried -Idyll,_ and perhaps also one or two things of Liszt, who excelled all -other musicians in the noble tone of his orchestration; and finally -everything that has been produced beyond the Alps_--this side_ of the -Alps.[3] I could not possibly dispense with Rossini, and still less -with my Southern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro, Pietro -Gasti. And when I say beyond the Alps, all I really mean is Venice. -If I try to find a new word for music, I can never find any other -than Venice. I know not how to draw any distinction between tears -and music. I do not know how to think either of joy, or of the south, -without a shudder of fear. - -On the bridge I stood -Lately, in gloomy night. -Came a distant song: -In golden drops it rolled -Over the glittering rim away. -Music, gondolas, lights-- -Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom.... - -A stringed instrument, my soul, -Sang, imperceptibly moved, -A gondola song by stealth, -Gleaming for gaudy blessedness. ---Hearkened any thereto? - - - -8 - - -In all these things--in the choice of food, place, climate, and -recreation--the instinct of self-preservation is dominant, and this -instinct manifests itself with least ambiguity when it acts as an -instinct of defence. To close one's eyes to much, to seal one's ears to -much, to keep certain things at a distance--this is the first principle -of prudence, the first proof of the fact that a man is not an accident -but a necessity. The popular word for this instinct of defence is -_taste._ A man's imperative command is not only to say "no" in cases -where "yes" would be a sign of "disinterestedness," but also to say -"no" _as seldom as possible._ One must part with all that which compels -one to repeat "no," with ever greater frequency. The rationale of this -principle is that all discharges of defensive forces, however slight -they may be, involve enormous and absolutely superfluous losses when -they become regular and habitual. Our greatest expenditure of strength -is made up of those small and most frequent discharges of it. The act -of keeping things off, of holding them at a distance, amounts to a -discharge of strength,--do not deceive yourselves on this point!--and -an expenditure of energy directed at purely negative ends. Simply by -being compelled to keep constantly on his guard, a man may grow so weak -as to be unable any longer to defend himself. Suppose I were to step -out of my house, and, instead of the quiet and aristocratic city of -Turin, I were to find a German provincial town, my instinct would have -to brace itself together in order to repel all that which would pour in -upon it from this crushed-down and cowardly world. Or suppose I were -to find a large German city--that structure of vice in which nothing -grows, but where every single thing, whether good or bad, is squeezed -in from outside. In such circumstances should I not be compelled to -become a hedgehog? But to have prickles amounts to a squandering of -strength; they even constitute a twofold luxury, when, if we only chose -to do so, we could dispense with them and open our hands instead.... - -Another form of prudence and self-defence consists in trying to -react as seldom as possible, and to keep one's self aloof from those -circumstances and conditions wherein one would be condemned, as it -were, to suspend one's "liberty" and one's initiative, and become a -mere reacting medium. As an example of this I point to the intercourse -with books. The scholar who, in sooth, does little else than handle -books--with the philologist of average attainments their number may -amount to two hundred a day--ultimately forgets entirely and completely -the capacity of thinking for himself. When he has not a book between -his fingers he cannot think. When he thinks, he responds to a stimulus -(a thought he has read),--finally all he does is to react. The scholar -exhausts his whole strength in saying either "yes" or "no" to matter -which has already been thought out, or in criticising it--he is no -longer capable of thought on his own account.... In him the instinct -of self-defence has decayed, otherwise he would defend himself against -books. The scholar is a decadent. With my own eyes I have seen gifted, -richly endowed, and free-spirited natures already "read to ruins" at -thirty, and mere wax vestas that have to be rubbed before they can give -off any sparks--or "thoughts." To set to early in the morning, at the -break of day, in all the fulness and dawn of one's strength, and to -read a book--this I call positively vicious! - - - -9 - - -At this point I can no longer evade a direct answer to the question, -_how one becomes what one is._ And in giving it, I shall have to -touch upon that masterpiece in the art of self-preservation, which is -_selfishness._ ... Granting that one's life-task--the determination and -the fate of one's life-task--greatly exceeds the average measure of -such things, nothing more dangerous could be conceived than to come -face to face with one's self by the side of this life-task. The fact -that one becomes what one is, presupposes that one has not the remotest -suspicion of what one is. From this standpoint even the blunders of -one's life have their own meaning and value, the temporary deviations -and aberrations, the moments of hesitation and of modesty, the -earnestness wasted upon duties which lie outside the actual life-task. -In these matters great wisdom, perhaps even the highest wisdom, comes -into activity: in these circumstances, in which _nosce teipsum_ would -be the sure road to ruin, forgetting one's self, misunderstanding -one's self, belittling one's self, narrowing one's self, and making -one's self mediocre, amount to reason itself. Expressed morally, to -love one's neighbour and to live for others and for other things -_may_ be the means of protection employed to maintain the hardest -kind of egoism. This is the exceptional case in which I, contrary -to my principle and conviction, take the side of the altruistic -instincts; for here they are concerned in subserving selfishness -and self-discipline. The whole surface of consciousness--for -consciousness _is_ a surface--must be kept free from any one of the -great imperatives. Beware even of every striking word, of every -striking attitude! They are all so many risks which the instinct runs -of "understanding itself" too soon. Meanwhile the organising "idea," -which is destined to become master, grows and continues to grow into -the depths,--it begins to command, it leads you slowly back from your -deviations and aberrations, it prepares individual qualities and -capacities, which one day will make themselves felt as indispensable -to the whole of your task,--step by step it cultivates all the -serviceable faculties, before it ever whispers a word concerning the -dominant task, the "goal," the "object," and the "meaning" of it all. -Looked at from this standpoint my life is simply amazing. For the task -of _transvaluing values,_ more capacities were needful perhaps than -could well be found side by side in one individual; and above all, -antagonistic capacities which had to be free from the mutual strife -and destruction which they involve. An order of rank among capacities; -distance; the art of separating without creating hostility; to refrain -from confounding things; to keep from reconciling things; to possess -enormous multifariousness and yet to be the reverse of chaos--all -this was the first condition, the long secret work, and the artistic -mastery of my instinct. Its superior guardianship manifested itself -with such exceeding strength, that not once did I ever dream of what -was growing within me--until suddenly all my capacities were ripe, and -one day burst forth in all the perfection of their highest bloom. I -cannot remember ever having exerted myself, I can point to no trace of -_struggle_ in my life; I am the reverse of a heroic nature. To "will" -something, to "strive" after something, to have an "aim" or a "desire" -in my mind--I know none of these things from experience. Even at this -moment I look out upon my future--a _broad_ future!--as upon a calm -sea: no sigh of longing makes a ripple on its surface. I have not the -slightest wish that anything should be otherwise than it is: I myself -would not be otherwise.... But in this matter I have always been the -same. I have never had a desire. A man who, after his four-and-fortieth -year, can say that he has never bothered himself about _honours, -women,_ or _money_!--not that they did not come his way.... It was -thus that I became one day a University Professor--I had never had -the remotest idea of such a thing; for I was scarcely four-and-twenty -years of age. In the same way, two years previously, I had one day -become a philologist, in the sense that my _first_ philological work, -my start in every way, was expressly obtained by my master Ritschl for -publication in his _Rheinisches Museum._[4] (Ritschl--and I say it -in all reverence--was the only genial scholar that I have ever met. -He possessed that pleasant kind of depravity which distinguishes us -Thuringians, and which makes even a German sympathetic--even in the -pursuit of truth we prefer to avail ourselves of roundabout ways. In -saying this I do not mean to underestimate in any way my Thuringian -brother, the intelligent Leopold von Ranke....) - - - -10 - - -You may be wondering why I should actually have related all these -trivial and, according to traditional accounts, insignificant details -to you; such action can but tell against me, more particularly if I -am fated to figure in great causes. To this I reply that these trivial -matters--diet, locality, climate, and one's mode of recreation, the -whole casuistry of; self-love--are inconceivably more important than, -all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem! It is precisely -in this quarter that we must begin to learn afresh. All those things -which mankind has valued with such earnestness heretofore are not even -real; they are mere creations of fancy, or, more strictly speaking, -_lies_ born of the evil instincts of diseased and, in the deepest -sense, noxious natures--all the concepts, "God," "soul," "virtue," -"sin," "Beyond," "truth," "eternal life." ... But the greatness of -human nature, its "divinity," was sought for in them.... All questions -of politics, of social order, of education, have been falsified, root -and branch, owing to the fact that the most noxious men have been -taken for great men, and that people were taught to despise the small -things, or rather the fundamental things, of life. If I now choose to -compare myself with those creatures who have hitherto been honoured as -the first among men, the difference becomes obvious. I do not reckon -the so-called "first" men even as human beings--for me they are the -excrements of mankind, the products of disease and of the instinct -of revenge: they are so many monsters laden with rottenness, so many -hopeless incurables, who avenge themselves on life.... I wish to be -the opposite of these people: it is my privilege to have the very -sharpest discernment for every sign of healthy instincts. There is no -such thing as a morbid trait in me; even in times of serious illness -I have never grown morbid, and you might seek in vain for a trace of -fanaticism in my nature. No one can point to any moment of my life -in which I have assumed either an arrogant or a pathetic attitude. -Pathetic attitudes are not in keeping with greatness; he who needs -attitudes is false.... Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy--in -fact easiest--to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest -duties from me. Whoever could have seen me during the seventy days of -this autumn, when, without interruption, I did a host of things of -the highest rank--things that no man can do nowadays--with a sense of -responsibility for all the ages yet to come, would have noticed no sign -of tension in my condition, but rather a state of overflowing freshness -and good cheer. Never have I eaten with more pleasant sensations, -never has my sleep been better. I know of no other manner of dealing -with great tasks, than as _play_: this, as a sign of greatness, is -an essential prerequisite. The slightest constraint, a sombre mien, -any hard accent in the voice--all these things are objections to a -man, but how much more to his work!... One must not have nerves.... -Even to _suffer_ from solitude is an objection--the only thing I have -always suffered from is "multitude."[5] At an absurdly tender age, in -fact when I was seven years old, I already knew that no human speech -would ever reach me: did any one ever see me sad on that account? At -present I still possess the same affability towards everybody, I am -even full of consideration for the lowest: in all this there is not -an atom of haughtiness or of secret contempt. He whom I despise soon -guesses that he is despised by me: the very fact of my existence is -enough to rouse indignation in all those who have polluted blood in -their veins. My formula for greatness in man is! _amor fati_: the fact -that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or -behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, -and on no account concealed,--all idealism is falsehood in the face of -necessity,--but it must also be _loved...._ - - -[Footnote 1: Nietzsche, as is well known, devoted much time when a -student at Leipzig to the study of three Greek philosophers, Theognis, -Diogenes Laertius, and Democritus. This study first bore fruit in the -case of a paper, _Zur Geschichte der Theognideischen Spruchsammlung_, -which was subsequently published by the most influential journal of -classical philology in Germany. Later, however, it enabled Nietzsche to -enter for the prize offered by the University of Leipzig for an essay, -_De fontibus Diogenis Laertii._ He was successful in gaining the prize, -and the treatise was afterwards published in the _Rheinisches Museum,_ -and is still quoted as an authority. It is to this essay, written when -he was twenty-three years of age, that he here refers.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: The favourite uniform of the German Emperor, William -II.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: In the latter years of his life, Nietzsche practically -made Italy his home.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: See note on page 37.] - -[Footnote 5: The German words are, _Einsamkeit_ and _Vielsamkeit._ The -latter was coined by Nietzsche. The English word "multitude" should, -therefore, be understood as signifying multifarious instincts and -gifts, which in Nietzsche strove for ascendancy and caused him more -suffering than any solitude. Complexity of this sort, held in check -by a dominant instinct, as in Nietzsche's case, is of course the only -possible basis of an artistic nature.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS - - - -1 - - -I am one thing, my creations are another. Here, before I speak of the -books themselves, I shall touch upon the question of the understanding -and misunderstanding with which they have met. I shall proceed to -do this in as perfunctory a manner as the occasion demands; for the -time has by no means come for this question. My time has not yet -come either; some are born posthumously. One s day institutions will -be needed in which men will live and teach, as I understand living -and teaching; maybe, also, that by that time, chairs will be founded -and endowed for the interpretation of _Zarathustra. _ But I should -regard it as a complete contradiction of myself, if I expected to -find ears and eyes for my truths to-day: the fact that no one listens -to me, that no one knows how to receive at my hands to-day, is not -only comprehensible, it seems to me quite the proper thing. I do not -wish to be mistaken for another--and to this end I must not mistake -myself. To repeat what I have already said, I can point to but few -instances of ill-will in my life: and as for literary ill-will, I -could mention scarcely a single example of it. On the other hand, I -have met with far too much _pure foolery_!... It seems to me that to -take up one of my books is one of the rarest honours that a man can -pay himself--even supposing that he put his shoes from off his feet -beforehand, not to mention boots.... When on one occasion Dr. Heinrich -von Stein honestly complained that he could not understand a word of -my _Zarathustra,_ I said to him that this was just as it should be: to -have understood six sentences in that book--that is to say, to have -lived them--raises a man to a higher level among mortals than "modern" -men can attain. With this feeling of distance how could I even wish to -be read by the "moderns" whom I know! My triumph is just the opposite -of what Schopenhauer's was--I say "_Non_ legor, _non_ legar."--Not -that I should like to underestimate the pleasure I have derived from -the innocence with which my works have frequently been contradicted. -As late as last summer, at a time when I was attempting, perhaps by -means of my weighty, all-too-weighty literature, to throw the rest of -literature off its balance, a certain professor of Berlin University -kindly gave me to understand that I ought really to make use of a -different form: no one could read such stuff as I wrote.--Finally, it -was not Germany, but Switzerland that presented me with the two most -extreme cases. An essay on _Beyond Good and Evil,_ by Dr. V. Widmann in -the paper called the _Bund,_ under the heading "Nietzsche's Dangerous -Book," and a general account of all my works, from the pen of Herr -Karl Spitteler, also in the _Bund,_ constitute a maximum in my life--I -shall not say of what.... The latter treated my _Zarathustra,_ for -instance as "_advanced exercises in style_," and expressed the wish -that later on I might try and attend to the question of substance as -well; Dr. Widmann assured me of his respect for the courage I showed -in endeavouring to abolish all decent feeling. Thanks to a little -trick of destiny, every sentence in these criticisms seemed, with -a consistency that I could but admire, to be an inverted truth. In -fact it was most remarkable that all one had to do was to "transvalue -all values," in order to hit the nail on the head with regard to me, -instead of striking my head with the nail.... I am more particularly -anxious therefore to discover an explanation. After all, no one can -draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man -has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access. To -take an extreme case, suppose a book contains simply incidents which -lie quite outside the range of general or even rare experience--suppose -it to be the _first_ language to express a whole series of experiences. -In this case nothing it contains will really be heard at all, and, -thanks to an acoustic delusion, people will believe that where nothing -is heard there is nothing to hear.... This, at least, has been my -usual experience, and proves, if you will, the originality of my -experience. He who thought he had understood something in my work, had -as a rule adjusted something in it to his own image--not infrequently -the very opposite of myself, an "idealist," for instance. He who -understood nothing in my work, would deny that I was worth considering -at all.--The word "Superman," which designates a type of man that -would be one of nature's rarest and luckiest strokes, as opposed to -"modern" men, to "good" men, to Christians and other Nihilists,--a -word which in the mouth of Zarathustra, the annihilator of morality, -acquires a very profound meaning,--is understood almost everywhere, and -with perfect innocence, in the light of those values to which a flat -contradiction was made manifest in the figure of Zarathustra--that is -to say, as an "ideal" type, a higher kind of man, half "saint" and half -"genius." ... Other learned cattle have suspected me of Darwinism on -account of this word: even the "hero cult" of that great unconscious -and involuntary swindler, Carlyle,--a cult which I repudiated with -such roguish malice,--was recognised in my doctrine. Once, when I -whispered to a man that he would do better I to seek for the Superman -in a Cæsar Borgia than in a Parsifal, he could not believe his ears. -The fact that I am quite free from curiosity in regard to criticisms of -my books, more particularly when they appear in newspapers, will have -to be forgiven me. My friends and my publishers know this, and never -speak to me of such things. In one particular case, I once saw all the -sins that had been committed against a single book--it was _Beyond Good -and Evil;_ I could tell you a nice story about it. Is it possible that -the _National-Zeitung_--a Prussian paper (this comment is for the sake -of my foreign readers--for my own part, I beg to state, I read only _Le -Journal des Débats_)--really and seriously regarded the book as a "sign -of the times," or a genuine and typical example of Tory philosophy,[1] -for which the _Kreuz-Zeitung_ had not sufficient courage?... - - - -2 - - -This was said for the benefit of Germans: for everywhere else I have -my readers--all of them exceptionally intelligent men, characters that -have won their spurs and that have been reared in high offices and -superior duties; I have even real geniuses among my readers. In Vienna, -in St Petersburg, in Stockholm, in Copenhagen, in Paris, and New -York--I have been discovered everywhere: I have not yet been discovered -in Europe's flatland--Germany.... And, to make a confession, I rejoice -much more heartily over those who do not read me, over those who have -neither heard of my name nor of the word philosophy. But whithersoever -I go, here in Turin, for instance, every face brightens and softens -at the sight of me. A thing that has flattered me more than anything -else hitherto, is the fact that old market-women cannot rest until -they have picked out the sweetest of their grapes for me. To this -extent must a man be a philosopher.... It is not in vain that the -Poles are considered as the French among the Slavs. A charming Russian -lady will not be mistaken for a single moment concerning my origin. -I am not successful at being pompous, the most I can do is to appear -embarrassed.... I can think in German, I can feel in German--I can do -most things; but this is beyond my powers.... My old master Ritschl -went so far as to declare that I planned even my philological treatises -after the manner of a Parisian novelist--that I made them absurdly -thrilling. In Paris itself people are surprised at "_toutes mes audaces -et finesses_";--the words are Monsieur Taine's;--I fear that even in -the highest forms of the dithyramb, that salt will be found pervading -my work which never becomes insipid, which never becomes "German"--and -that is, wit.... I can do nought else. God help me! Amen.--We all know, -some of us even from experience, what a "long-ears" is. Well then, I -venture to assert that I have the smallest ears that have ever been -seen. This fact is not without interest to women--it seems to me they -feel that I understand them better!... I am essentially the anti-ass, -and on this account alone a monster in the world's history--in Greek, -and not only in Greek, I am the _Antichrist._ - - - -3 - - -I am to a great extent aware of my privileges as a writer: in one -or two cases it has even been brought home to me how very much the -habitual > reading of my works "spoils" a man's taste. Other books -simply cannot be endured after mine, and least of all philosophical -ones. It is an incomparable distinction to cross the threshold of -this noble and subtle world--in order to do so one must certainly -not be a German; it is, in short, a distinction which one must have -deserved. He, however, who is related to me through loftiness of -will, experiences genuine raptures of understanding in my books: -for I swoop down from heights into which no bird has ever soared; I -know abysses into which no foot has ever slipped. People have told -me that it is impossible to lay down a book of mine--that I disturb -even the night's rest.... There is no prouder or at the same time more -subtle kind of books: they sometimes attain to the highest pinnacle -of earthly endeavour, cynicism; to capture their thoughts a man must -have the tenderest fingers as well as the most intrepid fists. Any -kind of spiritual decrepitude utterly excludes all intercourse with -them--even any kind of dyspepsia: a man must have no nerves, but he -must have a cheerful belly. Not only the poverty of a man's soul and -its stuffy air excludes all intercourse with them, but also, and to a -much greater degree, cowardice, uncleanliness, and secret intestinal -revengefulness; a word from my lips suffices to make the colour of -all evil instincts rush into a face. Among my acquaintances I have -a number of experimental subjects, in whom I see depicted all the -different, and instructively different, reactions which follow upon -a perusal of my works. Those who will have nothing to do with the -contents of my books, as for instance my so-called friends, assume an -"impersonal" tone concerning them: they wish me luck, and congratulate -me for having produced another work; they also declare that my writings -show progress, because they exhale a more cheerful spirit.... The -thoroughly vicious people, the "beautiful souls," the false from top to -toe, do not know in the least what to do with my books--consequently, -with the beautiful consistency of all beautiful souls, they regard -my work as beneath them. The cattle among my acquaintances, the mere -Germans, leave me to understand, if you please, that they are not -always of my opinion, though here and there they agree with me.... I -have heard this said even about _Zarathustra._ "Feminism," whether in -mankind or in man, is likewise a barrier to my writings; with it, no -one could ever enter into this labyrinth of fearless knowledge. To -this end, a man must never have spared himself, he must have been hard -in his habits, in order to be good-humoured and merry among a host of -inexorable truths. When I try to picture the character of a perfect -reader, I always imagine a monster of courage and curiosity, as well as -of suppleness, cunning, and prudence--in short, a born adventurer and -explorer. After all, I could not describe better than _Zarathustra_ has -done unto whom I really address myself: unto whom alone would he reveal -his riddle? - -"Unto you, daring explorers and experimenters, and unto all who have -ever embarked beneath cunning sails upon terrible seas; - -"Unto you who revel in riddles and in twilight, whose souls are lured -by flutes unto every treacherous abyss: - -"For ye care not to grope your way along a thread with craven fingers; -and where ye are able to _guess,_ ye hate to _argue_?" - - - -4 - - -I will now pass just one or two general remarks about my _art of -style._ To communicate a state an inner tension of pathos by means -of signs, including the tempo of these signs,--that is the meaning of -every style; and in view of the fact that the multiplicity of inner -states in me is enormous, I am capable of many kinds of style--in -short, the most multifarious art of style that any man has ever had at -his disposal. Any style is _good_ which genuinely communicates an inner -condition, which does not blunder over the signs, over the tempo of the -signs, or over _moods_--all the laws of phrasing are the outcome of -representing moods artistically. Good style, in itself, is a piece of -sheer foolery, mere idealism, like "beauty in itself," for instance, -or "goodness in itself," or "the thing-in-itself." All this takes for -granted, of course, that there exist ears that can hear, and such men -as are capable and worthy of a like pathos, that those are not wanting -unto whom one may communicate one's self. Meanwhile my Zarathustra, -for instance, is still in quest of such people--alas! he will have to -seek a long while yet! A man must be worthy of listening to him.... -And, until that time, there will be no one who will understand the art -that has been squandered in this book. No one has ever existed who has -had more novel, more strange, and purposely created art forms to fling -to the winds. The fact that such things were possible in the German -language still awaited proof; formerly, I myself would have denied -most emphatically that it was possible. Before my time people did not -know what could be done with the German language--what could be done -with language in general. The art of grand rhythm, of grand style in -periods, for expressing the tremendous fluctuations of sublime and -superhuman passion, was first discovered by me: with the dithyramb -entitled "The Seven Seals," which constitutes the last discourse of -the third part of _Zarathustra,_ I soared miles above all that which -heretofore has been called poetry. - - - -5 - - -The fact that the voice which speaks in my works is that of a -psychologist who has not his peer, is perhaps the first conclusion -at which a good reader will arrive--a reader such as I deserve, and -one who reads me just as the good old philologists used to read their -Horace. Those propositions about which all the world is fundamentally -agreed--not to speak of fashionable philosophy, of moralists and -other empty-headed and cabbage-brained people--are to me but ingenuous -blunders: for instance, the belief that "altruistic" and "egoistic"; -are opposites, while all the time the "ego" itself is merely a "supreme -swindle," an "ideal." ... There are no such things as egoistic or -altruistic actions: both concepts are psychological nonsense. Or -the proposition that "man pursues happiness"; or the proposition -that "happiness is the reward of virtue." ... Or the proposition -that "pleasure and pain are opposites." ... Morality, the Circe of -mankind, has falsified everything psychological, root and branch--it -has demoralised everything, even to the terribly nonsensical point -of calling love "unselfish." A man must first be firmly poised, he -must stand securely on his two legs, otherwise he cannot love at -all. This indeed the girls know only too well: they don't care two -pins about unselfish and merely objective men.... May I venture to -suggest, incidentally, that I know women? This knowledge is part of my -Dionysian patrimony. Who knows? maybe I am the first psychologist of -the eternally feminine. Women all like me.... But that's an old story: -save, of course, the abortions among them, the emancipated ones, those -who lack the where-withal to have children. Thank goodness I am not -willing to let myself be torn to pieces! the perfect woman tears you -to pieces when she loves you: I know these amiable Mænads.... Oh! what -a dangerous, creeping, subterranean little beast of prey she is! And -so agreeable withal! ... A little woman, pursuing her vengeance, would -force open even the iron gates of Fate itself. Woman is incalculably -more wicked than man, she is also cleverer. Goodness in a woman is -already a sign of _degeneration._ All cases of "beautiful souls" in -women may be traced to a faulty physiological condition--but I go no -further, lest I should become medicynical. The struggle for equal -rights is even a symptom of disease; every doctor knows this. The more -womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail against rights -in general: the natural order of things, the eternal war between the -sexes, assigns to her by far the foremost rank. Have people had ears -to hear my definition of love? It is the only definition worthy of a -philosopher. Love, in its means, is war; in its foundation, it is the -mortal hatred of the sexes. Have you heard my reply to the question -how a woman can be cured, "saved" in fact?--Give her a child! A woman -needs children, man is always only a means, thus spake Zarathustra. -"The emancipation of women,"--this is the instinctive hatred of -physiologically botched--that is to say, barren--women for those of -their sisters who are well constituted: the fight against "man" is -always only a means, a pretext, a piece of strategy. By trying to rise -to "Woman _per se_," to "Higher Woman," to the "Ideal Woman," all they -wish to do is to lower the general level of women's rank: and there are -no more certain means to this end than university education, trousers, -and the rights of voting cattle. Truth to tell, the emancipated are -the anarchists in the "eternally feminine" world, the physiological -mishaps, the most deep-rooted instinct of whom is revenge. A whole -species of the most malicious "idealism"--which, by the bye, also -manifests itself in men, in Henrik Ibsen for instance, that typical -old maid--whose object is to poison the clean conscience, the natural -spirit, of sexual love.... And in order to leave no doubt in your minds -in regard to my opinion, which, on this matter, is as honest as it -is severe, I will reveal to you one more clause out of my moral code -against vice--with the word "vice" I combat every kind of! opposition -to Nature, or, if you prefer fine words, idealism. The clause reads: -"Preaching of chastity is a public incitement to unnatural practices. -All depreciation of the sexual life, all the sullying of it by means -of the concept 'impure,' is the essential crime against Life--is the -essential crime against the Holy Spirit of Life." - -In order to give you some idea of myself as a psychologist, let me -take this curious piece of psychological analysis out of the book -_Beyond Good and Evil,_ in which it appears. I forbid, by the bye, any -guessing as to whom I am describing in this passage. "The genius of -the heart, as that great anchorite possesses it, the divine tempter -and born Pied Piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to sink into -the inmost depths of every soul, who neither utters a word nor casts a -glance, in which some seductive motive or trick does not lie: a part -of whose masterliness is that he understands the art of seeming--not -what he is, but that which will place a fresh constraint upon his -followers to press ever more closely upon him, to follow him ever more -enthusiastically and whole-heartedly.... The genius of the heart, -which makes all loud and self-conceited things hold their tongues and -lend their ears, which polishes all rough souls and makes them taste a -new longing--to lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be -reflected in them.... The genius of the heart which teaches the clumsy -and too hasty hand to hesitate and grasp more tenderly; which scents -the hidden and forgotten treasure, the pearl of goodness and sweet -spirituality, beneath thick black ice, and is a divining rod for every -grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in heaps of mud and sand.... -The genius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away -richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, not as though favoured and crushed -by the good things of others; but richer in himself, fresher to -himself than before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing -wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more fragile, more -bruised; but full of hopes which as yet lack names, full of a new will -and striving, full of a new unwillingness and counter-striving." ... - - -[Footnote 1: _Junker-Philosophie._ The landed proprietors constitute -the dominating class in Prussia, and it is from this class that all -officers and higher officials are drawn. The _Kreuz-Zeitung_ is the -organ of the Junker party.--TR.] - - - - -"THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY" - - - -1 - - -In order to be fair to the _Birth of Tragedy_ (1872) it is necessary -to forget a few things. It created a sensation and even fascinated by -means of its mistakes--by means of its application to Wagnerism, as -if the latter were the sign of an ascending tendency. On that account -alone, this treatise was an event in Wagner's life: thenceforward -great hopes surrounded the name of Wagner. Even to this day, people -remind me, sometimes in the middle of _Parsifal,_ that it rests on -my conscience if the opinion, that this movement is of great value -to culture, at length became prevalent I have often seen the book -quoted as "The Second Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music": -people had ears only for new formulæ for Wagner's art, his object -and his mission--and in this way the real hidden value of the book -was overlooked. "Hellenism and Pessimism"--this would have been a -less equivocal title, seeing that the book contains the first attempt -at showing how the Greeks succeeded in disposing: of pessimism--in -what manner they overcame it. ... Tragedy itself is the proof of -the fact that the Greeks were not pessimists: Schopenhauer blundered -here as he blundered in everything else.--Regarded impartially, -_The Birth of Tragedy_ is a book quite strange to its age: no one -would dream that it was begun in the thunder of the battle of Wörth. -I thought out these problems on cold September nights beneath the -walls of Metz, in the midst of my duties as nurse to the wounded; it -would be easier to think that it was written fifty years earlier. Its -attitude towards politics is one of indifference,--"un-German,"[1] -as people would say to-day,--it smells offensively of Hegel; only in -one or two formulæ is it infected with the bitter odour of corpses -which is peculiar to Schopenhauer. An idea--the antagonism of the two -concepts Dionysian and Apollonian--is translated into metaphysics; -history itself is depicted as the development of this idea; in tragedy -this antithesis has become unity; from this standpoint things which -theretofore had never been face to face are suddenly confronted, and -understood and illuminated by each other.... Opera and revolution, -for instance.... The two decisive innovations in the book are, first, -the comprehension of the Dionysian phenomenon among the Greeks--it -provides the first psychological analysis of this phenomenon, and -sees in it the single root of all Greek art; and, secondly, the -comprehension of Socraticism--Socrates being presented for the first -time as the instrument of Greek dissolution, as a typical decadent. -"Reason" _versus_ Instinct. "Reason" at any cost, as a dangerous, -life-undermining force. The whole book is profoundly and politely -silent concerning Christianity: the latter is neither Apollonian nor -Dionysian; it denies all æsthetic values, which are the only values -that _The Birth of Tragedy_ recognises. Christianity is most profoundly -nihilistic, whereas in the Dionysian symbol, the most extreme limits of -a yea-saying attitude to life are attained. In one part of the book the -Christian priesthood is referred to as a "perfidious order of goblins," -as "subterraneans." - -This start of mine was remarkable beyond measure. As a confirmation of -my inmost personal experience I had discovered the only example of this -fact that history possesses,--with this I was the first to understand -the amazing Dionysian phenomenon. At the same time, by recognising -Socrates as a decadent, I proved most conclusively that the certainty -of my psychological grasp of things ran very little risk at the hands -of any sort of moral idiosyncrasy: to regard morality itself as a -symptom of degeneration is an innovation, a unique event of the first -order in the history of knowledge. How high I had soared above the -pitifully foolish gabble about Optimism and Pessimism with my two new -doctrines! I was the first to see the actual contrast: the degenerate -instinct which turns upon life with a subterranean lust of vengeance -(Christianity, Schopenhauer's philosophy, and in some respects too -even Plato's philosophy--in short, the whole of idealism in its typical -forms), as opposed to a formula of the highest yea-saying to life, -born of an abundance and a superabundance of life--a I yea-saying free -from all reserve, applying even to suffering, and guilt, and all that -is questionable and strange in existence.... This last, most joyous, -most exuberant and exultant yea to life, is not only the highest, -but also the profoundest conception, and one which is most strictly -confirmed and supported by truth and science. Nothing that exists must -be suppressed, nothing can be dispensed with. Those aspects of life -which Christians and other Nihilists reject, belong to an incalculably -higher order in the hierarchy of values, than that which the instinct -of degeneration calls good, and _may_ call good. In order to understand -this, a certain courage is necessary, and, as a prerequisite of this, -a certain superfluity of strength: for a man can approach only as near -to truth as he has the courage to advance--that is to say, everything -depends strictly upon the measure of his strength. Knowledge, and -the affirmation of reality, are just as necessary to the strong man -as cowardice, the flight from reality--in fact, the "ideal"--are -necessary to the weak inspired by weakness.... These people are not -at liberty to "know,"--decadents stand in need of lies,--it is one of -their self-preservative measures. He who not only understands the word -"Dionysian," but understands _himself_ in that term, does not require -any refutation of Plato, or of Christianity, or of Schopenhauer--for -his nose _scents decomposition._ - - - -3 - - -The extent to which I had by means of these doctrines discovered the -idea of "tragedy," the ultimate explanation of what the psychology of -tragedy is, I discussed finally in _The Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. -5, part 10).... "The saying of yea to life, and even to its weirdest -and most difficult problems: the will to life rejoicing at its own -infinite vitality in the sacrifice of its highest types--that is what I -called Dionysian, that is what I meant as the bridge to the psychology -of the tragic poet. Not to cast out terror and pity, or to purge one's -self of dangerous passion by discharging it with vehemence,--this was -Aristotle's[2] misunderstanding of it,--but to be far beyond terror -and pity and to be the eternal lust of Becoming itself--that lust -which also involves the joy of destruction." ... In this sense I have -the right to regard myself as the first _tragic philosopher_--that is -to say, the most extreme antithesis and antipodes of a pessimistic -philosopher. Before my time no such thing existed as this translation -of the Dionysian phenomenon into philosophic emotion: tragic wisdom was -lacking; in vain have I sought for signs of it even among the great -Greeks in philosophy--those belonging to the two centuries before -Socrates. I still remained a little doubtful about Heraclitus, in whose -presence, alone, I felt warmer and more at ease than anywhere else. -The yea-saying to the impermanence and annihilation of things, which -is the decisive feature of a Dionysian philosophy; the yea-saying to -contradiction and war, the postulation of Becoming, together with the -radical rejection even of the concept _Being_-- in all these things, at -all events, I must recognise him who has come nearest to me in thought -hither to. The doctrine of the "Eternal Recurrence"--that is to say, -of the absolute and eternal repetition of all things in periodical -cycles--this doctrine of Zarathustra's might, it is true, have been -taught before. In any case, the Stoics, who derived nearly all their -fundamental ideas from Heraclitus, show traces of it. - -A tremendous hope finds expression in this work. After all, I have -absolutely no reason to renounce the hope for a Dionysian future of -music. Let us look a century ahead, and let us suppose that my attempt -to destroy two millenniums of hostility to Nature and of the violation -of humanity be crowned with success That new party of life-advocates, -which will undertake the greatest of all tasks, the elevation and -perfection of mankind, as well as the relentless destruction of all -degenerate and parasitical elements, will make that _superabundance -of life_ on earth once more possible, out of which the Dionysian -state will perforce arise again. I promise the advent of a tragic -age: the highest art in the saying of yea to life, "tragedy," will be -born again when mankind has the knowledge of the hardest, but most -necessary of wars, behind it, without, however, suffering from that -knowledge.... A psychologist might add that what I heard in Wagnerian -music in my youth and early manhood had nothing whatsoever to do with -Wagner; that when I described Dionysian music, I described merely -what _I_ personally had heard--that I was compelled instinctively to -translate and transfigure everything into the new spirit which filled -my breast. A proof of this, and as strong a proof as you could have, -is my essay, _Wagner in Bayreuth_: in all its decisive psychological -passages I am the only person concerned--without any hesitation you may -read my name or the word "Zarathustra" wherever the text contains the -name of Wagner. The whole panorama of the _dithyrambic_ artist is the -representation of the already existing author of _Zarathustra,_ and -it is drawn with an abysmal depth which does not even once come into -contact with the real Wagner. Wagner himself had a notion of the truth; -he did not recognise himself in the essay.--In this way, "the idea of -Bayreuth" was changed into something which to those who are acquainted -with my _Zarathustra_ will be no riddle--that is to say, into the -Great Noon when the highest of the elect will consecrate themselves -for the greatest of all duties--who knows? the vision of a feast which -I may live to see.... The pathos of the first few pages is universal -history; the look which is discussed on page 105[3] of the book, is the -actual look of _Zarathustra;_ Wagner, Bayreuth, the whole of this petty -German wretchedness, is a cloud upon which an infinite Fata Morgana -of the future is reflected. Even from the psychological standpoint, -all the decisive traits in my character are introduced into Wagner's -nature--the juxtaposition of the most brilliant and most fatal forces, -a Will to Power such as no man has ever possessed--inexorable bravery -in matters spiritual, an unlimited power of learning unaccompanied by -depressed powers for action. Everything in this essay is a prophecy: -the proximity of the resurrection of the Greek spirit, the need of men -who will be counter-Alexanders, who will once more tie the Gordian knot -of Greek culture, after it has been cut. Listen to the world-historic -accent with which the concept "sense for the tragic" is introduced -on page 180: there are little else but world-historic accents in -this essay. This is the strangest kind of "objectivity" that ever -existed: my absolute certainty in regard to what I _am,_ projected -itself into any chance reality--truth about myself was voiced from out -appalling depths. On pages 174 and 175 the style of _Zarathustra_ is -described and foretold with incisive certainty, and no more magnificent -expression will ever be found than that on pages 144-147 for the event -for which _Zarathustra_ stands--that prodigious act of the purification -and consecration of mankind. - - -[Footnote 1: Those Germans who, like Nietzsche or Goethe, recognised -that politics constituted a danger to culture, and who appreciated the -literature of maturer cultures, such as that of France, are called -_un-deutsch_ (un-German) by Imperialistic Germans.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 2: Aristotle's _Poetics_, c. vi.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 3: This number and those which follow refer to _Thoughts out -of Season,_ Part I. in this edition of Nietzsche's Works.--TR.] - - - - -"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON" - - - -1 - - -The four essays composing the _Thoughts out of Season_ are thoroughly -warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight -in drawing the sword--and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously -supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, -upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt -Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public -opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to -suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of -German culture--and still less the triumph of this culture; over -that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which -is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of -pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised -piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of -the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The -object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity -as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the -"historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first -time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the -third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher -concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; -and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are -presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign -contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," -"Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"--these two types -were Schopenhauer and Wagner, _or,_ in a word, Nietzsche.... - - - -2 - - -Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The -stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger -on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation--I had told it that its -victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something -very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not -only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous -as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug -self-content--in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, -called _The Old and the New Faith_ (the term "Philistine of Culture" -passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my -book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians -I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird -of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as -grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they -contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was -assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious _Grentzboten_; and it cost me -some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action -against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for -very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, -Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had -been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that -time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he -liked to refer to me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von -Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could -obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von -T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my -book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor -Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made -him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a -sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, -of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical -advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review -which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most -bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of -my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last -_humane_ German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in -the _Augsburg Gazette,_ and it can be read to-day, couched in rather -more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was -referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign -of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival -of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. -Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of -the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in -discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the -best polemical work in the German language,--the best performance in -the art of polemics, which for Germans is so dangerous and so strongly -to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even -greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of -language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists[1] -and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for -the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his -admiration for my courage--that "greatest courage of all which places -the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects -of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has -ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany -I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the -privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, -least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise -is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put -one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's -entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my -opponent!--the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, -quite a novel kind of free thought found its expression in this way: -up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my -blood than the whole of that European and American species known as -_litres penseurs._ Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" -that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than -with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, -after their own fashion--that is to say, in their own image; against -that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, -if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an -"ideal." ... I am the first _Immoralist_. - - - -3 - - -I should not like to say that the last two essays in the _Thoughts -out of Season,_ associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner -respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these -two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of -course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the -second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I -already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a -theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws -its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do -something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented -educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and -self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness -and to world-historic duties, yearned to find expression. Roughly -speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined -types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes -opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, -in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression -at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly -sagacity, on page 183 of _Schopenhauer as Educator._ Plato made use -of Socrates in the same way--that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. -Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of -which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they -refer simply to me. The essay _Wagner in Bayreuth_ is a vision of my -own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, -is written down in _Schopenhauer as Educator._ But, above all, the -_vow_ I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold--at a height from -which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!--oh, how -far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land--I did not -deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger--_and_ -success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future -which must not remain only a promise!--In this book every word has -been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not -lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with -blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its -wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being -a philosopher,--that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence -of which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the -philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a -Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of -philosophy,--concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable -information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as -Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in -it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, -and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere -scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is -not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my -profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were -merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists -in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become -one thing--in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of -my fate to be a scholar for a while. - - -[Footnote 1: The Purists constitute a definite body in Germany, which -is called the _Deutscher Sprach-Verein._ Their object is to banish -every foreign word from the language, and they carry this process of -ostracism even into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at -rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical. Strange -to say, their principal organ, and their other publications, are by -no means free either from solecisms or faults of style, and it is -doubtless to this curious anomaly that Nietzsche here refers.--TR.] - - - - -"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN" - - - -1 - - -_Human all-too-Human,_ with its two sequels, is the memorial of a -crisis. It is called a book for free spirits: almost every sentence in -it is the expression of a triumph--by means of it I purged myself of -everything in me which was foreign to my nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title of the book means: "Where ye see ideal things I -see--human, alas! all-too-human things!" ... I know men better. The -word "free spirit" in this book must not be understood as anything -else than a spirit that has become free, that has once more taken -possession of itself. My tone, the pitch of my voice, has completely -changed; the book will be thought clever, cool, and at times both -hard and scornful. A certain spirituality, of noble taste, seems to -be ever struggling to dominate a passionate torrent at its feet. In -this respect there is some sense in the fact that it was the hundredth -anniversary of Voltaire's death that served, so to speak, as an excuse -for the publication of the book as early as 1878. For Voltaire, as the -opposite of every one who wrote after him, was above all a grandee of -the intellect; precisely what I am also. The name of Voltaire on one -of my writings--that was verily a step forward--in my direction.... -Looking into this book a little more closely, you perceive a pitiless -spirit who knows all the secret hiding-places in which ideals are wont -to skulk--where they find their dungeons, and, as it were, their last -refuge. With a torch in my hand, the light of which is not by any -means a flickering one, I illuminate this nether world with beams that -cut like blades. It is war, but war without powder and smoke, without -warlike attitudes, without pathos and contorted limbs--all these things -would still be "idealism." One error after the other is quietly laid -upon ice; the ideal is not refuted,--it freezes. Here, for instance, -"genius" freezes; round the corner the "saint" freezes; under a thick -icicle the "hero" freezes; and in the end "faith" itself freezes. -So-called "conviction" and also "pity" are considerably cooled--and -almost everywhere the "thing in itself" is freezing to death. - - - -2 - - -This book was begun during the first musical festival at Bayreuth; a -feeling of profound strangeness towards everything that surrounded -me there, is one of its first conditions. He who has any notion of -the visions which even at that time had flitted across my path, will -be able to guess what I felt when one day I came to my senses in -Bayreuth. It was just as if I had been dreaming. Where on earth was I? -I recognised nothing that I saw; I scarcely recognised Wagner. It was -in vain that I called up reminiscences. Tribschen--remote island of -bliss: not the shadow of a resemblance! The incomparable days devoted -to the laying of the first stone, the small group of the initiated -who celebrated them, and who were far from lacking fingers for the -handling of delicate things: not the shadow of a resemblance! _What -had happened?_--Wagner had been translated into German! The Wagnerite -had become master of Wagner!_--German_ art! the German master! German -beer!... We who know only too well the kind of refined artists and -cosmopolitanism in taste, to which alone Wagner's art can appeal, were -beside ourselves at the sight of Wagner bedecked with German virtues. -I think I know the Wagnerite, I have experienced three generations -of them, from Brendel of blessed memory, who confounded Wagner with -Hegel, to the "idealists" of the _Bayreuth Gazette,_ who confound -Wagner with themselves,--I have been the recipient of every kind of -confession about Wagner, from "beautiful souls." My kingdom for just -one intelligent word I--In very truth, a blood-curdling company! Nohl, -Pohl, and _Kohl_[1] and others of their kidney to infinity! There -was not a single abortion that was lacking among them--no, not even -the anti-Semite.--Poor Wagner! Into whose hands had he fallen? If -only he had gone into a herd of swine! But among Germans! Some day, -for the edification of posterity, one ought really to have a genuine -Bayreuthian stuffed, or, better still, preserved in spirit,--for -it is precisely spirit that is lacking in this quarter,--with this -inscription at the foot of the jar: "A sample of the spirit whereon -the 'German Empire' was founded." ... But enough! In the middle of -the festivities I suddenly packed my trunk and left the place for a -few weeks, despite the fact that a charming Parisian lady sought to -comfort me; I excused myself to Wagner simply by means of a fatalistic -telegram. In a little spot called Klingenbrunn, deeply buried in the -recesses of the Bohmerwald, I carried my melancholy and my contempt of -Germans about with me like an illness--and, from time to time, under -the general title of "The Plough-share," I wrote a sentence or two down -in my note-book, nothing but severe psychological stuff, which it is -possible may have found its way into _Human, all-too-Human._ - - - -3 - - -That which had taken place in me, then, was not only a breach with -Wagner--I was suffering from a general aberration of my instincts, -of which a mere isolated blunder, whether it were Wagner or my -professorship at Bâle, was nothing more than a symptom. I was seized -with a fit of impatience with myself; I saw that it was high time that -I should turn my thoughts upon my own lot. In a trice I realised, with -appalling clearness, how much time had already been squandered--how -futile and how senseless my whole existence as a philologist appeared -by the side of my life-task. I was ashamed of this false modesty.... -Ten years were behind me, during which, to tell the truth, the -nourishment of my spirit had been at a standstill, during which I had -added not a single useful fragment to my knowledge, and had forgotten -countless things in the pursuit of a hotch-potch of dry-as-dust -scholarship. To crawl with meticulous care and short-sighted eyes -through old Greek metricians--that is what I had come to!... Moved to -pity I saw myself quite thin, quite emaciated: realities were only too -plainly absent from my stock of knowledge, and what the "idealities" -were worth the devil alone knew! A positively burning thirst overcame -me: and from that time forward I have done literally nothing else than -study physiology, medicine, and natural science--I even returned to -the actual study of history only when my life-task compelled me to. It -was at that time, too, that I first divined the relation between an -instinctively repulsive occupation, a so-called vocation, which is the -last thing to which one is "called" and that need of lulling a feeling -of emptiness and hunger, by means of an art which is a narcotic--by -means of Wagner's art, for instance. After looking carefully about -me, I have discovered that a large number of young men are all in the -same state of distress: one kind of unnatural practice perforce leads -to another. In Germany, or rather, to avoid all ambiguity, in the -Empire,[2] only too many are condemned to determine their choice too -soon, and then to pine away beneath a burden that they can no longer -throw off.... Such creatures crave for Wagner as for an opiate,--they -are thus able to forget themselves, to be rid of themselves for a -moment.... What am I saying!--for five or six hours. - - - -4 - - -At this time my instincts turned resolutely against any further -yielding or following on my part, and any further misunderstanding -of myself. Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, -illness, poverty--anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified -"selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my -ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to -laziness--the so-called "sense of duty." At this juncture there came to -my help, in a way that I cannot sufficiently admire, and precisely at -the right time, that evil heritage which I derive from my father's side -of the family, and which, at bottom, is no more than a predisposition -to die young. Illness slowly liberated me from the toils, it spared me -any sort of sudden breach, any sort of violent and offensive step. At -that time I lost not a particle of the good will of others, but rather -added to my store. Illness likewise gave me the right completely to -reverse my mode of life; it not only allowed, it actually commanded, -me to forget; it bestowed upon me the necessity of lying still, of -having leisure, of waiting, and of exercising patience.... But all -this means thinking!... The state of my eyes alone put an end to all -book-wormishness, or, in plain English--philology: I was thus delivered -from books; for years I ceased from reading, and this was the greatest -boon I ever conferred upon myself! That nethermost self, which was, -as it were, entombed, and which had grown dumb because it had been -forced to listen perpetually to other selves (for that is what reading -means!), slowly awakened; at first it was shy and doubtful, but at -last it _spoke again_ Never have I rejoiced more over my condition -than during the sickest and most painful moments of my life. You have -only to examine _The Dawn of Day,_ or, perhaps, _The Wanderer and -his Shadow,_[3] in order to understand what this "return to myself" -actually meant: in itself it was the highest kind of recovery!... My -cure was simply the result of it. - - - -5 - - -_Human, all-too-Human,_ this monument of a course of vigorous -self-discipline, by means of which I put an abrupt end to all the -"Superior Bunkum," "Idealism," "Beautiful Feelings," and other -effeminacies that had percolated into my being, was written principally -in Sorrento; it was finished and given definite shape during a winter -at Bâle, under conditions far less favourable than those in Sorrento. -Truth to tell, it was Peter Gast, at that time a student at the -University of Bâle, and a devoted friend of mine, who was responsible -for the book. With my head wrapped in bandages, and extremely painful, -I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along--to be -accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author. -When the completed book ultimately reached me,--to the great surprise -of the serious invalid I then was,--I sent, among others, two copies -to Bayreuth. Thanks to a miraculous flash of intelligence on the part -of chance, there reached me precisely at the same time a splendid copy -of the _Parsifal_ text, with the following inscription from Wagner's -pen: "To his dear friend Friedrich Nietzsche, from Richard Wagner, -Ecclesiastical Councillor." At this crossing of the two books I seemed -to hear an ominous note. Did it not sound as if two swords had crossed? -At all events we both felt this was so, for each of us remained silent. -At about this time the first Bayreuth Pamphlets appeared: and I then -understood the move on my part for which it was high time. Incredible! -Wagner had become pious. - - - -6 - - -My attitude to myself at that time (1876), and the unearthly certitude -with which I grasped my life-task and all its world-historic -consequences, is well revealed throughout the book, but more -particularly in one very significant passage, despite the fact that, -with my instinctive cunning, I once more circumvented the use of -the little word "I,"--not however, this time, in order to shed -world-historic glory on the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but on -that of another of my friends, the excellent Dr. Paul Rée--fortunately -much too acute a creature to be deceived--others were less subtle. -Among my readers I have a number of hopeless people, the typical -German professor for instance, who can always be recognised from the -fact that, judging from the passage in question, he feels compelled to -regard the whole book as a sort of superior Realism. As a matter of -fact it contradicts five or six of my friend's utterances: only read -the introduction to _The Genealogy of Morals_ on this question.--The -passage above referred to reads: "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_" (read Nietzsche, the first -Immoralist), "has attained by means of his incisive and decisive -analysis of human actions? 'The moral man,' he says is no nearer to the -intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the physical man, for there -is no intelligible world.' This theory, hardened and sharpened under -the hammer-blow of historical knowledge" (read _The Transvaluation -of all Values_), "may some time or other, perhaps in some future -period,--1890!--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."[4] - - -[Footnote 1: Nohl and Pohl were both writers on music; Kohl, however, -which literally means cabbage, is a slang expression, denoting superior -nonsense.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Needless to say, Nietzsche distinguishes between -Bismarckian Germany and that other Germany--Austria, Switzerland, and -the Baltic Provinces--where the German language is also spoken.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: _Human, all-too-Human,_ Part II. in this edition.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: _Human, all-too-Human,_ vol. i. Aph. 37.] - - - - -"THE DAWN OF DAY: - -THOUGHTS ABOUT MORALITY AS A PREJUDICE" - - - -1 - - -With this book I open my campaign against morality. Not that it is at -all redolent of powder--you will find quite other and much nicer smells -in it, provided that you have any keenness in your nostrils. There -is nothing either of light or of heavy artillery in its composition, -and if its general end be a negative one, its means are not so--means -out of which the end follows like a logical conclusion, _not_ like a -cannon-shot. And if the reader takes leave of this book with a feeling -of timid caution in regard to everything which has hitherto been -honoured and even worshipped under the name of morality, it does not -alter the fact that there is not one negative word, not one attack, -and not one single piece of malice in the whole work--on the contrary, -it lies in the sunshine, smooth and happy, like a marine animal, -basking in the sun between two rocks. For, after all, I was this marine -animal: almost every sentence in the book was thought out, or rather -_caught,_ among that medley of rocks in the neighbourhood of Genoa, -where I lived quite alone, and exchanged secrets with the ocean. Even -to this day, when by chance I happen to turn over the leaves of this -book, almost every sentence seems to me like a hook by means of which I -draw something incomparable out of the depths; its whole skin quivers -with delicate shudders of recollection. This book is conspicuous for no -little art in gently catching things which whisk rapidly and silently -away, moments which I call godlike lizards--not with the cruelty of -that young Greek god who simply transfixed the poor little beast; -but nevertheless with something pointed--with a pen. "There are so -many dawns which have not yet shed their light"--this Indian maxim is -written over the doorway of this book. Where does its author seek that -new morning, that delicate red, as yet undiscovered, with which another -day--ah! a whole series of days, a whole world of new days!--will -begin? In the _Transvaluation of all Values,_ in an emancipation from -all moral values, in a saying of yea, and in an attitude of trust, to -all that which hitherto has been forbidden, despised, and damned. This -yea-saying book projects its light, its love, its tenderness, over all -evil things, it restores to them their soul, their clear conscience, -and their superior right and privilege to exist on earth. Morality is -not assailed, it simply ceases to be considered. This book closes with -the word "or?"--it is the only book which closes with an "or?". - - - -2 - - -My life-task is to prepare for humanity one supreme moment in which it -can come to its senses, a Great Noon in which it will turn its gaze -backwards and forwards, in which it will step from under the yoke -of accident and of priests, and for the first time set the question -of the Why and Wherefore of humanity as a whole--this life-task -naturally follows out of the conviction that mankind does _not_ get -on the right road of its own accord, that it is by no means divinely -ruled, but rather that it is precisely under the cover of its most -holy valuations that the instinct of negation, of corruption, and of -degeneration has held such a seductive sway. The question concerning -the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest -importance to me because it determines the future of mankind. The -demand made upon us to believe that everything is really in the best -hands, that a certain book, the Bible, gives us the definite and -comforting assurance that there is a Providence that wisely rules the -fate of man,--when translated back into reality amounts simply to this, -namely, the will to stifle the truth which maintains the reverse of -all this, which is that hitherto man has been in the _worst possible_ -hands, and that he has been governed by the physiologically botched, -the men of cunning and burning revengefulness, and the so-called -"saints"--those slanderers of the world and traducers of humanity. -The definite proof of the fact that the priest (including the priest -in disguise, the philosopher) has become master, not only within a -certain limited religious community, but everywhere, and that the -morality of decadence, the will to nonentity, has become morality -_per se,_ is to be found in this: that altruism is now an absolute -value, and egoism is regarded with hostility everywhere. He who -disagrees with me on this point, I regard as infected. But all the -world disagrees with me. To a physiologist a like antagonism between -values admits of no doubt. If the most insignificant organ within the -body neglects, however slightly, to assert with absolute certainty its -self-preservative powers, its recuperative claims, and its egoism, the -whole system degenerates. The physiologist insists upon the removal of -degenerated parts, he denies all fellow-feeling for such parts, and -has not the smallest feeling of pity for them. But the desire of the -priest is precisely the degeneration of the whole of mankind; hence his -preservation of that which is degenerate--this is what his dominion -costs humanity. What meaning have those lying concepts, those handmaids -of morality, "Soul," "Spirit," "Free will," "God," if their aim is not -the physiological ruin of mankind? When earnestness is diverted from -the instincts that aim at self-preservation and an increase of bodily -energy, _i.e._ at an _increase of life_; when anæmia is raised to an -ideal and the contempt of the body is construed as "the salvation of -the soul," what is all this if it is not a recipe for decadence? Loss -of ballast, resistance offered to natural instincts, selflessness, -in fact--this is what has hitherto been known as morality. With _The -Dawn of Day_ I first engaged in a struggle against the morality of -self-renunciation. - - - - -"JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA" - - - -1 - - -_Dawn of Day_ is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The -same applies once more and in the highest degree to _La Gaya Scienza:_ -in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go -gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most -wonderful month of January which I have ever lived--the whole book is a -gift--sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has -here become joyful. - - "Thou who with cleaving fiery lances - The stream of my soul from its ice dost free, - Till with a rush and a roar it advances - To enter with glorious hoping the sea: - Brighter to see and purer ever, - Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,-- - So it praises thy wondrous endeavour, - January, thou beauteous saint!"[1] - -Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when -he has realised the diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's -words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth -book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third -book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs -of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in -Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "_Gaya -Scienza,_" of that union of _singer, knight, and free spirit,_ which -distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from -all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"--an -exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances -freely upon the corpse of morality,--is a perfect Provençalism. - - -[Footnote 1: Translated for _Joyful Wisdom_ by Paul V. Cohn.--TR.] - - - - -"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA: A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE" - - - -1 - - -I now wish to relate the history of _Zarathustra._ The fundamental -idea of the work, the _Eternal Recurrence,_ the highest formula of -a Yea-saying to life that can ever be attained, was first conceived -in the month of August 1881. I made a note of the idea on a sheet of -paper, with the postscript: "Six thousand feet beyond man and time." -That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the -Lake of Silvaplana, and I halted not far from Surlei, beside a huge -rock that towered aloft like a pyramid. It was then that the thought -struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months before -this inspiration I had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden -and decisive change in my tastes--more particularly in music. The -whole of _Zarathustra_ might perhaps be classified under the rubric -music. At all events, the essential condition of its production was -a second birth within me of the art of hearing. In Recoaro, a small -mountain resort near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and -my friend and maestro, Peter Gast--who was also one who had been born -again, discovered that the phœnix music hovered over us, in lighter -and brighter plumage than it had ever worn before. If, therefore, I -now calculate from that day forward the sudden production of the book, -under the most unlikely circumstances, in February 1883,--the last -part, out of which I quoted a few lines in my preface, was written -precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost -in Venice,--I come to the conclusion that the period of gestation -covered eighteen months. This period of exactly eighteen months, -might suggest, at least to Buddhists, that I am in reality a female -elephant The interval was devoted to the _Gaya Scienza,_ which contains -hundreds of indications of the proximity of something unparalleled; -for, after all, it shows the beginning of _Zarathustra,_ since it -presents _Zarathustra's_ fundamental thought in the last aphorism -but one of the fourth book. To this interval also belongs that _Hymn -to Life_ (for a mixed choir and orchestra), the score of which was -published in Leipzig two years ago by E. W. Fritsch, and which gave -perhaps no slight indication of my spiritual state during this year, -in which the essentially yea-saying pathos, which I call the tragic -pathos, completely filled me heart and limb. One day people will sing -it to my memory. The text, let it be well understood, as there is -some misunderstanding abroad on this point, is not by me; it was the -astounding inspiration of a young Russian lady, Miss Lou von Salome, -with whom I was then on friendly terms. He who is in any way able -to make some sense of the last words of the poem, will divine why I -preferred and admired it: there is greatness in them. Pain is not -regarded as an objection to existence: "And if thou hast no bliss now -left to crown me--Lead on! Thou hast thy Sorrow still." - -Maybe that my music is also great in this passage. (The last note of -the oboe, by the bye, is C sharp, not C. The latter is a misprint.) -During the following winter, I was living on that charmingly peaceful -Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, which cuts inland between Chiavari -and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold -and exceptionally rainy; and the small _albergo_ in which I lived -was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if -the sea was rough. These circumstances were surely the very reverse -of favourable; and yet, in spite of it all, and as if in proof of my -belief that everything decisive comes to life in defiance of every -obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these -unfavourable circumstances that my _Zarathustra_ originated. In the -morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious -road to Zoagli, which rises up through a forest of pines and gives -one a view far out to sea. In the afternoon, or as often as my health -allowed, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond -Porto Fino. This spot affected me all the more deeply because it was -so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I -chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small forgotten -world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that -all _Zarathustra_ came to me, above all, Zarathustra himself as a -type--I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that _he waylaid -me_. - - - -2 - - -In order to understand this type, you must first be quite clear -concerning its fundamental physiological condition: this condition -is what I call _great healthiness._ In regard to this idea I cannot -make my meaning more plain or more personal than I have done already -in one of the last aphorisms (No. 382) of the fifth book of the _Gaya -Scienza_: "We new, nameless, and unfathomable creatures," so reads -the passage, "we firstlings of a future still unproved--we who have a -new end in view also require new means to that end, that is to say, -a new healthiness, a stronger, keener, tougher, bolder, and merrier -healthiness than any that has existed heretofore. He who longs to -feel in his own soul the whole range of values and aims that have -prevailed on earth until his day, and to sail round all the coasts -of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea'; who, from the adventures of his -own inmost experience, would fain know how it feels to be a conqueror -and discoverer of the ideal;--as also how it is with the artist, the -saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the man of piety and the -godlike anchorite of yore;--such a man requires one thing above all -for his purpose, and that is, _great healthiness_--such healthiness as -he not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, -because he is continually sacrificing it again, and is compelled to -sacrifice it! And now, therefore, after having been long on the way, -we Argonauts of the ideal, whose pluck is greater than prudence would -allow, and who are often shipwrecked and bruised, but, as I have said, -healthier than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, and for -ever recovering our health--it would seem as if we had before us, as -a reward for all our toils, a country still undiscovered, the horizon -of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to every country and every -refuge of the ideal that man has ever known, a world so overflowing -with beauty, strangeness, doubt, terror, and divinity, that both our -curiosity and our lust of possession are frantic with eagerness. Alas! -how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our -conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with _the man -of the present day_? This is bad indeed; but, that we should regard -his worthiest aims and hopes with ill-concealed amusement, or perhaps -give them no thought at all, is inevitable. Another ideal now leads -us on, a wonderful, seductive ideal, full of danger, the pursuit of -which we should be loath to urge upon any one, because we are not so -ready to acknowledge any one's _right to it:_ the ideal of a spirit who -plays ingenuously (that is to say, involuntarily, and as the outcome -of superabundant energy and power) with everything that, hitherto, -has been called holy, good, inviolable, and divine; to whom even the -loftiest thing that the people have with reason made their measure of -value would be no better than a danger, a decay, and an abasement, or -at least a relaxation and temporary forgetfulness of self: the ideal -of a humanly superhuman well-being and goodwill, which often enough -will seem inhuman--as when, for instance, it stands beside all past -earnestness on earth, and all past solemnities in hearing, speech, -tone, look, morality, and duty, as their most lifelike and unconscious -parody--but with which, nevertheless, _great earnestness_ perhaps alone -begins, the first note of interrogation is affixed, the fate of the -soul changes, the hour hand moves, and tragedy begins." - - - -3 - - -Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion -of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? -If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of -superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible completely to -set aside the idea that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece, or -medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation, in the sense -that something which profoundly convulses and upsets one becomes -suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and -accuracy--describes the simple fact. One hears--one does not seek; one -takes--one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like -lightning, it comes with necessity, without faltering--I have never had -any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy so great that the immense -strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, during which -one's steps now involuntarily rush and anon involuntarily lag. There -is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct -consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations -descending to one's very toes;--there is a depth of happiness in which -the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, -but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an -overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which -embraces a whole world of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing -rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort -of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens -quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, -of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntary nature of -the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all -perception of what is imagery and metaphor; everything seems to present -itself as the readiest, the truest, and simplest means of expression. -It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's own phrases, as if all -things came to one, and offered themselves as similes. ("Here do all -things come caressingly to thy discourse and flatter thee, for they -would fain ride upon thy back. On every simile thou ridest here unto -every truth. Here fly open unto thee all the speech and word shrines -of the world, here would all existence become speech, here would -all Becoming learn of thee how to speak.") This is my experience of -inspiration. I do not doubt but that I should have to go back thousands -of years before I could find another who could say to me: "It is mine -also!" - - - -4 - - -For a few weeks afterwards I lay an invalid in Genoa. Then followed -a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live--and -this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to -the poet-author of _Zarathustra,_ and for the choice of which I was -not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. -I wanted to go to Aquila--the opposite of Rome in every respect, and -actually founded in a spirit of hostility towards that city, just as -I also shall found a city some day, as a memento of an atheist and -genuine enemy of the Church, a person very closely related to me, the -great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it -all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be -satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in -vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, -to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the -Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for -a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from -which one obtained a general view of Rome, and could hear the fountains -plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed--"The -Night-Song." About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad -melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the affords, "dead through -immortality," ... In the summer, finding myself once more in the sacred -place where the first thought of _Zarathustra_ flashed like a light -across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither -for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day -longer. In the ensuing winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which -then for the first time poured its light into my life, I found the -third _Zarathustra_--and came to the end of my task: the whole having -occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the -country round about Nice are hallowed for me by moments that I can -never forget. That decisive chapter, entitled "Old and New Tables," -was composed during the arduous ascent from the station to Eza--that -wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. During those moments when my -creative energy flowed most plentifully, my muscular activity was -always greatest. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of -"soul." I might often have been seen dancing in those days, and I could -then walk for seven or eight hours on end over the hills without a -suggestion of fatigue. I slept well and laughed a good deal--I was -perfectly robust and patient. - - - -5 - - -With the exception of these periods of industry lasting ten days, the -years I spent during the production of _Zarathustra,_ and thereafter, -were for me years of unparalleled distress. A man pays dearly for -being immortal: to this end he must die many times over during his -life. There is such a thing as what I call the rancour of greatness: -everything great, whether a work or a deed, once it is completed, turns -immediately against its author. The very fact that he is its author -makes him weak at this time. He can no longer endure his deed. He can -no longer look it full in the face. To have something at one's back -which one could never have willed, something to which the knot of human -destiny is attached--and to be forced thenceforward to bear it on one's -shoulders! Why, it almost crushes one! The rancour of greatness! A -somewhat different experience is the uncanny silence that reigns about -one. Solitude has seven skins which nothing can penetrate. One goes -among men; one greets friends: but these things are only new deserts, -the looks of those one meets no longer bear a greeting. At the best -one encounters a sort of revolt. This feeling of revolt, I suffered, -in varying degrees of intensity, at the hands of almost every one who -came near me; it would seem that nothing inflicts a deeper wound than -suddenly to make one's distance felt. Those noble natures are scarce -who know not how to live unless they can revere. A third thing is -the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of -helplessness in the presence of all small things. This seems to me a -necessary outcome of the appalling expenditure of all defensive forces, -which is the first condition of every _creative_ act, of every act -which proceeds from the most intimate, most secret, and most concealed -recesses of a man's being. The small defensive forces are thus, as it -were, suspended, and no fresh energy reaches them. I even think it -probable that one does not digest so well, that one is less willing -to move, and that one is much too open to sensations of coldness and -suspicion; for, in a large number of cases, suspicion is merely a -blunder in etiology. On one occasion when I felt like this I became -conscious of the proximity of a herd of cows, some time before I could -possibly have seen it with my eyes, simply owing to a return in me of -milder and more humane sentiments: _they_ communicated warmth to me.... - - - -6 - - -This work stands alone. Do not let us mention the poets in the -same breath; nothing perhaps has ever been produced out of such a -superabundance of strength. My concept "Dionysian" here became the -_highest_ deed; compared with it everything that other men have done -seems poor and limited. The fact that a Goethe or a Shakespeare would -not for an instant have known how to take breath in this atmosphere of -passion and of the heights; the fact that by the side of Zarathustra, -Dante is no more than a believer, and not one who first _creates_ the -truth--that is to say, not a world-ruling spirit, a _Fate_; the fact -that the poets of the Veda were priests and not even fit to unfasten -Zarathustra's sandal--all this is the least of things, and gives no -idea of the distance, of the azure solitude, in which this work dwells. -Zarathustra has an eternal right to say: "I draw around me circles and -holy boundaries. Ever fewer are they that mount with me to ever loftier -heights. I build me a mountain range of ever holier mountains." If all -the spirit and goodness of every great soul were collected together, -the whole could not create a single one of Zarathustra's discourses. -The ladder upon which he rises and descends is of boundless length; -he has seen further, he has willed further, and _gone_ further than -any other man. There is contradiction in every word that he utters, -this most yea-saying of all spirits. Through him all contradictions -are bound up into a new unity. The loftiest and the basest powers of -human nature, the sweetest, the lightest, and the most terrible, rush -forth from out one spring with everlasting certainty. Until his coming -no one knew what was height, or depth, and still less what was truth. -There is not a single passage in this revelation of truth which had -already been anticipated and divined by even the greatest among men. -Before Zarathustra there was no wisdom, no probing of the soul, no art -of speech: in his book, the most familiar and most vulgar thing utters -unheard-of words. The sentence quivers with passion. Eloquence has -become music. Forks of lightning are hurled towards futures of which -no one has ever dreamed before. The most powerful use of parables that -has yet existed is poor beside it, and mere child's-play compared with -this return of language to the nature of imagery. See how Zarathustra -goes down from the mountain and speaks the kindest words to every -one! See with what delicate fingers he touches his very adversaries, -the priests, and how he suffers with them from themselves! Here, at -every moment, man is overcome, and the concept "Superman" becomes the -greatest reality,--out of sight, almost far away beneath him, lies -all that which heretofore has been called great in man. The halcyonic -brightness, the light feet, the presence of wickedness and exuberance -throughout, and all that is the essence of the type Zarathustra, was -never dreamt of before as a prerequisite of greatness. In precisely -these limits of space and in this accessibility to opposites -Zarathustra feels himself the _highest of all living things_: and when -you hear how he defines this highest, you will give up trying to find -his equal. - -"The soul which hath the longest ladder and can step down deepest, - -"The vastest soul that can run and stray and rove furthest in its own -domain, - -"The most necessary soul, that out of desire flingeth itself to chance, - -"The stable soul that plungeth into Becoming, the possessing soul that -must needs taste of willing and longing, - -"The soul that flyeth from itself, and over-taketh itself in the widest -circle, - -"The wisest soul that folly exhorteth most sweetly, - -"The most self-loving soul, in whom all things have their rise, their -ebb and flow." - -But this is the very idea of Dionysus. Another consideration leads -to this idea. The psychological problem presented by the type of -Zarathustra is, how can he, who in an unprecedented manner says -no, and _acts_ no, in regard to all that which has been affirmed -hitherto, remain nevertheless a yea-saying spirit? how can he who -bears the heaviest destiny on his shoulders and whose very life-task -is a fatality, yet be the brightest and the most transcendental -of spirits--for Zarathustra is a dancer? how can he who has the -hardest and most terrible grasp of reality, and who has thought the -most "abysmal thoughts," nevertheless avoid conceiving these things -as objections to existence, or even as objections to the eternal -recurrence of existence?--how is it that on the contrary he finds -reasons for _being himself_ the eternal affirmation of all things, "the -tremendous and unlimited saying of Yea and Amen"?... "Into every abyss -do I bear the benediction of my yea to Life." ... But this, once more, -is precisely the idea of Dionysus. - - - -7 - - -What language will such a spirit speak, when he speaks unto his soul? -The language of the _dithyramb._ I am the inventor of the dithyramb. -Hearken unto the manner in which Zarathustra speaks to his soul _Before -Sunrise_ (iii. 48). Before my time such emerald joys and divine -tenderness had found no tongue. Even the profoundest melancholy of -such a Dionysus takes shape as a dithyramb. As an example of this I -take "The Night-Song,"--the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his -superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is -condemned never to love. - -"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring. - -"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover. - -"Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise -its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the -language of love. - -"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I -am begirt with light. - -"Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I -then suck at the breasts of light! - -"And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on -high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light. - -"But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the -flames I send forth. - -"I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft -have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking. - -"Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate -is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing. - -"Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover -the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the -end of the feast! - -"They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there -'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be -bridged. - -"An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to -them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I -have given:--thus do I thirst for wickedness. - -"To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the -waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:--thus do I thirst for -wickedness. - -"For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my -loneliness give birth. - -"My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue -grow weary of itself. - -"He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing -groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom. - -"Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's -shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden -hands. - -"Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my -heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons! - -"Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do -they speak with their light--to me alone are they silent. - -"Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it -runneth its course. - -"Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward -suns,--thus doth every sun go its way. - -"Like a tempest do the suns fly over their course: for such is their -way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness. - -"Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, -that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk -and comfort from the udders of light. - -"Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice! - -"Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst! - -"It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after -darkness! And loneliness! - -"It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,--for -speech do I long. - -"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring. - -"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover." - - - -8 - - -Such things have never been written, never been felt, never been -_suffered:_ only a God, only Dionysus suffers in this way. The reply -to such a dithyramb on the sun's solitude in light would be Ariadne. -... Who knows, but I, who Ariadne is! To all such riddles no one -heretofore had ever found an answer; I doubt even whether any one had -ever seen a riddle here. One day Zarathustra severely determines his -life-task--and it is also mine. Let no one misunderstand its meaning. -It's a yea-saying to the point of justifying, to the point of redeeming -even all that is past. - -"I walk among men as among fragments of the future: of that future -which I see. - -"And all my creativeness and effort is but this, that I may be able to -think and recast all these fragments and riddles and dismal accidents -into one piece. - -"And how could I bear to be a man, if man were not also a poet, a -riddle reader, and a redeemer of chance! - -"To redeem all the past, and to transform every 'it was' into 'thus -would I have it'--that alone would be my salvation!" - -In another passage he defines as strictly as possible what to him alone -"man" can be,--not a subject for love nor yet for pity--Zarathustra -became master even of his loathing of man: man is to him a thing -unshaped, raw material, an ugly stone that needs the sculptor's chisel. - -"No longer to will, no longer to value, no longer to create! Oh, that -this great weariness may never be mine! - -"Even in the lust of knowledge, I feel only the joy of my will to beget -and to grow; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because -my procreative will is in it. - -"Away from God and gods did this will lure me: what would there be to -create if there were gods? - -"But to man doth it ever drive me anew, my burning, creative will. -Thus driveth it the hammer to the stone. - -"Alas, ye men, within the stone there sleepeth an image for me, the -image of all my dreams! Alas, that it should have to sleep in the -hardest and ugliest stone! - -"_Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison._ From the stone -the fragments fly: what's that to me? - -"I will finish it: for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightest -thing on earth once came unto me! - -"The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Alas, my -brethren! What are the--gods to me now?" - -Let me call attention to one last point of view. The line in italics is -my pretext for this remark. A Dionysian life-task needs the hardness of -the hammer, and one of its first essentials is without doubt the _joy -even of destruction._ The command, "Harden yourselves!" and the deep -conviction that _all creators are hard,_ is the really distinctive sign -of a Dionysian nature. - - - - -BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL: - - -"THE PRELUDE TO A PHILOSOPHY OF THE FUTURE" - - - -1 - - -My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly -as possible. Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was -accomplished, there came the turn of the negative portion, both in -word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed -hitherto, the great war,--the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal -outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had slowly to -look about me for my peers, for those who, _out of strength,_ would -proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time -onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much -about fishing as most people? If nothing was _caught,_ it was not I who -was at fault _There were no fish to come and bite._ - - - -2 - - -In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of -_modernity,_ embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, -together with certain indications as to a type which would be the -reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble -and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a _school -for gentlemen_--the term _gentleman_ being understood here in a -much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. -All those things of which the age is proud,--as, for instance, -far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the -historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its -lying-in-the-dust before _petits faits,_ and the rage for science,--are -shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are -regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows -upon _Zarathustra,_ you may possibly guess to what system of diet it -owes its life. The eye which, owing to tremendous constraint, has -become accustomed to see at a great distance,--_Zarathustra_ is even -more far-sighted than the Tsar,--is here forced to focus sharply that -which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about -him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this -book, the reader will find the same _voluntary_ turning away from those -instincts which made a _Zarathustra_ a possible feat. Refinement in -form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or -less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness -and cruelty,--the whole book does not contain one single good-natured -word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind -of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness -as is to be found in _Zarathustra_? From a theological standpoint--now -pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a -theologian--it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, -coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of -knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had -made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of -idleness, on that seventh day. - - - - -"THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS: A POLEMIC" - - -The three essays which constitute this genealogy are, as regards -expression, aspiration, and the art of the unexpected, perhaps the -most curious things that have ever been written. Dionysus, as you know, -is also the god of darkness. In each case the beginning is calculated -to mystify; it is cool, scientific, even ironical, intentionally -thrust to the fore, intentionally reticent. Gradually less calmness -prevails; here and there a flash of lightning defines the horizon; -exceedingly unpleasant truths break upon your ears from out remote -distances with a dull, rumbling sound,--until very soon a fierce tempo -is attained in which everything presses forward at a terrible degree -of tension. At the end, in each case, amid fearful thunderclaps, a new -truth shines out between thick clouds. The truth of the first essays -the psychology of Christianity: the birth of Christianity out of the -spirit of resentment, not, as is supposed, out of the "Spirit,"--in -all its essentials, a counter-movement, the great insurrection against -the dominion of noble values. The second essay contains the psychology -of conscience: this is not, as you may believe, "the voice of God in -man"; it is the instinct of cruelty, which turns inwards once it is -unable to discharge itself outwardly. Cruelty is here exposed, for the -first time, as one of the oldest and most indispensable elements in the -foundation of culture. The third essay replies to the question as to -the origin of the formidable power of the ascetic ideal, of the priest -ideal, despite the fact that this ideal is essentially detrimental, -that it is a will to nonentity and to decadence. Reply: it flourished -not because God was active behind the priests, as is generally -believed, but because it was a _faute de mieux_--from the fact that -hitherto it has been the only ideal and has had no competitors. "For -man prefers to aspire to nonentity than not to aspire at all." But -above all, until the time of _Zarathustra_ there was no such thing -as a counter-ideal. You have understood my meaning. Three decisive -overtures on the part of a psychologist to a _Transvaluation of all -Values._--This book contains the first psychology of the priest. - - - - -"THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS: - -HOW TO PHILOSOPHISE WITH THE HAMMER" - - - -1 - - -This work--which covers scarcely one hundred and fifty pages, with its -cheerful and fateful tone, like a laughing demon, and the production -of which occupied so few days that I hesitate to give their number--is -altogether an exception among books: there is no work more rich in -substance, more independent, more upsetting--more wicked. If any one -should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how everything, before my -time, was standing on its head, he should begin reading me in this -book. That which is called "Idols" on the title page is simply the -old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain English, _The -Twilight of the Idols_ means that the old truth is on its last legs. - - - -2 - - -There is no reality, no "ideality," which has not been touched in -this book (touched! what a cautious euphemism!). Not only the eternal -idols, but also the youngest--that is to say, the most senile: modern -ideas, for instance. A strong wind blows between the trees and in -all directions fall the fruit--the truths. There is the waste of an -all-too-rich autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush -some to death, there are too many of them. Those things that you can -grasp, however, are quite unquestionable; they are irrevocable decrees. -I alone have the criterion of "truths" in my possession. I alone _can_ -decide. It would seem as if a second consciousness had grown up in me, -as if the "life-will" in me had thrown a light upon the downward path -along which it has been running throughout the ages. The _downward -path_--hitherto this had been called the road to "Truth." All obscure -impulse--"darkness and dismay"--is at an end, the "_good man_" was -precisely he who was least aware of the proper way.[1] And, speaking -in all earnestness, no one before me knew the proper way, the way -upwards: only after my time could men once more find hope, life-tasks, -and roads mapped out that lead to culture--_I am the joyful harbinger -of this culture._ ... On this account alone I am also a fatality. - - - -3 - - -Immediately after the completion of the above-named work, and without -letting even one day go by, I tackled the formidable task of the -_Transvaluation_ with a supreme feeling of pride which nothing could -equal; and, certain at each moment of my immortality, I cut sign after -sign upon tablets of brass with the sureness of Fate. The Preface -came into being on 3rd September 1888. When, after having written it -down, I went out into the open that morning, I was greeted by the most -beautiful day I had ever seen in the Upper Engadine--clear, glowing -with colour, and presenting all the contrasts and all the intermediary -gradations between ice and the south. I left Sils-Maria only on the -20th of September. I had been forced to delay my departure owing to -floods, and I was very soon, and for some days, the only visitor in -this wonderful spot, on which my gratitude bestows the gift of an -immortal name. After a journey that was full of incidents, and not -without danger to life,--as for instance at Como, which was flooded -when I reached it in the dead of night,--I got to Turin on the -afternoon of the 21 st. Turin is the only suitable place for me, and -it shall be my home henceforward. I took the same lodgings as I had -occupied in the spring, 6111 Via Carlo Alberto, opposite the mighty -Palazzo Carignano, in which Vittorio Emanuele was born; and I had a -view of the Piazza Carlo Alberto and above it across to the hills. -Without hesitating, or allowing myself to be disturbed for a single -moment, I returned to my work, only the last quarter of which had still -to be written. On the 30th September, tremendous triumph; the seventh -day; the leisure of a god on the banks of the Po.[2] On the same day, -I wrote the Preface to _The Twilight of the Idols,_ the correction of -the proofs of which provided me with recreation during the month of -September. Never in my life have I experienced such an autumn; nor -had I ever imagined that such things were possible on earth--a Claude -Lorrain extended to infinity, each day equal to the last in its wild -perfection. - - -[Footnote 1: A witty reference to Goethe's well-known passage in the -Prologue to _Faust_:-- - -"A good man, though in darkness and dismay, -May still be conscious of the proper way." - -The words are spoken by the Lord.--TR. ] - -[Footnote 2: There is a wonderful promenade along the banks of the Po, -for which Turin is famous, and of which Nietzsche was particularly -fond.--TR.] - - - - -"THE CASE OF WAGNER: A MUSICIAN'S PROBLEM" - - - -1 - - -In order to do justice to this essay a man ought to suffer from the -fate of music as from an open wound.--From what do I suffer when I -suffer from the fate of music? From the fact that music has lost -its world-transfiguring, yea-saying character--that it is decadent -music and no longer the flute of Dionysus. Supposing, however, that -the fate of music be as dear to man as his own life, because joy and -suffering are alike bound up with it; then he will find this pamphlet -comparatively mild and full of consideration. To be cheerful in -such circumstances, and laugh good-naturedly with others at one's -self,--_ridendodicere severum_[1] when the _verum dicere_ would -justify every sort of hardness,--is humanity itself. Who doubts that -I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to point my -_heavy_ guns at Wagner?--Everything decisive in this question I kept -to myself--I have loved Wagner.--After all, an attack upon a more than -usually subtle "unknown person" whom another would not have divined -so easily, lies in the meaning and path of my life-task. Oh, I have -still quite a number of other "unknown persons" to unmask besides a -Cagliostro of Music! Above all, I have to direct an attack against -the German people, who, in matters of the spirit, grow every day -more indolent, poorer in instincts, and more _honest_ who, with an -appetite for which they are to be envied, continue to diet themselves -on contradictions, and gulp down "Faith" in company with science, -Christian love together with anti-Semitism, and the will to power (to -the "Empire"), dished up with the gospel of the humble, without showing -the slightest signs of indigestion. Fancy this absence of party-feeling -in the presence of opposites! Fancy this gastric neutrality and -"disinterestedness"! Behold this sense of justice in the German palate, -which can grant equal rights to all,--which finds everything tasteful! -Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans are idealists. When I was last -in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant Wagner and the -_Trumpeter of Sakkingen_[2] equal rights; while I myself witnessed -the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most -genuine and most German of musicians,--using German here in the old -sense of the word,--a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the -master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of -which was to cultivate and spread artful (_listige_[3]) Church music. -Without a shadow of doubt the Germans are idealists. - - - -2 - - -But here nothing shall stop me from being rude, and from telling the -Germans one or two unpleasant home truths: who else would do it if I -did not? I refer to their laxity in matters historical. Not only have -the Germans entirely lost the _breadth of vision_ which enables one -to grasp the course of culture and the values of culture; not only -are they one and all political (or Church) puppets; but they have -also actually _put a ban upon_ this very breadth of vision. A man -must first and foremost be "German," he must belong to "_the_ race"; -then only can he pass judgment upon all values and lack of values -in history--then only can he establish them.... To be German is in -itself an argument, "Germany, Germany above all,"[4] is a principle; -the Germans stand for the "moral order of the universe" in history; -compared with the Roman Empire, they are the up-holders of freedom; -compared with the eighteenth century, they are the restorers of -morality, of the "Categorical Imperative." There is such a thing as -the writing of history according to the lights of Imperial Germany; -there is, I fear, anti-Semitic history--there is also history written -with an eye to the Court, and Herr von Treitschke is not ashamed -of himself. Quite recently an idiotic opinion _in historicis,_ an -observation of Vischer the Swabian æsthete, since happily deceased, -made the round of the German newspapers as a "truth" to which every -German _must assent_ The observation was this: "The Renaissance _and_ -the Reformation only together constitute a whole--the æsthetic -rebirth, and the moral rebirth." When I listen to such things, I lose -all patience, and I feel inclined, I even feel it my duty, to tell the -Germans, for once in a way, all that they have on their conscience. -_Every great crime against culture for the last four centuries lies -on their conscience...._ And always for the same reason, always owing -to their bottomless cowardice in the face of reality, which is also -cowardice in the face of truth; always owing to the love of falsehood -which has become almost instinctive in them--in short, "idealism." -It was the Germans who caused Europe to lose the fruits, the whole -meaning of her last period of greatness--the period of the Renaissance. -At a moment when a higher order of values, values that were noble, -that said yea to life, and that guaranteed a future, had succeeded -in triumphing over the opposite values, the values of degeneration, -in the very seat of Christianity itself,--and _even in the hearts of -those sitting there,_--Luther, that cursed monk, not only restored the -Church, but, what was a thousand times worse, restored Christianity, -and at a time too when it lay defeated. Christianity, the _Denial of -the Will to Live,_ exalted to a religion! Luther was an impossible -monk who, thanks to his own "impossibility," attacked the Church, -and in so doing restored it! Catholics would be perfectly justified -in celebrating feasts in honour of Luther, and in producing festival -plays[5] in his honour. Luther and the "rebirth of morality"! May all -psychology go to the devil! Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans -are idealists. On two occasions when, at the cost of enormous courage -and self-control, an upright, unequivocal, and perfectly scientific -attitude of mind had been attained, the Germans were able to discover -back stairs leading down to the old "ideal" again, compromises between -truth and the "ideal," and, in short, formulæ for the right to reject -science and to perpetrate falsehoods. Leibniz and Kant--these two -great breaks upon the intellectual honesty of Europe! Finally, at a -moment when there appeared on the bridge that spanned two centuries -of decadence, a superior force of genius and will which was strong -enough to consolidate Europe and to convert it into a political and -economic unit, with the object of ruling the world, the Germans, with -their Wars of Independence, robbed Europe of the significance--the -marvellous significance, of Napoleon's life. And in so doing they laid -on their conscience everything that followed, everything that exists -to-day,--this sickliness and want of reason which is most opposed to -culture, and which is called Nationalism,--this _névrose nationale_ -from which Europe is suffering acutely; this eternal subdivision of -Europe into petty states, with politics on a municipal scale: they have -robbed Europe itself of its significance, of its reason,--and have -stuffed it into a cul-de-sac. Is there any one except me who knows the -way out of this cul-de-sac? Does anyone except me know of an aspiration -which would be great enough to bind the people of Europe once more -together? - - - -3 - - -And after all, why should I not express my suspicions? In my case, -too, the Germans will attempt to make a great fate give birth merely -to a mouse. Up to the present they have compromised themselves with -me; I doubt whether the future will improve them. Alas! how happy I -should be to prove a false prophet in this matter! My natural readers -and listeners are already Russians, Scandinavians, and Frenchmen--will -they always be the same? In the history of knowledge, Germans are -represented only by doubtful names, they have been able to produce only -"_unconscious_" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, -Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or -Leibniz; they were all mere _Schleiermachers_).[6] The Germans must -not have the honour of seeing the first upright intellect in their -history of intellects, that intellect in which truth ultimately got the -better of the fraud of four thousand years, reckoned as one with the -German intellect. "German intellect" is my foul air: I breathe with -difficulty in the neighbourhood of this psychological uncleanliness -that has now become instinctive--an uncleanliness which in every -word and expression betrays a German. They have never undergone a -seventeenth century of hard self-examination, as the French have,--a -La Rochefoucauld, a Descartes, are a thousand times more upright -than the very first among Germans,--the latter have not yet had any -psychologists. But psychology is almost the standard of measurement -for the cleanliness or uncleanliness of a race.... For if a man is -not even clean, how can he be deep? The Germans are like women, you -can scarcely ever I fathom their depths--they haven't any, and that's -the end of it. Thus they cannot even be called shallow. That which is -called "deep" in Germany, is precisely this instinctive uncleanliness -towards one's self, of which I have just spoken: people refuse to be -clear in regard to their own natures. Might I be allowed, perhaps, to -suggest the word "German" as an international epithet denoting this -psychological depravity?--At the moment of writing, for instance, the -German Emperor is declaring it to be his Christian duty to liberate -the slaves in Africa; among us Europeans, then, this would be called -simply "German." ... Have the Germans ever produced even a book that -had depth? They are lacking in the mere idea of what constitutes a -book. I have known scholars who thought that Kant was deep. At the -Court of Prussia I fear that Herr von Treitschke is regarded as deep. -And when I happen to praise Stendhal as a deep psychologist, I have -often been compelled, in the company of German University Professors, -to spell his name aloud. - - - -4 - - -And why should I not proceed to the end? I am fond of clearing the -air. It is even part of my ambition to be considered as essentially a -despiser of Germans. I expressed my suspicions of the German character -even at the age of six-and-twenty (see _Thoughts out of Season,_ -vol. ii. pp. 164, 165),--to my mind the Germans are impossible. -When I try to think of the kind of man who is opposed to me in all -my instincts, my mental image takes the form of a German. The first -thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a -feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order -everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for -this is what constitutes a gentleman. Otherwise he belongs hopelessly -to that open-hearted, open-minded--alas! and always very good-natured -species, _la canaille_! But the Germans are _canaille_--alas! they are -so good-natured! A man lowers himself by frequenting the society of -Germans: the German places every one on an equal footing. With the -exception of my intercourse with one or two artists, and above all -with Richard Wagner, I cannot say that I have spent one pleasant hour -with Germans. Suppose, for one moment, that the profoundest spirit -of all ages were to appear among Germans, then one of the saviours -of the Capitol would be sure to arise and declare that his own ugly -soul was just as great. I can no longer abide this race with which -a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances--woe -to me! I am a nuance--and which has not _esprit_ in its feet, and -cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, -they simply have legs. The Germans have not the faintest idea of how -vulgar they are--but this in itself is the acme of vulgarity,--they are -not even ashamed of being merely Germans. They will have their say in -everything, they regard themselves as fit to decide all questions; I -even fear that they have decided about me. My whole life is essentially -a proof of this remark. In vain have I sought among them for a sign of -tact and delicacy towards myself. Among Jews I did indeed find it, but -not among Germans. I am so constituted as to be gentle and kindly to -every one,--I have the right not to draw distinctions,--but this does -not prevent my eyes from being open. I except no one, and least of all -my friends,--I only trust that this has not prejudiced my reputation -for humanity among them? There are five or six things which I have -always made points of honour. Albeit, the truth remains that for many -years I have considered almost every letter that has reached me as a -piece of cynicism. There is more cynicism in an attitude of goodwill -towards me than in any sort of hatred. I tell every friend to his face -that he has never thought it worth his while to _study_ any one of my -writings: from the slightest hints I gather that they do not even know -what lies hidden in my books. And with regard even to my _Zarathustra,_ -which of my friends would have seen more in it than a piece of -unwarrantable, though fortunately harmless, arrogance? Ten years have -elapsed, and no one has yet felt it a duty to his conscience to defend -my name against the absurd silence beneath which it has been entombed. -It was a foreigner, a Dane, who first showed sufficient keenness of -instinct and of courage to do this, and who protested indignantly -against my so-called friends. At what German University to-day would -such lectures on my philosophy be possible, as those which Dr. Brandes -delivered last spring in Copenhagen, thus proving once more his right -to the title psychologist? For my part, these things have never caused -me any pain; that which is _necessary_ does not offend me. _Amor fati_ -is the core of my nature. This, however, does not alter the fact that -I love irony and even world-historic irony. And thus, about two years -before hurling the destructive thunderbolt of the _Transvaluation,_ -which will send the whole of civilisation into convulsions, I sent -my _Case of Wagner_ out into the world. The Germans were given the -chance of blundering and immortalising their stupidity once more on my -account, and they still have just enough time to do it in. And have -they fallen in with my plans? Admirably! my dear Germans. Allow me to -congratulate you. - - - -[Footnote 1: The motto of _The Case of Wagner._--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: An opera by Nessler which was all the rage in Germany -twenty years ago.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: Unfortunately it is impossible to render this play on the -words in English.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: The German National Song (_Deutschland, Deutschland über -alles_).--TR.] - -[Footnote 5: Ever since the year 1617 such plays have been produced by -the Protestants of Germany.--TR.] - -[Footnote 6: _Schleiermacher_ literally means a weaver or maker of -veils.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I AM A FATALITY - - - -1 - - -I know my destiny. There will come a day when my name will recall -the memory of something formidable--a crisis the like of which has -never been known on earth, the memory of the most profound clash -of consciences, and the passing of a sentence upon all that which -theretofore had been believed, exacted, and hallowed. I am not a -man, I am dynamite. And with it all there is nought of the founder -of a religion in me. Religions are matters for the mob; after coming -in contact with a religious man, I always feel that I must wash my -hands.... I require no "believers," it is my opinion that I am too -full of malice to believe even in myself; I never address myself to -masses. I am horribly frightened that one day I shall be pronounced -"holy." You will understand why I publish this book beforehand--it is -to prevent people from wronging me. I refuse to be a saint; I would -rather be a clown. Maybe I am a clown. And I am notwithstanding, or -rather not _not_withstanding, the mouthpiece of truth; for nothing -more blown-out with falsehood has ever existed, than a saint. But -my truth is terrible: for hitherto _lies_ have been called truth. -_The Transvaluation of all Values,_ this is my formula for mankind's -greatest step towards coming to its senses--a step which in me became -flesh and genius. My destiny ordained that I should be the first decent -human being, and that I should feel myself opposed to the falsehood -of millenniums. I was the first to discover truth, and for the simple -reason that I was the first who became conscious of falsehood as -falsehood--that is to say, I smelt it as such. My genius resides in -my nostrils. I contradict as no one has contradicted hitherto, and am -nevertheless the reverse of a negative spirit. I am the harbinger of -joy, the like of which has never existed before; I have discovered -tasks of such lofty greatness that, until my time, no one had any idea -of such things. Mankind can begin to have fresh hopes, only now that I -have lived. Thus, I am necessarily a man of Fate. For when Truth enters -the lists against the falsehood of ages, shocks are bound to ensue, -and a spell of earthquakes, followed by the transposition of hills and -valleys, such as the world has never yet imagined even in its dreams. -The concept "politics" then becomes elevated entirely to the sphere -of spiritual warfare. All the mighty realms of the ancient order of -society are blown into space--for they are all based on falsehood: -there will be wars, the like of which have never been seen on earth -before. Only from my time and after me will politics on a large scale -exist on earth. - - - -2 - - -If you should require a formula for a destiny of this kind that has -taken human form, you will find it in my _Zarathustra_. - -"And he who would be a creator in good and evil--verily, he must first -be a destroyer, and break values into pieces. - -"Thus the greatest evil belongeth unto the greatest good: but this is -the creative good." - -I am by far the most terrible man that has ever existed; but this does -not alter the fact that I shall become the most beneficent. I know the -joy of _annihilation_ to a degree which is commensurate with my power -to annihilate. In both cases I obey my Dionysian nature, which knows -not how to separate the negative deed from the saying of yea. I am the -first immoralist, and in this sense I am essentially the annihilator. - - - -3 - - -People have never asked me as they should have done, what the name -of Zarathustra precisely meant in my mouth, in the mouth of the -first immoralist; for that which distinguishes this Persian from all -others in the past is the very fact that he was the exact reverse -of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle -between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. -The translation of morality into the realm of metaphysics, as force, -cause, end-in-itself, is his work. But the very question suggests -its own answer. Zarathustra created this most portentous of all -errors,--morality; therefore he must be the first to expose it. Not -only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject -than any other thinker,--all history is indeed the experimental -refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things,--but -because of the more important fact that Zarathustra was the most -truthful of thinkers. In his teaching alone is truthfulness upheld as -the highest virtue--that is to say, as the reverse of the cowardice -of the "idealist" who takes to his heels at the sight of reality. -Zarathustra has more pluck in his body than all other thinkers put -together. To tell the truth and to aim straight: that is the first -Persian virtue. Have I made myself clear? ... The overcoming of -morality by itself, through truthfulness, the moralist's overcoming of -himself in his opposite--in me--that is what the name Zarathustra means -in my mouth. - - - -4 - - -In reality two negations are involved in my title Immoralist. I first -of all deny the type of man that has hitherto been regarded as the -highest--the _good,_ the _kind,_ and the _charitable_; and I also -deny that kind of morality which has become recognised and paramount -as morality-in-itself--I speak of the morality of decadence, or, to -use a still cruder term, Christian morality. I would agree to the -second of the two negations being regarded as the more decisive, for, -reckoned as a whole, the overestimation of goodness and kindness seems -to me already a consequence of decadence, a symptom of weakness, and -incompatible with any ascending and yea-saying life. Negation and -annihilation are inseparable from a yea-saying attitude towards life. -Let me halt for a moment at the question of the psychology of the -good man. In order to appraise the value of a certain type of man, the -cost of his maintenance must be calculated,--and the conditions of his -existence must be known. The condition of the existence of the _good_ -is falsehood: or, otherwise expressed, the refusal at any price to -see how reality is actually constituted. The refusal to see that this -reality is not so constituted as always to be stimulating beneficent -instincts, and still less, so as to suffer at all moments the intrusion -of ignorant and good-natured hands. To consider distress of all kinds -as an objection, as something which must be done away with, is the -greatest nonsense on earth; generally speaking, it is nonsense of the -most disastrous sort, fatal in its stupidity--almost as mad as the will -to abolish bad weather, out of pity for the poor, so to speak. In the -great economy of the whole universe, the terrors of reality (in the -passions, in the desires, in the will to power) are incalculably more -necessary than that form of petty happiness which is called "goodness"; -it is even needful to practise leniency in order so much as to allow -the latter a place at all, seeing that it is based upon a falsification -of the instincts. I shall have an excellent opportunity of showing the -incalculably calamitous consequences to the whole of history, of the -credo of optimism, this monstrous offspring of the _homines optimi._ -Zarathustra,[1] the first who recognised that the optimist is just as -degenerate as the pessimist, though perhaps more detrimental, says: -"_Good men never speak the truth. False shores and false harbours -were ye taught by the good. In the lies of the good were ye born and -bred. Through the good everything hath become false and crooked from -the roots._" Fortunately the world is not built merely upon those -instincts which would secure to the good-natured herd animal his paltry -happiness. To desire everybody to become a "good man," "a gregarious -animal," "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul," or--as Herbert -Spencer wished--a creature of altruism, would mean robbing existence of -its greatest character, castrating man, and reducing humanity to a sort -of wretched Chinadom. _And this some have tried to do! It is precisely -this that men called morality._ In this sense Zarathustra calls "the -good," now "the last men," and anon "the beginning of the end"; and -above all, he considers them as _the most detrimental kind of men,_ -because they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and at the -cost of the Future. - -"The good--they cannot create; they are ever the beginning of the end. - -"They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables; they sacrifice -_unto themselves_ the future; they crucify the whole future of humanity! - -"The good--they are ever the beginning of the end. - -"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world may do, _the harm of the -good is the most calamitous of all harm._" - - - -5 - - -Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good man, is perforce the -friend of the evil man. When a degenerate kind of man has succeeded -to the highest rank among the human species, his position must have -been gained at the cost of the reverse type--at the cost of the strong -man who is certain of life. When the gregarious animal stands in -the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be -degraded to the rank of the evil. If falsehood insists at all costs on -claiming the word "truth" for its own particular standpoint, the really -truthful man must be sought out among the despised. Zarathustra allows -of no doubt here; he says that it was precisely the knowledge of the -good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute horror of men. And -it was out of this feeling of repulsion that he grew the wings which -allowed him to soar into remote futures. He does not conceal the fact -that his type of man is one which is relatively superhuman--especially -as opposed to the "good" man, and that the good and the just would -regard his superman as the _devil._ - -"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this is the doubt that ye -wake in my breast, and this is my secret laughter: methinks ye would -call my Superman--the devil! So strange are ye in your souls to all -that is great, that the Superman would be terrible in your eyes for his -goodness." - -It is from this passage, and from no other, that you must set out to -understand the goal to which Zarathustra aspires--the kind of man that -he conceives sees reality _as it is;_ he is strong enough for this--he -is not estranged or far removed from it, he is that reality himself, in -his own nature can be found all the terrible and questionable character -of reality: _only thus can man have greatness._ - - - -6 - - -But I have chosen the title of Immoral is t as a surname and as a badge -of honour in yet another sense; I am very proud to possess this name -which distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No one hitherto -has felt Christian morality beneath him; to that end there were needed -height, a remoteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological depth, not -believed to be possible hitherto. Up to the present Christian morality -has been the Circe of all thinkers--they stood at her service. What -man, before my time, had descended into the underground caverns from -out of which the poisonous fumes of this ideal--of this slandering -of the world--burst forth? What man had even dared to suppose that -they were underground caverns? Was a single one of the philosophers -who preceded me a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a -psychologist--that is to say, a "superior swindler," an "Idealist"? -Before my time there was no psychology. To be the first in this new -realm may amount to a curse; at all events, it is a fatality: _for one -is also the first to despise._ My danger is the loathing of mankind. - - - -7 - - -Have you understood me? That which defines me, that which makes me -stand apart from the whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that -I _unmasked_ Christian morality. For this reason I was in need of a -word which conveyed the idea of a challenge to everybody. Not to have -awakened to these discoveries before, struck me as being the sign -of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has on its conscience, -as self-deception become instinctive, as the fundamental will to -be blind to every phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in -fact, as an almost criminal fraud _in psychologicis._ Blindness in -regard to Christianity is the essence of criminality--for it is the -crime _against_ life. Ages and peoples, the first as well as the -last, philosophers and old women, with the exception of five or six -moments in history (and of myself, the seventh), are all alike in -this. Hitherto the Christian has been _the_ "moral being," a peerless -oddity, and, _as_ "a moral being," he was more absurd, more vain, more -thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage to himself, than the greatest -despiser of humanity could have deemed possible. Christian morality -is the most malignant form of all false too the actual Circe of -humanity: that which has corrupted mankind. It is not error as error -which infuriates me at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the -millenniums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of decency, and -of bravery in spiritual things, which betrays itself in the triumph of -Christianity; it is rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly -ghastly fact that _anti-nature_ itself received the highest honours as -morality and as law, and remained suspended over man as the Categorical -Imperative. Fancy blundering in this way, _not_ as an individual, -_not_ as a people, but as a whole species! as _humanity_! To teach the -contempt of all the principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the -existence of a "soul," of a "spirit," in order to be able to defy the -body; to spread the feeling that there is something impure in the very -first prerequisite of life--in sex; to seek the principle of evil in -the profound need of growth and expansion--that is to say, in severe -self-love (the term itself is slanderous); and conversely to see a -higher moral value--but what am I talking about?--I mean the _moral -value per se,_ in the typical signs of decline, in the antagonism of -the instincts, in "selflessness," in the loss of ballast, in "the -suppression of the personal element," and in "love of one's neighbour" -(neighbouritis!). What! is humanity itself in a state of degeneration? -Has it always been in this state? One thing is certain, that ye are -taught only the values of decadence as the highest values. The morality -of self-renunciation is essentially the morality of degeneration; the -fact, "I am going to the dogs," is translated into the imperative," -Ye shall all go to the dogs"--and not only into the imperative. This -morality of self-renunciation, which is the only kind of morality that -has been taught hitherto, betrays the will to nonentity--it denies life -to the very roots. There still remains the possibility that it is not -mankind that is in a state of degeneration, but only that parasitical -kind of man--the priest, who, by means of morality and lies, has -climbed up to his position of determinator of values, who divined in -Christian morality his road to power. And, to tell the truth, this -is my opinion. The teachers and I leaders of mankind--including the -theologians--have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their) -transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards; life; hence -morality. _The definition of morality;_ Morality is the idiosyncrasy of -decadents, actuated by a desire _to avenge themselves with success upon -life._ I attach great value to this definition. - - - -8 - - -Have you understood me? I have not uttered a single word which I had -not already said five years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra. -The unmasking of Christian morality is an event which unequalled in -history, it is a real catastrophe. The man who throws light upon it -is a _force majeure,_ a fatality; he breaks the history of man into -two. Time is reckoned up before him and after him. The lightning -flash of truth struck precisely that which theretofore had stood -highest: he who understands what was destroyed by that flash should -look to see whether he still holds anything in his hands. Everything -which until then was called truth, has been revealed as the most -detrimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form of life; the -holy pretext, which was the "improvement" of man, has been recognised -as a ruse for draining life of its energy and of its blood. Morality -conceived as _Vampirism_.... The man who unmasks morality has also -unmasked the worthlessness of the values in which men either believe -or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be revered in the most -venerable man--even in the types of men that have been pronounced -holy; all he can see in them is the most fatal kind of abortions, -fatal, _because they fascinate._ The concept "God" was invented as -the opposite of the concept life--everything detrimental, poisonous, -and slanderous, and all deadly hostility to life, wad bound together -in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts "beyond" and "true world" -were invented in order to depreciate the only world that exists--in -order that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left to earthly -reality. The concepts "soul," "spirit," and last of all the concept -"immortal soul," were invented in order to throw contempt on the body, -in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to cultivate an attitude -of appalling levity towards all things in life which deserve to be -treated seriously, _i.e._ the questions of nutrition and habitation, -of intellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanliness, and -weather. Instead of health, we find the "salvation of the soul"--that -is to say, a _folie circulate_ fluctuating between convulsions and -penitence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept "sin," together -with the torture instrument appertaining to it, which is the concept -"free will," was invented in order to confuse and muddle our instincts, -and to render the mistrust of them man's second nature! In the concepts -"disinterestedness" and "self-denial," the actual signs of decadence -are to be found. The allurement of that which is detrimental, the -inability to discover one's own advantage and self-destruction, are -made into absolute qualities, into the "duty," the "holiness," and -the "divinity" of man. Finally--to keep the worst to the last--by the -notion of the _good_ man, all that is favoured which is weak, ill, -botched, and sick-in-itself, which _ought to be wiped out._ The law -of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of opposition to the -proud, well-constituted man, to him who says yea to life, to him who -is certain of the future, and who guarantees the future--this man is -henceforth called the _evil_ one. And all this was believed in as -_morality!--Ecrasez l'infâme!_ - - - -9 - - -Have you understood me? _Dionysus_ versus _Christ._ - - -[Footnote 1: Needless to say this is Nietzsche, and no longer the -Persian.--TR.] - - - - -EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY - - -The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in -the Editorial Note to _The Joyful Wisdom,_ in which he declared -his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has -nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. -This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an -injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an -author, as it were, in his _négligé,_ or, in plain English, "in his -shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and -rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage -of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not -readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, -contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small -notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress -everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, -more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. -He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the _Songs -and Epigrams,_ nearly all of which are to be found translated here, -and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half -have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs appear in this -volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated -in the Fourth Part of _Zarathustra._ These Dionysus Dithyrambs were -prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final -manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual -composition, however, belongs to an earlier date. - -All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. -Paul Victor Cohn. - - - - -SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. - - -SONGS - - - - TO MELANCHOLY[1] - - - O Melancholy, be not wroth with me - That I this pen should point to praise thee only, - And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee, - Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely. - Thus oft thou saw'st me,--yesterday, at least,-- - Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming, - While, visioning the carrion of his feast, - The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming. - - Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I, - So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning! - Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy - Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening. - What though they did not soar unto thine height, - or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices, - For _that_ they sank the deeper so they might - Within themselves light Destiny's abysses. - - Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free, - Bent hideous like a savage at his altar, - There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee, - A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter. - - So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span, - The thunder of the avalanche's paces, - Thou spakest to me--nor wast false like man, - Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces. - - Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark, - Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me, - To point me out the vulture's airy are - And laughing avalanches, to repel me. - Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill, - The torment to win life in all its changes; - Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill, - Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges. - - All this am I--shuddering I feel it all-- - O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower, - The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall, - The moaning storm--all symbols of thy power,-- - Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed, - With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting, - I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud - For Life, for Life, for Life--forever thirsting! - - O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask, - That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven. - He trembles who beholds thine awful mask; - He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given. - Song upon trembling song by starts and fits - I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding, - The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits, - O goddess, goddess--leave me to my scolding! - - - - - AFTER A NIGHT STORM[2] - - - To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly, - Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane. - Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly - Roars the swollen brook unto the plain. - - Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring, - 'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll, - 'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing-- - Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl. - - Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking - Raptures of thy voice--and howls of pain. - Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking - With the mace of thunder hurled amain. - - Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes - Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam, - Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes, - And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am! - - The immortal Amazon they call me; - All things weak and womanish I shun; - Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me; - Victress I and tigress all in one! - - Where I tread there corpses fall before me; - From mine eyes the furious torches fly, - And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me! - Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp--or die!" - - - - - HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP - - - (_Two Fragments_) - - - 1 - - Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song - That we sing in friendship's honour! - Where the eye of friendship glances, - Filled with all the joy of friendship - Come thou nigh to aid me, - Rosy dawn in thy gaze and - In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal. - - - 2 - - Morning's past: the sun of noonday - Scorches with hot ray our heads. - Let us sit beneath the arbour - Singing songs in praise of friendship. - Friendship was our life's red dawning, - And its sunset red shall be. - - - - - THE WANDERER[3] - - - All through the night a wanderer walks - Sturdy of stride, - With winding vale and sloping height - E'er at his side. - Fair is the night: - On, on he strides, nor slackens speed, - And knows not where his path will lead. - - A bird's song in the night is heard, - "Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird, - How dost thou grip my sense and feet - And pourest heart-vexation sweet - Into mine ear--I must remain, - To hearken fain: - Why lure me with inviting strain?" - - The good bird speaks, staying his song: - "I lure not thee,--no, thou art wrong-- - With these my trills - I lure my mate from off the hills-- - Nor heed thy plight. - To me alone the night's not fair. - What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare, - On, onward ever, resting ne'er. - - Why stand'st thou now? - What has my piping done to thee, - Thou roaming wight?" - The good bird pondered, silent quite, - "Why doth my piping change his plight? - Why stands he now, - That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?" - - - - - TO THE GLACIER - - - At noontide hour, when first, - Into the mountains Summer treads, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, - Then too he speaks, - Yet we can only see his speech. - - His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath - On fevered couch. - The glacier and the fir tree and the spring - Answer his call - --Yet we their answer only see. - For faster from the rock leaps down - The torrent stream, as though to greet, - And stands, like a white column trembling, - All yearning there. - And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree - Than e'er before. - And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone - A sudden light breaks forth-- - Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign. - - Even the dead man's eye - Surely once more grows light, - When, sorrowful, his child - Gives him embrace and kiss: - Surely once more the flame of light - Wells out, and glowing into life - The dead eye speaks: "My child! - Ah child, you know I love you true!" - - So all things glow and speak--the glacier speaks, - The brook, the fir, - Speak with their glance the selfsame words: - We love you true, - Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true! - - And he, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, - Woe-worn, gives kisses - More ardent ever, - And will not go: - But like to veils he blows his words - From out his lips, - His cruel words: - "My greeting's parting, - My coming going, - In youth I die." - - All round they hearken - And scarcely breathe - (No songster sings), - And shuddering run - Like gleaming ray - Over the mountain; - All round they ponder,-- - Nor speak-- - - Twas at the noon, - At noontide hour, when first - Into the mountains Summer treads, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary. - - - - - AUTUMN[4] - - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away!-- - The sun creeps 'gainst the hill - And climbs and climbs - And rests at every step. - - How faded grew the world! - On weary, slackened strings the wind - Playeth his tune. - Fair Hope fled far-- - He waileth after. - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away! - O fruit of the tree, - Thou tremblest, fallest? - What secret whispered unto thee - The Night, - That icy shudders deck thy cheek, - Thy cheek of purple hue? - - Silent art thou, nor dost reply-- - Who speaketh still?-- - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away!-- - "I am not fair,"-- - So speaks the lone star-flower,-- - "Yet men I love - And comfort men-- - Many flowers shall they behold, - And stoop to me, - And break me, ah!-- - So that within their eyes shall gleam - Remembrance swift, - _Remembrance of far fairer things than I_:-- - I see it--see it--and I perish so." - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away! - - - - - CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO[5] - - - Maiden, in gentle wise - You stroke your lamb's soft fleece, - Yet flashing from your eyes - Both light and flame ne'er cease. - Creature of merry jest - And favourite near and far, - Pious with kindness blest, - Amorosissima! - - What broke so soon the chain, - What does your heart deplore? - And who, pray, would not fain, - If you loved him, adore?-- - You're mute, but from your eye, - The tear-drop is not far, - You're mute: you'll yearn and die, - Amorosissima? - - - - - THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6] - - - "Little Angel" call they me!-- - Now a ship, but once a girl, - Ah, and still too much a girl! - My steering-wheel, so bright to see, - But for sake of love doth whirl. - - "Little Angel" call they me, - With hundred flags to ornament, - A captain smart, on glory bent, - Steers me, puffed with vanity - (He himself's an ornament). - - "Little Angel" call they me, - And where'er a little flame - Gleams for me, I, like a lamb, - Go my journey eagerly - (I was always such a lamb!). - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Think you I can bark and whine - Like a dog, this mouth of mine - Throwing smoke and flame full free? - Ah, a devil's mouth is mine. - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Once I spoke a bitter word, - That my lover, when he heard, - Fast and far away did flee: - Yes, I killed him with that word! - - "Little Angel" call they me: - Hardly heard, I sprang so glib - From the cliff and broke a rib: - From my frame my soul went free, - Yes, escaped me through that rib. - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Then my soul, like cat in flight - Straight did on this ship alight - Swiftly bounding--one, two, three! - Yes, its claws are swift to smite. - - "Little Angel" call they me!-- - Now a ship, but once a girl, - Ah, and still too much a girl! - My steering-wheel, so bright to see, - For sake of love alone doth whirl. - - - - - MAIDEN'S SONG - - - Yesterday with seventeen years - Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair, - I am grey-haired, it appears, - Now in all things--save my hair. - - Yesterday, I had a thought, - Was't a thought?--you laugh and scorn! - Did you ever have a thought? - Rather was a feeling born. - - Dare a woman think? This screed - Wisdom long ago begot: - "Follow woman must, not lead; - If she thinks, she follows not." - - Wisdom speaks--I credit naught: - Rather hops and stings like flea: - "Woman seldom harbours thought; - If she thinks, no good is she!" - - To this wisdom, old, renowned, - Bow I in deep reverence: - Now my wisdom I'll expound - In its very quintessence. - - A voice spoke in me yesterday - As ever--listen if you can: - "Woman is more beauteous aye, - But more interesting--man!" - - - - - "PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"[7] - - - Cave where the dead ones rest, - O marble falsehood, thee - I love: for easy jest - My soul thou settest free. - - To-day, to-day alone, - My soul to tears is stirred, - At thee, the pictured stone, - At thee, the graven word. - - This picture (none need wis) - I kissed the other day. - When there's so much to kiss - Why did I kiss the--clay? - - Who knows the reason why? - "A tombstone fool!" you laugh: - I kissed--I'll not deny-- - E'en the long epitaph. - - - - - TO FRIENDSHIP - - - Hail to thee, Friendship! - My hope consummate, - My first red daybreak! - Alas, so endless - Oft path and night seemed, - And life's long road - Aimless and hateful! - Now life I'd double - In thine eyes seeing - Dawn-glory, triumph, - Most gracious goddess! - - - - - PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING - - - O'er man and beast I grew so high, - And speak--but none will give reply. - - Too lone and tall my crest did soar: - I wait: what am I waiting for? - - The clouds are grown too nigh of late, - 'Tis the first lightning I await. - - - - - TREE IN AUTUMN - - - Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken - While I in blissful blindness stood? - Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken-- - Vanished my golden dreaming mood. - - Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy, - Knock first! Where have your manners fled? - I threw--and fear has made me speedy-- - Dishes of ripe fruit--at your head. - - - - - AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS) - - - (_After a Gipsy Proverb_) - - - Here the gallows, there the cord, - And the hangman's ruddy beard. - Round, the venom-glancing horde:-- - Nothing new to me's appeared. - Many times I've seen the sight, - Now laughing in your face I cry, - "Hanging me is useless quite: - Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!" - - Beggars all! Ye envy me - Winning what ye never won! - True, I suffer agony, - But for you--your life is done. - Many times I've faced death's plight, - Yet steam and light and breath am I. - Hanging me is useless quite: - Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die! - - - - - THE NEW COLUMBUS[8] - - - "Dearest," said Columbus, "never - Trust a Genoese again. - At the blue he gazes ever, - Distance doth his soul enchain. - - Strangeness is to me too dear-- - Genoa has sunk and passed-- - Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! - Sea before me: land--at last? - - Firmly let us plant our feet, - Ne'er can we give up this game-- - From the distance what doth greet? - One death, one happiness, one fame. - - - - - IN LONESOMENESS[9] - - - The cawing crows - Townwards on whirring pinions roam; - Soon come the snows-- - Thrice happy now who hath a home! - - Fast-rooted there, - Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long! - Thou fool, why dare - Ere winter come, this world of wrong? - - This world--a gate - To myriad deserts dumb and hoar! - Who lost through fate - What thou hast lost, shall rest no more. - - Now stand'st thou pale, - A frozen pilgrimage thy doom, - Like smoke whose trail - Cold and still colder skies consume. - - Fly, bird, and screech, - Like desert-fowl, thy song apart! - Hide out of reach, - Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart. - - Firmly let us plant our feet, - Ne'er can we give up this game-- - From the distance what doth greet? - One death, one happiness, one fame. - - The cawing crows - Townwards on whirring pinions roam: - Soon come the snows-- - Woe unto him who hath no home! - - _My Answer_ - - The man presumes-- - Good Lord!--to think that I'd return - To those warm rooms - Where snug the German ovens burn - - My friend, you see - 'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-- - Pity for _thee_ - And all that German blockheads are! - - - - - VENICE - - - ON the bridge I stood, - Mellow was the night, - Music came from far-- - Drops of gold outpoured - On the shimmering waves. - Song, gondolas, light, - Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk. - - The chords of my soul, moved - By unseen impulse, throbbed - Secretly into a gondola song, - With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy. - Had I a listener there? - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 2: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 3: This poem was written on the betrothal of one of -Nietzsche's Bâle friends.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 5: Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, -near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl -with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath-- -"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."] - -[Footnote 6: Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired -by a ship that was christened _Angiolina,_ in memory of a -love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.--TR.] - -[Footnote 7: See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same -tombstone.--TR.] - -[Footnote 8: The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great -part of his life at Genoa.--TR.] - -[Footnote 9: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - - - - - -EPIGRAMS - - - - CAUTION: POISON![1] - - - He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading; - - For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing! - - - - - HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY - - - With jesters it is good to jest: - Who likes to tickle, is tickled best. - - - - - THE WORD - - - I dearly love the living word, - That flies to you like a merry bird, - Ready with pleasant nod to greet, - E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet, - Yet it has blood, can pant you deep: - Then to the dove's ear it will creep: - And curl itself, or start for flight-- - Whate'er it does, it brings delight. - - Yet tender doth the word remain, - Soon it is ill, soon well again: - So if its little life you'd spare, - O grasp it lightly and with care, - Nor heavy hand upon it lay, - For e'en a cruel glance would slay! - There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing! - All stark, all formless, and all cold, - Its little body changed and battered, - By death and dying rudely shattered. - - A dead word is a hateful thing, - A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting. - A curse on ugly trades I cry - That doom all little words to die! - - - - - THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW - - - _A Book_ - - - You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back? - Is e'en for chamois here no track? - - So here I wait and firmly clasp - What eye and hand will let me grasp! - - Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath, - And under me--world, man, and death! - - - - - JOYFUL WISDOM - - - This is no book--for such, who looks? - Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books! - What's dead and gone they make their prey, - Yet in my book lives fresh To-day. - - This is no book--for such, who looks? - Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks? - This is a promise, an act of will, - A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill; - A wind from sea, an anchor light, - A whirr of wheels, a steering right. - The cannon roars, white smokes its flame, - The sea--the monster--laughs and scents its game. - - - - - DEDICATION[2] - - - He who has much to tell, keeps much - Silent and unavowed. - He who with lightning-flash would touch - Must long remain a cloud! - - - - - THE NEW TESTAMENT[3] - - - Is this your Book of Sacred Lore, - For blessing, cursing, and such uses?-- - Come, come now: at the very door - God some one else's wife seduces? - - - - - THE "TRUE GERMAN" - - - "O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes, - To you I'm true, I wis." - He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff - Went to Cosmopolis. - - - - - TO THE DARWINIANS[4] - - - A fool this honest Britisher - Was not ... But a Philosopher! - As _that_ you really rate him? - Set Darwin up by Goethe's side? - But majesty you thus deride-- - _Genii majestatem_! - - - - - To HAFIZ - - - (_Toast Question of a Water-Drinker_) - - - What you have builded, yonder inn, - O'ertops all houses high: - The posset you have brewed therein - The world will ne'er drink dry. - The bird that once appeared on earth - As phœnix, is your, guest. - The mouse that gave a mountain birth - Is you yourself confessed! - You're all and naught, you're inn and wine, - You're phœnix, mountain, mouse. - Back to yourself to come you pine - Or fly from out your house. - Downward from every height you've sunk, - And in the depths still shine: - The drunkenness of all the drunk, - Why do you ask for--wine? - - - - - TO SPINOZA - - - Of "All in One" a fervent devotee - _Amore Dei,_ of reasoned piety, - Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!-- - Yet underneath this love there sate - A torch of vengeance, burning secretly - The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate. - Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee? - - - - - ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER - - - That which he taught, has had its day, - That which he lived, shall live for aye: - Look at the man! No bondsman he! - Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee! - - - - - TO RICHARD WAGNER - - - O You who chafe at every fetter's link, - A restless spirit, never free: - Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered, - Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured, - Till from each cup of balm you poison drink, - Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink, - You too, you too, among the overpowered! - - For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped, - Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread, - With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread, - And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped. - But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head, - For I escaped! - - - - - MUSIC OF THE SOUTH[5] - - - All that my eagle e'er saw clear, - I see and feel in heart to-day - (Although my hope was wan and gray) - Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear, - A balm to touch, a balm to hear, - As down from heaven it winged its way. - - So now for lands of southern fire - To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport! - Thither now turn the ship's desire-- - No ship e'er sped to fairer port. - - - - - A RIDDLE - - - A riddle here--can you the answer scent? - "When man discovers, woman must invent."---- - - - - - TO FALSE FRIENDS - - - You stole, your eye's not clear to-day. - You only stole a thought, sir? nay, - Why be so rudely modest, pray? - Here, take another handful--stay, - Take all I have, you swine--you may - Eat till your filth is purged away. - - - - - FRIEND YORICK - - - Be of good cheer, - Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain, - As now it does, I fear, - Is it not "God"? And though in error lain, - 'Tis but your own dear child, - Your flesh and blood, - That tortures you and gives you pain, - Your little rogue and do-no-good, - See if the rod will change its mood! - - In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear - Philosophy--and let me now - Whisper one word as medicine, - My own prescription, in your ear, - My remedy against such spleen-- - "Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween," - - - - - RESOLUTION - - - I should be wise to suit my mood, - Not at the beck of other men: - God made as stupid as he could - The world--well, let me praise him then. - - And if I make not straight my track, - But, far as may be, wind and bend, - That's how the sage begins his tack, - And that is how the fool will--end. - - * * * * * - - The world stands never still, - Night loves the glowing day-- - Sweet sounds to ear "I will!" - And sweeter still "I may!" - - - - - THE HALCYONIAN[6] - - - Addressing me most bashfully, - A woman to-day said this: - "What would you be like in ecstasy, - If sober you feel such bliss?" - - - - - FINALE[6] - - - Laughter is a serious art. - I would do it better daily. - Did I well to-day or no? - Came the spark right from the heart? - Little use though head wag gaily, - If the heart contain no glow. - - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 2: On the title-page of a copy of _Joyful Wisdom,_ dedicated -to Herr August Bungal.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 4: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 5: Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful -friend, and a musician whose "Southern" music Nietzsche -admired.--TR.] - -[Footnote 6: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - - - - -DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS - - -(1888) - - -These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to -himself so as to endure his last solitude. - - - - OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST - - - Ten years passed by-- - Not a drop reached me, - No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love - --A rainless land.... - Now entreat I my wisdom - Not to become stingy in this drought; - Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew, - Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness! - - I once bade the clouds - Depart from my mountains; - Once I said to them, - "More light, ye dark ones!" - To-day I entice them to come: - Make me dark with your udders: - --I would milk you, - Ye cows of the heights! - Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love - I pour over the land. - - Away, away, ye truths - That look so gloomy! - I will not have on my mountains - Bitter, impatient truths. - May truth approach me to-day - Gilded by smiles, - Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,-- - A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree. - - To-day I stretch my hands - Toward the tresses of chance, - Wise enough to lead, - To outwit chance like a child. - To-day I will be hospitable - 'Gainst the unwelcome, - 'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly.... - --Zarathustra is no hedgehog. - - My soul, - Insatiable with its tongue, - Has already tasted of all things good and evil, - And has dived into all depths. - But ever, like the cork, - It swims to the surface again, - And floats like oil upon brown seas: - Because of this soul men call me fortunate. - - Who are my father and mother? - Is not my father Prince Plenty? - And my mother Silent Laughter? - Did not the union of these two - Beget me, the enigmatic beast-- - Me, the monster of light-- - Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom? - - Sick to-day from tenderness, - A dewy wind, - Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains-- - Sweet and stewing - In his own juice, - Beneath his own summit, - Beneath his ice, - Weary and happy, - A Creator on his seventh day. - - --Silence! - A truth passes over me - Like a cloud,-- - With invisible lightnings it strikes me, - On broad, slow stairs, - Its happiness climbs to me: - Come, come, beloved truth! - - --Silence! - 'Tis _my_ truth! - From timid eyes, - From velvet shudders, - Her glance meets mine, - Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance. - She has guessed the reason of my happiness, - She has guessed me--ha! what is she thinking? - A purple dragon - Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance. - - --Silence! My truth is speaking!-- - - "Woe to thee, Zarathustra! - Thou lookest like one - That hath swallowed gold: - They will slit up thy belly yet! - - Thou art too rich, - Thou corrupter of many! - Thou makest too many jealous, - Too many poor.... - Even on me thy light casts a shadow-- - I feel chill: go away, thou rich one - Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun - - - - - BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY - - - Who would here descend, - How soon - Is he swallowed up by the depths! - But thou, Zarathustra, - Still lovest the abysses, - Lovest them as doth the fir tree! - - The fir flings its roots - Where the rock itself gazes - Shuddering at the depths,-- - The fir pauses before the abysses - Where all around - Would fain descend: - Amid the impatience - Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents - It waits so patient, stern and silent, - Lonely.... - - Lonely! - Who would venture - Here to be guest-- - To be thy guest? - - A bird of prey, perchance - Joyous at others' misfortune, - Will cling persistent - To the hair of the steadfast watcher, - With frenzied laughter, - A vulture's laughter.... - - Wherefore so steadfast? - --Mocks he so cruel: - He must have wings, who loves the abyss, - He must not stay on the cliff, - As thou who hangest there!-- - - O Zarathustra, - Cruellest Nimrod! - Of late still a hunter of God, - A spider's web to capture virtue, - An arrow of evil! - Now - Hunted by thyself, - Thine own prey - Caught in the grip of thine own soul. - - Now - Lonely to me and thee, - Twofold in thine own knowledge, - Mid a hundred mirrors - False to thyself, - Mid a hundred memories - Uncertain, - Weary at every wound, - Shivering at every frost, - Throttled in thine own noose, - Self-knower! - Self-hangman! - - Why didst bind thyself - With the noose of thy wisdom? - Why luredst thyself - Into the old serpent's paradise? - Why stolest into - Thyself, thyself?... - - A sick man now, - Sick of serpent's poison, - A captive now - Who hast drawn the hardest lot: - In thine own shaft - Bowed as thou workest, - In thine own cavern - Digging at thyself, - Helpless quite, - Stiff, - A cold corse - Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens, - Overburdened by thyself, - A knower! - A self-knower! - The wise Zarathustra!... - - Thou soughtest the heaviest burden, - So foundest thou thyself, - And canst not shake thyself off.... - - Watching, - Chewing, - One that stands upright no more! - Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave, - Deformed spirit! - - And of late still so proud - On all the stilts of thy pride! - Of late still the godless hermit, - The hermit with one comrade--the devil, - The scarlet prince of every devilment!... - - Now-- - Between two nothings - Huddled up, - A question-mark, - A weary riddle, - A riddle for vultures.... - They will "solve" thee, - They hunger already for thy "solution," - They flutter already about their "riddle," - About thee, the doomed one! - O Zarathustra, - Self-knower! - Self-hangman! - - - - - THE SUN SINKS - - - I - - Not much longer thirstest thou, - O burnt-up heart! - Promise is in the air, - From unknown mouths I feel a breath, - --The great coolness comes.... - My sun stood hot above me at noonday: - A greeting to you that are coming, - Ye sudden winds, - Ye cool spirits of afternoon! - - The air is strange and pure. - See how the night - Leers at me with eyes askance, - Like a seducer!... - Be strong, my brave heart, - And ask not "Why?" - - - 2 - - The day of my life! - The sun sinks, - And the calm flood - Already is gilded. - Warm breathes the rock: - Did happiness at noonday - Take its siesta well upon it? - In green light - Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss - - Day of my life! - Eventide's nigh, - Thy eye already - Glows half-broken, - Thy dew already - Pours out its tear-drops, - Already over the white seas - Walks the purple of thy love, - Thy last hesitating holiness.... - - - 3 - - Golden gaiety, come! - Thou, the sweetest foretaste-- - Foretaste of death! - --Went I my way too swiftly? - Now that the foot grows weary, - Thine eye still catches me, - Thy happiness still catches me. - - Around but waves and play. - Whatever was hard - --Sank into blue oblivion. - My boat now stands idle. - Storm and motion--how did it forget them! - Desire and Hope are drowned, - Sea and soul are becalmed. - - Seventh Solitude! - Never felt! - Sweet certainty nearer, - Or warmer the sun's ray. - --Glows not the ice of my summit yet? - Silvery, light, a fish - Now my vessel swims out.... - - - - - THE LAST DESIRE[1] - - - So would I die - As then I saw him die, - The friend, who like a god - Into my darkling youth - Threw lightning's light and fire: - Buoyant yet deep was he, - Yea, in the battle's strife - With the gay dancer's heart. - - Amid the warriors - His was the lightest heart, - Amid the conquerors - His brow was dark with thought-- - He was a fate poised on his destiny: - Unbending, casting thought into the past - And future, such was he. - - Fearful beneath the weight of victory, - Yet chanting, as both victory and death - Came hand and hand to him. - - Commanding even as he lay in death, - And his command that man annihilate. - - So would I die - As then I saw him die, - Victorious and destroying. - - - - - THE BEACON - - - Here, where the island grew amid the seas, - A sacrificial rock high-towering, - Here under darkling heavens, - Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires, - A beacon for ships that have strayed, - A beacon for them that have an answer!... - - These flames with grey-white belly, - In cold distances sparkle their desire, - Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights-- - A snake upreared in impatience: - This signal I set up there before me. - This flame is mine own soul, - Insatiable for new distances, - Speeding upward, upward its silent heat. - - Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men? - Why fled he swift from all continents? - Six solitudes he knows already-- - But even the sea was not lonely enough for him, - On the island he could climb, on the mount he - became flame, - At the seventh solitude - He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head. - - Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars - Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens! - At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod. - Give answer to the flame's impatience, - Let me, the fisher on high mountains, - Catch my seventh, last solitude!---- - - - - - FAME AND ETERNITY[2] - - - I - - Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood - Upon this adverse fate of thine? - Beware, lest from thy doleful mood - A countenance _90_ dark is brewed - That men in seeing thee divine - A hate more bitter than the brine. - * * * * - Speak, why does Zarathustra roam - Upon the towering mountain-height? - Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home - Is shut so long from human sight? - * * * * - See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash, - The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights - Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash - Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights, - Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love, - The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above - And looms with menace of a thundercloud. - * * * * - Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide! - To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud - Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride, - And bastions and ramparts sway and rock, - - The lightning sears the dusky face of night, - And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock - The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth - The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath. - - - 2 - - This fame, which all the wide world loves, - I touch with gloves, - And scorning beat - Beneath my feet. - * * * * - Who hanker after the pay of it? - Who cast themselves in the way of it? - These prostitutes to gold, - These merchant folk. They fold - Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame, - Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim. - * * * * - Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill. - They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep, - And let their greedy paws unhindered creep - Into its depths. So let them take their fill, - For if thou dost not offer them enough, - Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff. - * * * * - They are all virtuous, yea every one. - Virtue and fame are ever in accord - So long as time doth run, - - The tongues that prate of virtue as reward - Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd. - * * * * - Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be - One guilty of all vile and horrid sin! - And when I see fame's importunity - So advertise her shameless harlotry, - Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin - One place alone, the lowest, would I win. - * * * * - This fame, which all the wide world loves, - I touch with gloves, - And scorning beat - Beneath my feet. - - - 3 - - Hush! I see vastness!--and of vasty things - Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine - Them with his words? Then take the might which brings - The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine! - * * * * - I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea. - O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars! - And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars-- - A shining constellation falls towards me. - - - 4 - - O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being! - O carved tablets of Eternity! - And dost thou truly bend thy way to me? - Thy loveliness, to all--obscurity, - What? Fear'st not to unveil before _my_ seeing? - * * * * - O shield of Destiny! - O carven tablets of Eternity! - Yea, verily, thou knowest--what mankind doth hate, - What I alone do love: thou art inviolate - To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate! - 'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity, - Canst kindle everlasting love in me! - * * * * - O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate! - That no desire can reach to invocate, - That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay, - Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea: - For I love thee, Eternity! - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.] - -[Footnote 2: Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.] - - - - -FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS - -(1882-88) - - -SPEECHES, PARABLES, AND SIMILES - - - 3 - - My home's in the highlands, - For the highlands I yearn not, - I raise not mine eyes aloft: - I am one that looks downward, - One that must bless,--All - blessers look downward. - - - 11 - - Thus I began, - I unlearned all self-pity! - - - 13 - - Not in shattering idols, - But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee, - Consisted thy valour. - - - 14 - - See, there stand - Those heavy cats of granite, - Those old, old Values. - Woe is me! How overthrow them? - * * * * - Scratching cats, - With paws that are fettered, - There they sit - And their glance is poison. - - - 17 - - A lightning-flash became my wisdom: - With sword of adamant it clove me every - darkness! - - - 19 - - A thought that still - Flows hot, like lava: - But all streams of lava - Build a fortress around them, - And every thought finally - Oppresses itself with laws. - - - 20 - - Such is my will: - And since 'tis my will, - All goes as I wish-- - That was my final wisdom: - I willed what I must, - And thus I forced every "must,"-- - Since then has been for me no "must." - - - 23 - - Deceit - Is war's whole art - The fox's skin - Is my secret shirt of mail - - - 25 - - We of the new underworld - Grub for new treasures. - Godless it seemed to the ancients - To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures - And once more this godlessness revives, - Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder? - - - 28 - - Looking for love and finding masks, - Finding accursed masks and having to break them! - - - 29 - - Do I love you? - Yes, as the rider loves his steed, - That carryeth him to his goal. - - - 30 - - His pity is cruel, - His loving hand-clasp bruises, - Give not a giant your hand! - - - 31 - - Ye fear me? - Ye fear the taut-strung bow? - Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow? - - - 33 - - I am naught but a word-maker. - What matter words? - What matter I? - - - 34 - - Ah, my friends, - Whither has flown all that is called "good"? - Whither all good people? - Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods? - I call all good, - Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain. - - - 35 - - Not through his sins and greatest follies. - Through his perfection I suffered, - As I suffered most from men.[1] - - - 36 - - "Man is evil." - So spake the wisest - For my consolement. - - - 37 - - And only when I to myself am a burden - Do ye fall heavy upon me! - - - 38 - - Too soon, already - I laugh again: - For a foe 'tis easy - To make me amends. - - - 39 - - Gentle am I towards man and chance; - Gentle with all men, and even with grasses: - A spot of sunshine on winter curtains, - Moist with tenderness, - A thawing wind to snow-bound souls: - * * * * - Proud-minded towards trifling - Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger, - 'Tis aye my pleasure - To be bamboozled: - Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste. - - - 40 - - A strange breath breathes and spits at me, - Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded? - - - 41 - - Little people, - Confiding, open-hearted, - But low-built portals, - Where only the low of stature can enter. - * * * * - How can I get through the city-gate - Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs? - - - 42 - - My wisdom was like to the sun, - I longed to give them light, - But I only deceived them. - The sun of my wisdom - Blinded the eyes - Of these poor bats.... - - - 43 - - Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever - a seer did: - Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever - journeyed. - - - 44 - - Back! on my heels too closely ye follow! - Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush - you! - - - 45 - - "He goes to hell who goes thy ways!" - So be it I to my hell - I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims. - - - 46 - - Your God, you tell me, - Is a God of love? - The sting of conscience - A sting from God? - A sting of love? - - - 48 - - They chew gravel, - They lie on their bellies - Before little round things, - They adore all that falleth not down-- - These last servants of God - Believers (in reality)! - - - 50 - - They made their God out of nothing, - What wonder if now he is naught? - - - 51 - - Ye loftier men! There have once been - More thoughtful times, more reflective, - Than is our to-day and to-morrow. - - - 52 - Our time is like a sick woman-- - Let her but shriek, rave, scold, - And break the tables and dishes! - - - 54 - - Ye mount? - Is it true that ye mount, - Ye loftier men? - - Are ye not, pray, - Like to a ball - Sped to the heights - By the lowest that's in you? - Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers? - - - 55 - - All that you thought - You had to despise, - Where you only renounced! - - - 56 - - All men repeat the refrain! - No, no, and thrice say No! - What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven? - We would not enter the kingdom of heaven, - The kingdom of earth shall be ours? - - - 57 - - The will redeemeth, - He that has nothing to do - In a Nothing finds food for trouble. - - - 58 - - You cannot endure it more, - Your tyrannous destiny, - Love it--you're given no choice! - - - 59 - - These alone free us from woes - (Choose now I) - Sudden death - Or long-drawn-out love. - - - 60 - - Of death we are sure, - So why not be merry? - - - 61 - - The worst of pleas - I have hidden from you--that life grew tedious! - Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste! - - - 62 - - Lonely days, - Ye must walk on valorous feet! - - - 63 - - Loneliness - Plants naught, it ripens.... - And even then you must have the sun for your - friend. - - - 64 - - Once more must ye plunge in the throng--In - the throng ye grow hard and smooth. - Solitude withers - And lastly destroys.-- - - - 65 - - When on the hermit comes the great fear; - When he runs and runs - And knows not whither; - When the storms roar behind - And the lightning bears witness against him, - And his cavern breeds spectres - And fills him with dread. - - - 67 - - Throw thy pain in the depths, - Man, forget! Man, forget! - Divine is the art of forgetting! - Wouldst fly? - Wouldst feel at home in the heights? - Throw thy heaviest load in the sea! - Here is the sea, hurl thyself in the sea! - Divine is the art of forgetting! - - - 69 - - Look forward, never look back! - We sink to the depths - If we peer ever into the depths. - - - 70 - - Beware, beware - Of warning the reckless! - Thy warning will drive them - To leap into every abyss! - - 71 - - Why hurled he himself from the heights? - What led him astray? - His pity for all that is lowly led him astray, - And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold. - - 72 - - Whither went he? Who knows? - We only know that he sank. - A star went out in the desolate void, - And lone was the void. - - - 73 - - What we have not - But need, - We must take. - And so a good conscience I took. - - - 74 - - Who is there that could bestow right upon thee? - So take thy right! - - - 75 - - O ye waves, - Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me? - Do ye raise me your crests in wrath? - With my rudder I smite - Your folly full square. - This bark ye yourselves - To immortal life will carry along. - - - 77 - - When no new voice was heard, - Ye made from old words - A law: - When life grows stark, there shoots up the law. - - - 78 - - What none can refute - Ye say must be true? - Oh, ye innocents! - - - 79 - - Art thou strong? - Strong as an ass? Strong as God? - Art thou proud? - So proud as to flaunt - Unashamed thy conceit? - - - 80 - - Beware, - And ne'er beat the drum - Of thy destiny I - Go out of the way - From all pom-pom of fame! - * * * * - Be not known too soon! - Be one that has hoarded renown! - - - 81 - - Wilt thou grasp at the thorns? - Thy fingers must pay. - Grasp at a poniard. - - - 85 - - Be a tablet of gold, - They will grave upon thee - In golden script. - - - 86 - - Upright he stands - With more sense of "justice" - In his outermost toe - Than I have in all my head. - A virtue-monster - Mantled in white. - - - 87 - - Already he mimics himself, - Already weary he grows, - Already he seeks the paths he has trod-- - Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden! - - Secretly burnt-- - Not for his faith, - Rather because he had lost the heart - To find new faith. - - - 88 - - Too long he sat in the cage, - That runaway! - Too long he dreaded - A gaoler! - - Timorous now he goeth his ways, - All things make him to stumble-- - The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble. - - - 89 - - Ye chambers smoky and musty, - Ye cages and narrow hearts, - How could your spirit be free? - - - 90 - - Narrow souls! - Huckster-souls! - When money leaps into the box - The soul leaps into it too![2] - - - 92 - - Are ye women, - That ye wish to suffer - From that which ye love? - - - 99 - - They are cold, these men of learning! - Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food, - And their mouths could learn to eat fire! - - - 101 - - Your false love - For the past, - A love for the graves of the dead, - Is a theft from life - That steals all the future. - * * * * - An antiquary - Is a craftsman of dead things, - Who lives among coffins and skeletons. - - - 103 - - Only the poet who can lie - Wilfully, skilfully, - Can tell the truth. - - - 104 - - Our chase after truth, - Is't a chase after happiness? - - - 105 - - Truth - Is a woman, no better, - Cunning in her shame: - Of what she likes best - She will know naught, - And covers her face.... - To what doth she yield - But to violence? - Violence she needs. - Be hard, ye sages! - Ye must compel her, - That shamefaced Truth.... - For her happiness - She needs constraint--She - is a woman, no better. - - - 106 - - We thought evil of each other? - We were too distant, - But now in this tiny hut, - Pinned to one destiny, - How could we still be foes? - We must needs love those - Whom we cannot escape. - - - 107 - - Love thy foe, - Let the robber rob thee: - The woman hears and--does it. - - - 110 - - A proud eye - With silken curtains, - Seldom clear, - Honours him that may see it unveiled. - - - 111 - - Sluggard eyes - That seldom love-- - But when they love, the levin flashes - As from shafts of gold - Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love. - - - 117 - - They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling. - Grasp them, they pinch you; - Leave them alone, and they walk backward. - - - 119 - - Crooked go great rivers and men, - Crooked, but turned to their goal; - That is their highest courage, - They dreaded not crooked paths. - - - 121 - - Wouldst catch them? - Then speak to them - As to stray sheep: - "Your path, your path - You have lost!" - They follow all - That flatter them so: - "What? had we a path?" - Each whispers the other: - "It really seems that we have a path." - - -[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, -several fragments having been omitted.--TR.] - - -[Footnote 1: Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he -considers equivalent to harmlessness.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, -who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money -leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"--TR.] - - - - -HYMN TO LIFE. - -_For Chorus and Orchestra._ -WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. -Trans. BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER. Arr. for Piano BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A. - -[Illustration: score and lyrics] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ecce Homo, by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 *** diff --git a/old/52190-h/52190-h.htm b/old/52190-h/52190-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9bfb690..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/52190-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6659 +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 Ecce Homo, 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: #A9A9A9; -} /* page numbers */ - - -.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;} - -.parnum {margin-top: 2em; - text-align: center; -} -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* 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; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>ECCE HOMO</h1> - -<h4>(<i>NIETZSCHES AUTOBIOGRAPHY</i>)</h4> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI</h4> - - -<h4>POETRY RENDERED BY</h4> - -<h4>PAUL V. COHN — FRANCIS BICKLEY</h4> - -<h4>HERMAN SCHEFFAUER — DR. G. T. WRENCH</h4> - -<h4>HYMN TO LIFE (<i>composed by F. NIETZSCHE</i>)</h4> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;"> -<img src="images/ill_niet.jpg" width="175" 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 Seventeen</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1911</h5> -<hr class="full" /> - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -CONTENTS<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION">TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION</a><br /> -<a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE">WHY I AM SO WISE</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER">WHY I AM SO CLEVER</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS">WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY">THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY</a><br /> -<a href="#THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON">THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON</a><br /> -<a href="#HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_DAWN_OF_DAY">THE DAWN OF DAY</a><br /> -<a href="#JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA">JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA</a><br /> -<a href="#THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE">THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA</a><br /> -<a href="#BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL">BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC">THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS">THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM">THE CASE OF WAGNER</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY">WHY I AM A FATALITY</a><br /> -<a href="#EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY">EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY</a><br /> -POETRY—<br /> -<a href="#SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC">SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.</a><br /> -<a href="#DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a><br /> -<a href="#FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a><br /> -<a href="#HYMN_TO_LIFE">HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE</a> -</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></p> -<h4><a name="TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION" id="TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION">TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION</a></h4> - - -<p><i>Ecce Homo</i> is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true -that the pamphlet <i>Nietzsche contra Wagner</i> was prepared a month -later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as -anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of -aphorisms drawn from such previous works as <i>Joyful Wisdom, Beyond -Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,</i> etc. Coming at the end of a -year in which he had produced the <i>Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the -Idols,</i> and <i>The Antichrist, Ecce Homo</i> is not only a coping-stone -worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting -conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his -character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement -as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end, -Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which, -in the <i>Twilight of the Idols</i> (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that -every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and -intimates when his time seems to have come—that is to say, while he -is still <i>himself</i> while he still knows what he is about, and is able -to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a -manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man -lying on his back, decrepit and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> exhausted, or to the moribund victim -of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole -life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly -and proudly,—sword in hand. War, which he—and he alone among all -the philosophers of Christendom—had praised so whole-heartedly, at -last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him -a victim on the battlefield—the terrible battlefield of thought, on -which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet -been established or even thought of.</p> - -<p>To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed -for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at -least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and -of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is -aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find -in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and -inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a -Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"—however much they may -have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of -certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only -in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation -and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be -preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of -thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only -as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a -like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices -against Nietzsche's lack of the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> virtue they so abundantly possess -or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous -remark: "<i>Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden</i>" (Only nobodies are ever modest).</p> - -<p>It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life. -Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday, -it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but -for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche -left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight -years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December -1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares -the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and -inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public -mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he -existed" ("<i>die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin</i>"). And, true to his -intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of -the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in -which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to -the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task, -and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, <i>Dionysus</i> versus -<i>Christ,</i>—everything comes straight from the shoulder, without -hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without -concealment. Only in one place does he appear to conceal something, and -then he actually leads one to understand that he is doing so. It is in -regard to Wagner, the greatest friend of his life. "Who doubts," he -says, "that I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to -point my heavy guns at Wagner?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>"—But he adds: "Everything decisive in -this question I kept to myself—I have loved Wagner" (p. 122).</p> - -<p>To point, as many have done, to the proximity of all Nietzsche's autumn -work of the year 1888 to his breakdown at the beginning of 1889, and -to argue that in all its main features it foretells the catastrophe -that is imminent, seems a little too plausible, a little too obvious -and simple to require refutation. That Nietzsche really was in a state -which in medicine is known as <i>euphoria</i>—that is to say, that state -of highest well-being and capacity which often precedes a complete -breakdown, cannot, I suppose, be questioned; for his style, his -penetrating vision, and his vigour, reach their zenith in the works -written in this autumn of 1888; but the contention that the matter, the -substance, of these works reveals any signs whatsoever of waning mental -health, or, as a certain French biographer has it, of an inability to -"hold himself and his judgments in check," is best contradicted by -the internal evidence itself. To take just a few examples at random, -examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. of -the present work; consider the reserve and the restraint with which the -idea in Aphorism 7 of that chapter is worked out,—not to speak of the -restraint and self-mastery in the idea itself, namely:—</p> - -<p>"To be one's enemy's equal—this is the first condition of an -honourable duel. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one -commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage -war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack -only things that are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become -triumphant. Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find -no allies, against which I stand alone—against which I compromise -nobody but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> myself.... Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a -personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a -general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent.... -Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal -differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of -disagreeable experiences is lacking."</p> - -<p>And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II., Wagner—the -supposed mortal enemy, the supposed envied rival to Nietzsche—is -treated. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or -who is losing control?</p> - -<p>And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work -and put the question—Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that -we find in these pages? Is it the old countenance with which we are -familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will -the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche -here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed -in <i>Thus spake Zarathustra,</i> five years previously, and is perfectly -conscious of this fidelity (see p. 141); neither can he be even on the -verge of any marked change, because the whole of the third chapter, -in which he reviews his life-work, is simply a reiteration and a -confirmation of his old points of view, which are here made all the -more telling by additional arguments suggested, no doubt, by maturer -thought. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its -cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily -incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the -genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the <i>Thoughts out of -Season</i> (pp. 75-76, 80, 81, 82), a summing up which a most critical -analysis of the essays in question can but verify.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> Romanticism, -idealism, Christianity, are still scorned and despised; another -outlook, a nobler, braver, and more earthly outlook, is still upheld -and revered; the great yea to life, including all that it contains -that is terrible and questionable, is still pronounced in the teeth of -pessimists, nihilists, anarchists, Christians, and other decadents; and -Germany, "Europe's flatland," is still subjected to the most relentless -criticism. If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere -growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most -careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former -opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are -found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so -radically to have perturbed.</p> - -<p>But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this -autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion -of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would -have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own. This -anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, -suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including -Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler -with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and -Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and -help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de -Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,—this was the man -who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device <i>amor fati</i> upon -his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the -unspeakable suffering he had endured.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> - -<p>And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's -sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate -instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile -structure—the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,—his terrible -will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite -problems. We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, -Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, -what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity -in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is -highly organised. Disraeli says in <i>Contarini Fleming</i> (Part iv. chap. -v.):—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"I have sometimes half believed, although the suspicion is -mortifying, that there is only one step between his state -who deeply indulges in imaginative meditation, and insanity; -for I well remember that at this period of my life, when -I indulged in meditation to a degree that would now be -impossible, and I hope unnecessary, my senses sometimes -appeared to be wandering."</p></blockquote> - -<p>And artists are the proper judges of artists,—not Oxford Dons, like -Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something -for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly -av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the -eleventh edition of the <i>Encyclopedia Britannica,</i> and implies the -hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is -madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to -go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this -want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's -doctrine still is.</p> - -<p>Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> went mad so late is -the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work -he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he -actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years -of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were -everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at -his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the -phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors.</p> - -<p>No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with -understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, -to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no -longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since -then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will -prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent -pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with -that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and -"the modest" has always confronted everything truly great.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h4> - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - -<p>As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my -fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made -upon them, it seems to me <i>above</i> all necessary to declare here who -and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well -known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself. But -the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the -smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people -have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made -credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive -at all. I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come -to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I -am <i>not</i> alive.... Under these circumstances, it is a duty—and one -against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the -pride of my instincts, rebel—to say: <i>Listen! for I am such and such a -person. For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - -<p>I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the -contrary, I am the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> opposite in nature to the kind of man that -has been honoured hitherto as virtuous. Between ourselves, it seems -to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I -am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be -even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book! Maybe I have here -succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same -time sympathetic manner—maybe this is the only purpose of the present -work.</p> - -<p>The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to -"improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only -learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols (idols -is the name I give to all ideals) is much more like my business. In -proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been -robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness.... The "true -world" and the "apparent world"—in plain English, the fictitious world -and reality.... Hitherto the <i>lie</i> of the ideal has been the curse of -reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has -become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to -be worshipped which are the exact <i>opposite</i> of the ones which would -ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - -<p>He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious -that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be -built<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The -ice is near, the loneliness is terrible—but how serenely everything -lies in the sunshine! how freely one can breathe! how much, one feels, -lies beneath one! Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is -a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks—the -seeking—out of everything strange and questionable in existence, -everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through -long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I -acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally -desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising -and idealising. The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of -their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain -mind endure; how much truth can it dare?—these questions became for -me ever more and more the actual test of values. Error (the belief in -the ideal) is not blindness; error is cowardice.... Every conquest, -every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness -towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self. I do not refute -ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence.... <i>Nitimur -in vetitum;</i> with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; -for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without -exception, Truth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - -<p>In my lifework, my <i>Zarathustra</i> holds a place apart. With it, I gave -my fellow-men the greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. -This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only -the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,—the -whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath -it,—but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of -truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered -without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness. Here it is -not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness -and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would -not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper -heed to the tones—the halcyonic tones—that fall from the lips of -Zarathustra:—</p> - -<p>"The most silent words are harbingers of the storm; thoughts that come -on dove's feet lead the world.</p> - -<p>"The figs fall from the trees; they are good and sweet, and, when they -fall, their red skins are rent.</p> - -<p>"A north wind am I unto ripe figs.</p> - -<p>"Thus, like figs, do these precepts drop down to you, my friends; now -drink their juice and their sweet pulp.</p> - -<p>"It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and afternoon."</p> - -<p>No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is -demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and -well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out—a slow and gentle gait -is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the -most elect; it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? -one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. I Is not Zarathustra, -because of these things, a <i>seducer?</i> ... But what, indeed, does he -himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just -the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," -and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is -other than they.</p> - -<p>"Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus -would I have it.</p> - -<p>"Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves -against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath -deceived you.</p> - -<p>"The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but -also to hate his friends.</p> - -<p>"The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why -would ye not pluck at my wreath?</p> - -<p>"Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? -Take heed, lest a statue crush you.</p> - -<p>"Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? -Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers?</p> - -<p>"Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all -believers; therefore is all believing worth so little.</p> - -<p>"Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all -denied me will I come back unto you."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%; font-size: 0.8em;">FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a><br /><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<blockquote> -<p>On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the -grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I -looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many -good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth -year to-day; I had the <i>right</i> to bury it—that in it which still -had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the -<i>Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight -of the Idols,</i> my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer—all these -things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. <i>How -could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?</i></p> - - -<p>That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life.</p> -</blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a><br /><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h3><a name="ECCE_HOMO" id="ECCE_HOMO">ECCE HOMO</a></h3> - - -<h4>HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS</h4> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE" id="WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE">WHY I AM SO WISE</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>The happiness of my existence, its unique character perhaps, consists -in its fatefulness: to speak in a riddle, as my own father I am already -dead, as my own mother I still live and grow old. This double origin, -taken as it were from the highest and lowest rungs of the ladder of -life, at once a decadent and a beginning, this, if anything, explains -that neutrality, that freedom from partisanship in regard to the -general problem of existence, which perhaps distinguishes me. To the -first indications of ascending or of descending life my nostrils are -more sensitive than those of any man that has yet lived. In this domain -I am a master to my backbone—I know both sides, for I am both sides. -My father died in his six-and-thirtieth year: he was delicate, lovable, -and morbid, like one who is preordained to pay simply a flying visit—a -gracious reminder of life rather than life itself. In the same year -that his life declined mine also declined: in my six-and-thirtieth year -I reached the lowest point in my vitality,—I still lived, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> my eyes -could distinguish nothing that lay three paces away from me. At that -time—it was the year 1879—I resigned my professorship at Bâle, lived -through the summer like a shadow in St. Moritz, and spent the following -winter, the most sunless of my life, like a shadow in Naumburg. This -was my lowest ebb. During this period I wrote <i>The Wanderer and His -Shadow.</i> Without a doubt I was conversant with shadows then. The winter -that followed, my first winter in Genoa, brought forth that sweetness -and spirituality which is almost inseparable from extreme poverty -of blood and muscle, in the shape of <i>The Dawn of Day,</i> The perfect -lucidity and cheerfulness, the intellectual exuberance even, that this -work reflects, coincides, in my case, not only with the most profound -physiological weakness, but also with an excess of suffering. In the -midst of the agony of a headache which lasted three days, accompanied -by violent nausea, I was possessed of most singular dialectical -clearness, and in absolutely cold blood I then thought out things, for -which, in my more healthy moments, I am not enough of a climber, not -sufficiently subtle, not sufficiently cold. My readers perhaps know -to what extent I consider dialectic a symptom of decadence, as, for -instance, in the most famous of all cases—the case of Socrates. All -the morbid disturbances of the intellect, even that semi-stupor which -accompanies fever, have, unto this day, remained completely unknown to -me; and for my first information concerning their nature and frequency, -I was obliged to have recourse to the learned works which have been -compiled on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> subject. My circulation is slow. No one has ever been -able to detect fever in me. A doctor who treated me for some time as -a nerve patient finally declared: "No! there is nothing wrong with -your nerves, it is simply I who am nervous." It has been absolutely -impossible to ascertain any local degeneration in me, nor any organic -stomach trouble, however much I may have suffered from profound -weakness of the gastric system as the result of general exhaustion. -Even my eye trouble, which sometimes approached so parlously near -to blindness, was only an effect and not a cause; for, whenever my -general vital condition improved, my power of vision also increased. -Having admitted all this, do I need to say that I am experienced in -questions of decadence? I know them inside and out. Even that filigree -art of prehension and comprehension in general, that feeling for -delicate shades of difference, that psychology of "seeing through brick -walls," and whatever else I may be able to do, was first learnt then, -and is the specific gift of that period during which everything in -me was subtilised,—observation itself, together with all the organs -of observation. To look upon healthier concepts and values from the -standpoint of the sick, and conversely to look down upon the secret -work of the instincts of decadence from the standpoint of him who is -laden and self-reliant with the richness of life—this has been my -longest exercise, my principal experience. If in anything at all, it -was in this that I became a master. To-day my hand knows the trick, I -now have the knack of reversing perspectives: the first reason perhaps -why a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> <i>Transvaluation of all Values</i> has been possible to me alone.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of -such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always -instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily -health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those -remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain -details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself -to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in -life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my -refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and -to be doctored—all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts -respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself -in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of -success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is -that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature -cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound -nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to -a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long -period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered -life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even -trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them—out -of my Will to Health and to Life I made my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> philosophy.... For this -should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my -vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: -the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of -poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes -recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such -lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral -block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only -which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits -of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for -injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; -that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively -gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a -selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, -whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural -scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, -the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with -that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in -him—he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting -it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can -digest himself and others; he knows how to forget—he is strong enough -to make everything turn to his own advantage.</p> - -<p>Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just -described is none other than myself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>This double thread of experiences, this means of access to two worlds -that seem so far asunder, finds in every detail its counterpart in my -own nature—I am my own complement: I have a "second" sight, as well -as a first. And perhaps I also have a third sight. By the very nature -of my origin I was allowed an outlook beyond all merely local, merely -national and limited horizons; it required no effort on my part to be -a "good European." On the other hand, I am perhaps more German than -modern Germans—mere Imperial Germans—can hope to be,—I, the last -anti-political German. Be this as it may, my ancestors were Polish -noblemen: it is owing to them that I have so much race instinct in my -blood—who knows? perhaps even the <i>liberum veto</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> When I think of -the number of times in my travels that I have been accosted as a Pole, -even by Poles themselves, and how seldom I have been taken for a German, -it seems to me as if I belonged to those only who have a sprinkling -of German in them. But my mother, Franziska Oehler, is at any rate -something very German; as is also my paternal grandmother, Erdmuthe -Krause. The latter spent the whole of her youth in good old Weimar, -not without coming into contact with Goethe's circle. Her brother, -Krause, the Professor of Theology in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> Königsberg, was called to the -post of General Superintendent at Weimar after Herder's death. It is -not unlikely that her mother, my great grandmother, is mentioned in -young Goethe's diary under the name of "Muthgen." She married twice, -and her second husband was Superintendent Nietzsche of Eilenburg. -In 1813, the year of the great war, when Napoleon with his general -staff entered Eilenburg on the 10th of October, she gave birth to a -son. As a daughter of Saxony she was a great admirer of Napoleon, and -maybe I am so still. My father, born in 1813, died in 1849. Previous -to taking over the pastorship of the parish of Röcken, not far from -Lützen, he lived for some years at the Castle of Altenburg, where he -had charge of the education of the four princesses. His pupils are the -Queen of Hanover, the Grand-Duchess Constantine, the Grand-Duchess of -Oldenburg, and the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg. He was full of -loyal respect for the Prussian King, Frederick William the Fourth, from -whom he obtained his living at Röcken; the events of 1848 saddened him -extremely. As I was born on the 15 th of October, the birthday of the -king above mentioned, I naturally received the Hohenzollern names of -Frederick William. There was at all events one advantage in the choice -of this day: my birthday throughout the whole of my childhood was a day -of public rejoicing. I regard it as a great privilege to have had such -a father: it even seems to me that this embraces all that I can claim -in the matter of privileges—life, the great yea to life, excepted. -What I owe to him above all is this, that I do not need any special -intention, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> merely a little patience, in order involuntarily to -enter a world of higher and more delicate things. There I am at home, -there alone does my inmost passion become free. The fact that I had -to pay for this privilege almost with my life, certainly does not -make it a bad bargain. In order to understand even a little of <i>my -Zarathustra,</i> perhaps a man must be situated and constituted very much -as I am myself—with one foot beyond the realm of the living.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>I have never understood the art of arousing ill-feeling against -myself,—this is also something for which I have to thank my -incomparable father,—even when it seemed to me highly desirable -to do so. However un-Christian it may seem, I do not even bear any -ill-feeling towards myself. Turn my life about as you may, you will -find but seldom—perhaps indeed only once—any trace of some one's -having shown me ill-will. You might perhaps discover, however, too -many traces of <i>goodwill....</i> My experiences even with those on whom -every other man has burnt his fingers, speak without exception in their -favour; I tame every bear, I can make even clowns behave decently. -During the seven years in which I taught Greek to the sixth form of -the College at Bâle, I never had occasion to administer a punishment; -the laziest youths were diligent in my class. The unexpected has -always found me equal to it; I must be unprepared in order to keep my -self-command. Whatever the instrument was, even if it were as out of -tune as the instrument<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> "man" can possibly be,—it was only when I was -ill that I could not succeed in making it express something that was -worth hearing. And how often have I not been told by the "instruments" -themselves, that they had never before heard their voices express such -beautiful things.... This was said to me most delightfully perhaps by -that young fellow Heinrich von Stein, who died at such an unpardonably -early age, and who, after having considerately asked leave to do -so, once appeared in Sils-Maria for a three days' sojourn, telling -everybody there that it was <i>not</i> for the Engadine that he had come. -This excellent person, who with all the impetuous simplicity of a -young Prussian nobleman, had waded deep into the swamp of Wagnerism -(and into that of Dübringism<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> into the bargain!), seemed almost -transformed during these three days by a hurricane of freedom, like one -who has been suddenly raised to his full height and given wings. Again -and again I said to him that this was all owing to the splendid air; -everybody felt the same,—one could not stand 6000 feet above Bayreuth -for nothing,—but he would not believe me.... Be this as it may, if -I have been the victim of many a small or even great offence, it was -not "will," and least of all ill-will that actuated the offenders; but -rather, as I have already suggested, it was goodwill, the cause of no -small amount of mischief in f my life, about which I had to complain. -<i>My</i> experience gave me a right to feel suspicious in regard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> to all -so-called "unselfish" instincts, in regard to the whole of "neighbourly -love" which is ever ready and waiting with deeds or with advice. To -me it seems that these instincts are a sign of weakness, they are an -example of the inability to withstand a stimulus—it is only among -decadents that this <i>pity</i> is called a virtue. What I reproach the -pitiful with is, that they are too ready to forget shame, reverence, -and the delicacy of feeling which knows how to keep at a distance; they -do not remember that this gushing pity stinks of the mob, and that it -is next of kin to bad manners—that pitiful hands may be thrust with -results fatally destructive into a great destiny, into a lonely and -wounded retirement, and into the privileges with which great guilt -endows one. The overcoming of pity I reckon among the noble virtues; -In the "Temptation of Zarathustra" I have imagined a case, in which a -great cry of distress reaches his ears, in which pity swoops down upon -him like a last sin, and would make him break faith with himself. To -remain one's own master in such circumstances, to keep the sublimity -of one's mission pure in such cases,—pure from the many ignoble and -more short-sighted impulses which come into play in so-called unselfish -actions,—this is the rub, the last test perhaps which a Zarathustra -has to undergo—the actual proof of his power.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>In yet another respect I am no more than my father over again, and as -it were the continuation of his life after an all-too-early death. -Like every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> man who has never been able to meet his equal, and unto -whom the concept "retaliation" is just as incomprehensible as the -notion of "equal rights," I have forbidden myself the use of any sort -of measure of security or protection—and also, of course, of defence -and "justification"—in all cases in which I have been made the victim -either of trifling or even <i>very great</i> foolishness. My form of -retaliation consists in this: as soon as possible to set a piece of -cleverness at the heels of an act of stupidity; by this means perhaps -it may still be possible to overtake it. To speak in a parable: I -dispatch a pot of jam in order to get rid of a bitter experience.... -Let anybody only give me offence, I shall "retaliate," he can be quite -sure of that: before long I discover an opportunity of expressing my -thanks to the "offender" (among other things even for the offence)—or -of <i>asking</i> him for something, which can be more courteous even than -giving. It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter, -is more good-natured, more straightforward, than silence. Those—who -keep silent are almost always lacking in subtlety and refinement of -heart; silence is an objection, to swallow a grievance must necessarily -produce a bad temper—it even upsets the stomach. All silent people -are dyspeptic. You perceive that I should not like to see rudeness -undervalued; it is by far the most <i>humane</i> form of contradiction, and, -in the midst of modern effeminacy, it is one of our first virtues; If -one is sufficiently rich for it, it may even be a joy to be wrong. If -a god were to descend to this earth, he would have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> do nothing but -wrong—to take <i>guilt</i> not punishment, on one's shoulders, is the first -proof of divinity.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>Freedom from resentment and the understanding of the nature of -resentment—who knows how very much after all I am indebted to my long -illness for these two things? The problem is not exactly simple: a -man must have experienced both through his strength and through his -weakness, If illness and weakness are to be charged with anything at -all, it is with the fact that when they prevail, the very instinct of -recovery, which is the instinct of defence and of war in man, becomes -decayed. He knows not how to get rid of anything, how to come to -terms with anything, and how to cast anything behind him. Everything -wounds him. People and things draw importunately near, all experiences -strike deep, memory is a gathering wound. To be ill is a sort of -resentment in itself. Against this resentment the invalid has only -one great remedy—I call it <i>Russian fatalism,</i> that fatalism which -is free from revolt, and with which the Russian soldier, to whom a -campaign proves unbearable, ultimately lays himself down in the snow. -To accept nothing more, to undertake nothing more, to absorb nothing -more—to cease entirely from reacting.... The tremendous sagacity -of this fatalism, which does not always imply merely the courage for -death, but which in the most dangerous cases may actually constitute -a self-preservative measure, amounts to a reduction of activity in -the vital<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> functions, the slackening down of which is like a sort of -will to hibernate. A few steps farther in this direction we find the -fakir, who will sleep for weeks in a tomb.... Owing to the fact that -one would be used up too quickly if one reacted, one no longer reacts -at all: this is the principle. And nothing on earth consumes a man -more quickly than the passion of resentment. Mortification, morbid -susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst -for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison—this is surely the -most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by -exhausted men. It involves a rapid wasting away of nervous energy, an -abnormal increase of detrimental secretions, as, for instance, that -of bile into the stomach. To the sick man resentment ought to be more -strictly forbidden than anything else—it is <i>his</i> special danger: -unfortunately, however, it is also his most natural propensity. This -was fully grasped by that profound physiologist Buddha. His "religion," -which it would be better to call a system of hygiene, in order to avoid -confounding it with a creed so wretched as Christianity, depended -for its effect upon the triumph over resentment: to make the soul -free therefrom was considered the first step towards recovery. "Not -through hostility is hostility put to flight; through friendship does -hostility end": this stands at the beginning of Buddha's teaching—this -is not a precept of morality, but of physiology. Resentment born of -weakness is not more deleterious to anybody than it is to the weak -man himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>—conversely, in the case of that man whose nature is -fundamentally a rich one, resentment is a superfluous feeling, a -feeling to remain master of which is almost a proof of riches. Those -of my readers who know the earnestness-with which my philosophy wages -war against the feelings of revenge and rancour, even to the extent of -attacking the doctrine of "free will" (my conflict with Christianity -is only a particular instance of it), will understand why I wish to -focus attention upon my own personal attitude and the certainty of -my practical instincts precisely in this matter. In my moments of -decadence I forbade myself the indulgence of the above feelings, -because they were harmful; as soon as my life recovered enough riches -and pride, however, I regarded them again as forbidden, but this time -because they were <i>beneath</i> me. That "Russian fatalism" of which I have -spoken manifested itself in me in such a way that for years I held -tenaciously to almost insufferable conditions, places, habitations, -and companions, once chance had placed them on my path—it was better -than changing them, than feeling that they could be changed, than -revolting against them.... He who stirred me from this fatalism, he -who violently tried to shake me into consciousness, seemed to me then -a mortal enemy—in point of fact, there was danger of death each time -this was done. To regard one's self as a destiny, not to wish one's -self "different"—this, in such circumstances, is sagacity, itself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>War, on the other hand, is something different. At heart I am a -warrior. Attacking belongs to my instincts. To <i>be able to be</i> an -enemy, to <i>be</i> an enemy—maybe these things presuppose a strong nature; -in any case all strong natures involve these things. Such natures need -resistance, consequently they go in search of obstacles: the pathos of -aggression belongs of necessity to strength as much as the feelings -of revenge and of rancour belong to weakness. Woman, for instance, is -revengeful; her weakness involves this passion, just as it involves -her susceptibility in the presence of other people's suffering. The -strength of the aggressor can be measured by the opposition which -he needs; every increase of growth betrays itself by a seeking out -of more formidable opponents—or problems: for a philosopher who -is combative challenges even problems to a duel. The task is not -to overcome opponents in general, but only those opponents against -whom one has to summon all one's strength, one's skill, and one's -swordsmanship—in fact, opponents who are one's equals.... To be one's -enemy's equal—this is the first condition of an honourable duel. Where -one despises, one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees -something <i>beneath</i> one, one <i>ought</i> not to wage war. My war tactics -can be reduced to four principles A First, I attack only things that -are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become triumphant. -Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> allies, -against which I stand alone—against which I compromise nobody but -myself.... I have not yet taken one single step before the public eye, -which did not compromise me: that is <i>my</i> criterion of a proper mode -of action. Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a personality -merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, -but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent. In this way I -attacked David Strauss, or rather the success given to a senile book by -the cultured classes of Germany—by this means I caught German culture -red-handed. In this way I attacked Wagner, or rather the falsity or -mongrel instincts of our "culture" which confounds the super-refined -with the strong, and the effete with the great. Fourthly, I attack -only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in -which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is -lacking. On the contrary, attacking is to me a proof of goodwill and, -in certain circumstances, of gratitude. By means of it, I do honour to -a thing, I distinguish a thing; whether I associate my name with that -of an institution or a person, by being <i>against</i> or <i>for</i> either, -is all the same to me. If I wage war against Christianity, I feel -justified in doing so, because in that quarter I have met with no fatal -experiences and difficulties—the most earnest Christians have always -been kindly disposed to me. I, personally, the most essential opponent -of Christianity, am far from holding the individual responsible for -what is the fatality of long ages.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>May I be allowed to hazard a suggestion concerning one last trait -in my character, which in my intercourse with other men has led me -into some difficulties? I am gifted with a sense of cleanliness the -keenness of which is phenomenal; so much so, that I can ascertain -physiologically—that is to say, smell—the proximity, nay, the inmost -core, the "entrails" of every human soul.... This sensitiveness of mine -is furnished with psychological antennæ, wherewith I feel and grasp -every secret: the quality of concealed filth lying at the base of many -a human character which may be the inevitable outcome of base blood, -and which education may have veneered, is revealed to me at the first -glance. If my observation has been correct, such people, whom my sense -of cleanliness rejects, also become conscious, on their part, of the -cautiousness to which my loathing prompts me: and this does not make -them any more fragrant.... In keeping with a custom which I have long -observed,—pure habits and honesty towards myself are among the first -conditions of my existence, I would die in unclean surroundings,—I -swim, bathe, and splash about, as it were, incessantly in water, in -any kind of perfectly transparent and shining element. That is why -my relations with my fellows try my patience to no small extent; my -humanity does not consist in the fact that I understand the feelings -of my fellows, but that I can endure to understand.... My humanity -is a perpetual process of self-mastery. But I need solitude—that is -to say, recovery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> return to myself, the breathing of free, crisp, -bracing air.... The whole of my <i>Zarathustra</i> is a dithyramb in honour -of solitude, or, if I have been understood, in honour of purity. Thank -Heaven, it is not in honour of "pure foolery"!<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> He who has an eye for -colour will call him a diamond. The loathing of mankind, of the rabble, -was always my greatest danger.... Would you hearken to the words spoken -by Zarathustra concerning deliverance from loathing?</p> - -<p>"What forsooth hath come unto me? How did I deliver myself from -loathing? Who hath made mine eye younger? How did I soar to the height, -where there are no more rabble sitting about the well?</p> - -<p>"Did my very loathing forge me wings and the strength to scent -fountains afar off? Verily to the loftiest heights did I need to fly, -to find once more the spring of joyfulness.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I found it, my brethren! Up here, on the loftiest height, the -spring of joyfulness gusheth forth for me. And there is a life at the -well of which no rabble can drink with you.</p> - -<p>"Almost too fiercely dost thou rush, for me, thou spring of joyfulness! -And ofttimes dost thou empty the pitcher again in trying to fill it.</p> - -<p>"And yet must I learn to draw near thee more humbly. Far too eagerly -doth my heart jump to meet thee.</p> - -<p>"My heart, whereon my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, -over-blessed summer: how my summer heart yearneth for thy coolness!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Farewell, the lingering affliction of my spring! Past is the -wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and -summer noontide!</p> - -<p>"A summer in the loftiest heights, with cold springs and blessed -stillness: oh come, my friends, that the stillness may wax even more -blessed!</p> - -<p>"For this is our height and our home: too high and steep is our -dwelling for all the unclean and their appetites.</p> - -<p>"Do but cast your pure eyes into the well of my joyfulness, my friends! -How could it thus become muddy! It will laugh back at you with its -purity.</p> - -<p>"On the tree called Future do we build our nest: eagles shall bring -food in their beaks unto us lonely ones!</p> - -<p>"Verily not the food whereof the unclean might partake. They would -think they ate fire and would burn their mouths!</p> - -<p>"Verily, no abodes for the unclean do we here hold in readiness! To -their bodies our happiness would seem an ice-cavern, and to their -spirits also!</p> - -<p>"And like strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the -eagles, companions of the snow, and playmates of the sun: thus do -strong winds live.</p> - -<p>"And like a wind shall I one day blow amidst them, and take away their -soul's breath with my spirit: thus my future willeth it.</p> - -<p>"Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low lands; and this is -his counsel to his foes and to all those who spit and spew: 'Beware of -spitting against the wind!'"</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> The right which every Polish deputy, whether a great or an -inferior nobleman, possessed of forbidding the passing of any measure -by the Diet, was called in Poland the <i>liberum veto</i> (in Polish <i>nie -pozwalam</i>), and brought all legislation to a standstill.—TR.</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> Eugen Dübring is a philosopher and political economist -whose general doctrine might be characterised as a sort of abstract -Materialism with an optimistic colouring.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This, of course, is a reference to Wagner's <i>Parsifal.</i> -See my note on p. 96 of <i>The Will to Power</i> vol. i.—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER" id="WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER">WHY I AM SO CLEVER</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>Why do I know more things than other people? Why, in fact, am I so -clever? I have never pondered over questions that are not questions. I -have never squandered my strength. Of actual religious difficulties, -for instance, I have no experience. I have never known what it is to -feel "sinful." In the same way I completely lack any reliable criterion -for ascertaining what constitutes a prick of conscience: from all -accounts a prick of conscience does not seem to be a very estimable -thing.... Once it was done I should hate to leave an action of mine -in the lurch; I should prefer completely to omit the evil outcome, -the consequences, from the problem concerning the value of an action. -In the face of evil consequences one is too ready to lose the proper -standpoint from which one's deed ought to be considered. A prick of -conscience strikes me as a sort of "evil eye." Something that has -failed should be honoured all the more jealously, precisely because -it has failed—this is much more in keeping with my morality.—"God," -"the immortality of the soul," "salvation," a "beyond"—to all these -notions, even as a child, I never paid any attention whatsoever, nor -did I waste any time upon them,—maybe I was never <i>naif</i> enough for -that?—I am quite unacquainted with atheism as a result, and still -less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> as an event in my life: in me it is inborn, instinctive. I am -too inquisitive, too incredulous, too high spirited, to be satisfied -with such a palpably clumsy solution of things. God is a too palpably -clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy -towards us thinkers—at bottom He is really no more than a coarse -and rude <i>prohibition</i> of us: ye shall not think!... I am much more -interested in another question,—a question upon which the "salvation -of humanity" depends to a far greater degree than it does upon any -piece of theological curiosity: I refer to nutrition. For ordinary -purposes, it may be formulated as follows: "How precisely must <i>thou</i> -feed thyself in order to attain to thy maximum of power, or <i>virtù</i> -in the Renaissance style,—of virtue free from moralic acid?" My -experiences in regard to this matter have been as bad as they possibly -could be; I am surprised that I set myself this question so late in -life, and that it took me so long to draw "rational" conclusions -from my experiences. Only the absolute worth-<i>1</i> lessness of German -culture—its "idealism"—can to some extent explain how it was that -precisely in this matter I was so backward that my ignorance was almost -saintly. This "culture," which from first to last teaches one to lose -sight of actual things and to hunt after thoroughly problematic and -so-called ideal aims, as, for instance, "classical culture"—as if it -were not hopeless from the start to try to unite "classical" and -"German" in one concept. It is even a little comical—try and imagine -a "classically cultured" citizen of Leipzig!—Indeed, I can say, that -up to a very mature age, my food was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> entirely bad—expressed morally, -it was "impersonal," "selfless," "altruistic," to the glory of cooks -and all other fellow-Christians. It was through the cooking in vogue -at Leipzig, for instance, together with my first study of Schopenhauer -(1865), that I earnestly renounced my "Will to Live." To spoil one's -stomach by absorbing insufficient nourishment—this problem seemed to -my mind solved with admirable felicity by the above-mentioned cookery. -(It is said that in the year 1866 changes were introduced into this -department.) But as to German cookery in general—what has it not got -on its conscience! Soup <i>before</i> the meal (still called <i>alla tedesca</i> -in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled -to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of -pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely -bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the <i>ancients,</i> and not alone -of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect -took its origin—that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.... -German intellect is indigestion; it can assimilate nothing. But even -English diet, which in comparison with German, and indeed with French -alimentation, seems to me to constitute a "return to Nature,"—that is -to say, to cannibalism,—is profoundly opposed to my own instincts. It -seems to me to give the intellect heavy feet, in fact, Englishwomen's -feet.... The best cooking is that of Piedmont. Alcoholic drinks do -not agree with me; a single glass of wine or beer a day is amply -sufficient to turn life into a valley of tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> for me;—in Munich live -my antipodes. Although I admit that this knowledge came to me somewhat -late, it already formed part of my experience even as a child. As a boy -I believed that the drinking of wine and the smoking of tobacco were at -first but the vanities of youths, and later merely bad habits. Maybe -the poor wine of Naumburg was partly responsible for this poor opinion -of wine in general. In order to believe that wine was exhilarating, I -should have had to be a Christian—in other words, I should have had to -believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity. Strange to say, whereas -small quantities of alcohol, taken with plenty of water, succeed in -making me feel out of sorts, large quantities turn me almost into a -rollicking tar. Even as a boy I showed my bravado in this respect. To -compose a long Latin essay in one night, to revise and recopy it, to -aspire with my pen to emulating the exactitude and the terseness of my -model, Sallust, and to pour a few very strong grogs over it all—this -mode of procedure, while I was a pupil at the venerable old school of -Pforta, was not in the least out of keeping with my physiology, nor -perhaps with that of Sallust, however much it may have been alien to -dignified Pforta. Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more -and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, -who have experienced what vegetarianism is,—just as Wagner, who -converted me back to meat, experienced it,—cannot with sufficient -earnestness advise all more <i>spiritual</i> natures to abstain absolutely -from alcohol. Water answers the purpose.... I have a predilection in -favour of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> those places where in all directions one has opportunities -of drinking from running brooks (Nice, Turin, Sils). <i>In vino Veritas</i>: -it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the -world about the concept "Truth"—with me spirit moves on the face of -the waters.... Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A -heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first -principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active -as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. -For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call -interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table -d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between -meals, coffee should be given up—coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is -beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, -but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the -whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own -standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate -limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which -to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to -drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as -possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to -the accompaniment of free bodily motion—nor in one in which even the -muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in -the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is -the real sin against the Holy Spirit.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - - -<p>To the question of nutrition, that of locality and climate is next of -kin. Nobody is so constituted as to be able to live everywhere and -anywhere; and he who has great duties to perform, which lay claim -to all his strength, has, in this respect, a very limited choice. -The influence of climate upon the bodily functions, affecting their -acceleration or retardation, extends so far, that a blunder in the -choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from -his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that -he never even comes face to face with it. Animal vigour never acquires -enough strength in him in order to reach that pitch of artistic freedom -which makes his own soul whisper to him: I, alone, can do that.... Ever -so slight a tendency to laziness in the intestines, once it has become -a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something -"German" out of a genius; the climate of Germany, alone, is enough to -discourage the strongest and most heroically disposed intestines. The -tempo of the body's functions is closely bound up with the agility or -the clumsiness of the spirit's feet; spirit itself is indeed only a -form of these organic functions. Let anybody make a list of the places -in which men of great intellect have been found, and are still found; -where wit, subtlety, and malice constitute happiness; where genius -is almost necessarily at home: all of them rejoice in exceptionally -dry air. Paris, Provence, Florence, Jerusalem, Athens—these names -prove something, namely:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> that genius is conditioned by dry air, by a -pure sky—that is to say, by rapid organic functions, by the constant -and ever-present possibility of procuring for one's self great and -even enormous quantities of strength. I have a certain case in mind -in which a man of remarkable intellect and independent spirit became -a narrow, craven specialist and a grumpy old crank, simply owing to -a lack of subtlety in his instinct for climate. And I myself might -have been an example of the same thing, if illness had not compelled -me to reason, and to reflect upon reason realistically. Now that I -have learnt through long practice to read the effects of climatic and -meteorological influences, from my own body, as though from a very -delicate and reliable instrument, and that I am able to calculate the -change in degrees of atmospheric moisture by means of physiological -observations upon myself, even on so short a journey as that from -Turin to Milan; I think with horror of the ghastly fact that my -whole life, until the last ten years,—the most perilous years,—has -always been spent in the wrong, and what to me ought to have been -the most forbidden, places. Naumburg, Pforta, Thuringia in general, -Leipzig, Bâle, Venice—so many ill-starred places for a constitution -like mine. If I cannot recall one single happy reminiscence of my -childhood and youth, it is nonsense to suppose that so-called "moral" -causes could account for this—as, for instance, the incontestable -fact that I lacked companions that could have satisfied me; for this -fact is the same to-day as it ever was, and it does not prevent me -from being cheerful and brave. But it was ignorance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> in physiological -matters—that confounded "Idealism"—that was the real curse of my -life. This was the superfluous and foolish element in my existence; -something from which nothing could spring, and for which there can be -no settlement and no compensation. As the outcome of this "Idealism" -I regard all the blunders, the great aberrations of instinct, and -the "modest specialisations" which drew me aside from the task of my -life; as, for instance, the fact that I became a philologist—why -not at least a medical man or anything else which might have opened -my eyes? My days at Bâle, the whole of my intellectual routine, -including my daily time-table, was an absolutely senseless abuse of -extraordinary powers, without the slightest compensation for the -strength that I spent, without even a thought of what I was squandering -and how its place might be filled. I lacked all subtlety in egoism, -all the fostering care of an imperative instinct; I was in a state -in which one is ready to regard one's self as anybody's equal, a -state of "disinterestedness," a forgetting of one's distance from -others—something, in short, for which I can never forgive myself. -When I had well-nigh reached the end of my tether, simply because I -had almost reached my end, I began to reflect upon the fundamental -absurdity of my life—"Idealism." It was <i>illness</i> that first brought -me to reason.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>After the choice of nutrition, the choice of climate and locality, the -third matter concerning which one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> must not on any account make a -blunder, is the choice of the manner in which one <i>recuperates one's -strength.</i> Here, again, according to the extent to which a spirit is -<i>sui generis,</i> the limits of that which he can allow himself—in other -words, the limits of that which is beneficial to him—become more and -more confined. As far as I in particular am concerned, <i>reading</i> in -general belongs to my means of recuperation; consequently it belongs -to that which rids me of myself, to that which enables me to wander -in strange sciences and strange souls—to that, in fact, about which -I am no longer in earnest. Indeed, it is while reading that I recover -from <i>my</i> earnestness. During the time that I am deeply absorbed in -my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur -to me to allow any one to speak or even to think in my presence. -For that is what reading would mean.... Has any one ever actually -noticed, that, during the period of profound tension to which the -state of pregnancy condemns not only the mind, but also, at bottom, -the whole organism, accident and every kind of external stimulus acts -too acutely and strikes too deep? Accident and external stimuli must, -as far as possible, be avoided: a sort of walling-of-one's-self-in is -one of the primary instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy. -Shall I allow a strange thought to steal secretly over the wall? -For that is what reading would mean.... The periods of work and -fruit-fulness are followed by periods of recuperation: come hither, -ye delightful, intellectual, intelligent books! Shall I read German -books?... I must go back six months to catch myself with a book in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -my hand. What was it? An excellent study by Victor Brochard upon the -Greek sceptics, in which my Laertiana<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> was used to advantage. The -sceptics!—the only <i>honourable</i> types among that double-faced and -sometimes quintuple-faced throng, the philosophers!.... Otherwise I -almost always take refuge in the same books: altogether their number -is small; they are books which are precisely my proper fare. It is -not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library -makes me ill. Neither is it my nature to love much or many kinds of -things. Suspicion or even hostility towards new books is much more -akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration," <i>largeur de cœur,</i> -and other forms of "neighbour-love." ... It is to a small number of -old French authors, that I always return again and again; I believe -only in French culture, and regard everything else in Europe which -calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take -the German kind into consideration.... The few instances of higher -culture with which I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> met in Germany were all French in their -origin. The most striking example of this was Madame Cosima Wagner, -by far the most decisive voice in matters of taste that I have ever -heard. If I do not read, but literally love Pascal? as the most -instinctive sacrifice to Christianity, killing himself inch by inch, -first bodily, then spiritually, according to the terrible consistency -of this most appalling form of inhuman cruelty; if I have something -of Montaigne's mischievousness in my soul, and—who knows?—perhaps -also in my body; if my artist's taste endeavours to defend the names -of Molière, Corneille, and Racine, and not without bitterness, against -such a wild genius as Shakespeare—all this does not prevent me from -regarding even the latter-day Frenchmen also as charming companions. -I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of -more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could -be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day. Let me -mention a few at random—for their number is by no means small—Paul -Bourget, Pierre Loti, Gyp, Meilhac, Anatole France, Jules Lemaitre; -or, to point to one of strong race, a genuine Latin, of whom I am -particularly fond, Guy de Maupassant. Between ourselves, I prefer this -generation even to its masters, all of whom were corrupted by German -philosophy (Taine, for instance, by Hegel, whom he has to thank for -his misunderstanding of great men and great periods). Wherever Germany -extends her sway, she <i>ruins</i> culture. It was the war which first saved -the spirit of France.... Stendhal is one of the happiest accidents of -my life—for everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> that marks an epoch in it has been brought -to me by accident and never by means of a recommendation. He is quite -priceless, with his psychologist's eye, quick at forestalling and -anticipating; with his grasp of facts, which is reminiscent of the same -art in the greatest of all masters of facts (<i>ex ungue Napoleonem</i>); -and, last but not least, as an honest atheist—a specimen which is -both rare and difficult to discover in France—all honour to Prosper -Mérimée!... Maybe that I am even envious of Stendhal? He robbed -me of the best atheistic joke, which I of all people could have -perpetrated: "God's only excuse is that He does not exist" ... I myself -have said somewhere—What has been the greatest objection to Life -hitherto?—God....</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>It was Heinrich Heine who gave me the most perfect idea of what a -lyrical poet could be. In vain do I search through all the kingdoms of -antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and -passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which -perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me,—I estimate the value of -men, of races, according to the extent to which they are unable to -conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him. And with -what mastery he wields his native tongue! One day it will be said of -Heine and me that we were by far the greatest artists of the German -language that have ever existed, and that we left all the efforts that -mere Germans made in this language an incalculable distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> behind -us. I must be profoundly related to Byron's <i>Manfred:</i> of all the -dark abysses in this work I found the counterparts in my own soul—at -the age of thirteen I was ripe for this book. Words fail me, I have -only a look, for those who dare to utter the name of <i>Faust</i> in the -presence of <i>Manfred.</i> The Germans are <i>incapable</i> of conceiving -anything sublime: for a proof of this, look at Schumann! Out of anger -for this mawkish Saxon, I once deliberately composed a counter-overture -to <i>Manfred,</i> of which Hans von Bülow declared he had never seen the -like before on paper: such compositions amounted to a violation of -Euterpe. When I cast about me for my highest formula of Shakespeare, -I find invariably but this one: that he conceived the type of Cæsar. -Such things a man cannot guess—he either is the thing, or he is not. -The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. -This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he -can no longer endure his own work.... After casting a glance between -the pages of my <i>Zarathustra,</i> I pace my room to and fro for half -an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears. -I know of no more heartrending reading than Shakespeare: how a man -must have suffered to be so much in need of playing the clown! Is -Hamlet <i>understood</i>? It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one -mad.... But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be -an abyss, a philosopher.... We all fear the truth.... And, to make a -confession; I feel instinctively certain and convinced that Lord Bacon -is the originator, the self-torturer, of this most sinister kind of -literature:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> what do I care about the miserable gabble of American -muddlers and blockheads? But the power for the greatest realism in -vision is not only compatible with the greatest realism in deeds, -with the monstrous in deeds, with crime—<i>it actually presupposes the -latter.</i> ... We do not know half enough about Lord Bacon—the first -realist in all the highest acceptation of this word—to be sure of -everything he did, everything he willed, and everything he experienced -in his inmost soul.... Let the critics go to hell! Suppose I had -christened my <i>Zarathustra</i> with a name not my own,—let us say with -Richard Wagner's name,—the acumen of two thousand years would not have -sufficed to guess that the author of <i>Human, all-too-Human</i> was the -visionary of <i>Zarathustra.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>As I am speaking here of the recreations of my life, I feel I must -express a word or two of gratitude for that which has refreshed me by -far the most heartily and most profoundly. This, without the slightest -doubt, was my intimate relationship with Richard Wagner. All my other -relationships with men I treat quite lightly; but I would not have the -days I spent at Tribschen—those days of confidence, of cheerfulness, -of sublime flashes, and of profound moments—blotted from my life -at any price. I know not what Wagner may have been for others; but -no cloud ever darkened <i>our</i> sky. And this brings me back again to -France,—I have no arguments against Wagnerites, and <i>hoc genus omne</i> -who believe that they do honour to Wagner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> by believing him to be -like themselves; for such people I have only a contemptuous curl of -my lip. With a nature like mine, which is so strange to everything -Teutonic, that even the presence of a German retards my digestion, my -first meeting with Wagner was the first moment in my life in which I -breathed freely: I felt him, I honoured him, as a foreigner, as the -opposite and the incarnate contradiction of all "German virtues." We -who as children breathed the marshy atmosphere of the fifties, are -necessarily pessimists in regard to the concept "German"; we cannot -be anything else than revolutionaries—we can assent to no state of -affairs which allows the canting bigot to be at the top. I care not -a jot whether this canting bigot acts in different colours to-day, -whether he dresses in scarlet or dons the uniform of a hussar.<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Very -well, then! Wagner was a revolutionary—he fled from the Germans.... -As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris; that subtlety -of all the five senses which Wagner's art presupposes, those fingers -that can detect slight gradations, psychological morbidity—all these -things can be found only in Paris. Nowhere else can you meet with -this passion for questions of form, this earnestness in matters of -<i>mise-en-scène,</i> which is the Parisian earnestness <i>par excellence.</i> -In Germany no one has any idea of the tremendous ambition that fills -the heart of a Parisian artist. The German is a good fellow. Wagner was -by no means a good fellow.... But I have already said quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> enough -on the subject of Wagner's real nature (see <i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> -Aphorism 269), and about those to whom he is most closely related. -He is one of the late French romanticists, that high-soaring and -heaven-aspiring band of artists, like Delacroix and Berlioz, who in -their inmost nacres are sick and incurable, and who are all fanatics -of <i>expression,</i> and virtuosos through and through.... Who, in sooth, -was the first intelligent follower of Wagner? Charles Baudelaire, the -very man who first understood Delacroix—that typical decadent, in whom -a whole generation of artists saw their reflection; he was perhaps the -last of them too.... What is it that I have never forgiven Wagner? -The fact that he condescended to the Germans—that he became a German -Imperialist.... Wherever Germany spreads, she <i>ruins</i> culture.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>Taking everything into consideration, I could never have survived my -youth without Wagnerian music. For I was condemned to the society -of Germans. If a man wish to get rid of a feeling of insufferable -oppression, he has to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner. -Wagner is the counter-poison to everything essentially German—the fact -that he is a poison too, I do not deny. From the moment that <i>Tristan</i> -was arranged for the piano—all honour to you, Herr von Bülow!—I was -a Wagnerite. Wagner's previous works seemed beneath me—they were too -commonplace, too "German." ... But to this day I am still seeking for a -work which would be a match to <i>Tristan</i> in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> dangerous fascination, and -possess the same gruesome and dulcet quality of infinity; I seek among -all the arts in vain. All the quaint features of Leonardo da Vinci's -work lose their charm at the sound of the first bar in <i>Tristan.</i> -This work is without question Wagner's <i>non plus ultra</i>; after its -creation, the composition of the <i>Mastersingers</i> and of the <i>Ring</i> was -a relaxation to him. To become more healthy—this in a nature like -Wagner's amounts to going backwards. The curiosity of the psychologist -is so great in me, that I regard it as quite a special privilege -to have lived at the right time, and to have lived precisely among -Germans, in order to be ripe for this work. The world must indeed be -empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for this "infernal -voluptuousness": it is allowable, it is even imperative, to employ a -mystic formula for this purpose. I suppose I know better than any one -the prodigious feats of which Wagner was capable, the fifty worlds of -strange ecstasies to which no one else had wings to soar; and as I am -alive to-day and strong enough to turn even the most suspicious and -most dangerous things to my own advantage, and thus to grow stronger, -I declare Wagner to have been the greatest benefactor of my life. The -bond which unites us is the fact that we have suffered greater agony, -even at each other's hands, than most men are able to bear nowadays, -and this will always keep our names associated in the minds of men. -For, just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among Germans, so, in -truth, am I, and ever will be. Ye lack two centuries of psychological -and artistic discipline, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> dear countrymen!... But ye can never -recover the time lost.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>To the most exceptional of my readers I should like to say just one -word about what I really exact from music. It must be cheerful and yet -profound, like an October afternoon. It must be original, exuberant, -and tender, and like a dainty, soft woman in roguishness and grace ... I -shall never admit that a German <i>can</i> understand what music is. Those -musicians who are called German, the greatest and most famous foremost, -are all foreigners, either Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen—or Jews; -or else, like Heinrich Schütz, Bach, and Händel, they are Germans of -a strong race which is now extinct. For my own part, I have still -enough of the Pole left in me to let all other music go, if only I -can keep Chopin. For three reasons I would except Wagner's <i>Siegfried -Idyll,</i> and perhaps also one or two things of Liszt, who excelled all -other musicians in the noble tone of his orchestration; and finally -everything that has been produced beyond the Alps<i>—this side</i> of the -Alps.<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> I could not possibly dispense with Rossini, and still less -with my Southern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro, Pietro -Gasti. And when I say beyond the Alps, all I really mean is Venice. -If I try to find a new word for music, I can never find any other -than Venice. I know not how to draw any distinction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> between tears -and music. I do not know how to think either of joy, or of the south, -without a shudder of fear.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -On the bridge I stood<br /> -Lately, in gloomy night.<br /> -Came a distant song:<br /> -In golden drops it rolled<br /> -Over the glittering rim away.<br /> -Music, gondolas, lights—<br /> -Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom....<br /> -<br /> -A stringed instrument, my soul,<br /> -Sang, imperceptibly moved,<br /> -A gondola song by stealth,<br /> -Gleaming for gaudy blessedness.<br /> -—Hearkened any thereto?<br /> -</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>In all these things—in the choice of food, place, climate, and -recreation—the instinct of self-preservation is dominant, and this -instinct manifests itself with least ambiguity when it acts as an -instinct of defence. To close one's eyes to much, to seal one's ears to -much, to keep certain things at a distance—this is the first principle -of prudence, the first proof of the fact that a man is not an accident -but a necessity. The popular word for this instinct of defence is -<i>taste.</i> A man's imperative command is not only to say "no" in cases -where "yes" would be a sign of "disinterestedness," but also to say -"no" <i>as seldom as possible.</i> One must part with all that which compels -one to repeat "no," with ever greater frequency. The rationale of this -principle is that all discharges of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> defensive forces, however slight -they may be, involve enormous and absolutely superfluous losses when -they become regular and habitual. Our greatest expenditure of strength -is made up of those small and most frequent discharges of it. The act -of keeping things off, of holding them at a distance, amounts to a -discharge of strength,—do not deceive yourselves on this point!—and -an expenditure of energy directed at purely negative ends. Simply by -being compelled to keep constantly on his guard, a man may grow so weak -as to be unable any longer to defend himself. Suppose I were to step -out of my house, and, instead of the quiet and aristocratic city of -Turin, I were to find a German provincial town, my instinct would have -to brace itself together in order to repel all that which would pour in -upon it from this crushed-down and cowardly world. Or suppose I were -to find a large German city—that structure of vice in which nothing -grows, but where every single thing, whether good or bad, is squeezed -in from outside. In such circumstances should I not be compelled to -become a hedgehog? But to have prickles amounts to a squandering of -strength; they even constitute a twofold luxury, when, if we only chose -to do so, we could dispense with them and open our hands instead....</p> - -<p>Another form of prudence and self-defence consists in trying to -react as seldom as possible, and to keep one's self aloof from those -circumstances and conditions wherein one would be condemned, as it -were, to suspend one's "liberty" and one's initiative, and become a -mere reacting medium.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> As an example of this I point to the intercourse -with books. The scholar who, in sooth, does little else than handle -books—with the philologist of average attainments their number may -amount to two hundred a day—ultimately forgets entirely and completely -the capacity of thinking for himself. When he has not a book between -his fingers he cannot think. When he thinks, he responds to a stimulus -(a thought he has read),—finally all he does is to react. The scholar -exhausts his whole strength in saying either "yes" or "no" to matter -which has already been thought out, or in criticising it—he is no -longer capable of thought on his own account.... In him the instinct -of self-defence has decayed, otherwise he would defend himself against -books. The scholar is a decadent. With my own eyes I have seen gifted, -richly endowed, and free-spirited natures already "read to ruins" at -thirty, and mere wax vestas that have to be rubbed before they can give -off any sparks—or "thoughts." To set to early in the morning, at the -break of day, in all the fulness and dawn of one's strength, and to -read a book—this I call positively vicious!</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">9</p> - - -<p>At this point I can no longer evade a direct answer to the question, -<i>how one becomes what one is.</i> And in giving it, I shall have to -touch upon that masterpiece in the art of self-preservation, which is -<i>selfishness.</i> ... Granting that one's life-task—the determination and -the fate of one's life-task—greatly exceeds the average measure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -such things, nothing more dangerous could be conceived than to come -face to face with one's self by the side of this life-task. The fact -that one becomes what one is, presupposes that one has not the remotest -suspicion of what one is. From this standpoint even the blunders of -one's life have their own meaning and value, the temporary deviations -and aberrations, the moments of hesitation and of modesty, the -earnestness wasted upon duties which lie outside the actual life-task. -In these matters great wisdom, perhaps even the highest wisdom, comes -into activity: in these circumstances, in which <i>nosce teipsum</i> would -be the sure road to ruin, forgetting one's self, misunderstanding -one's self, belittling one's self, narrowing one's self, and making -one's self mediocre, amount to reason itself. Expressed morally, to -love one's neighbour and to live for others and for other things -<i>may</i> be the means of protection employed to maintain the hardest -kind of egoism. This is the exceptional case in which I, contrary -to my principle and conviction, take the side of the altruistic -instincts; for here they are concerned in subserving selfishness -and self-discipline. The whole surface of consciousness—for -consciousness <i>is</i> a surface—must be kept free from any one of the -great imperatives. Beware even of every striking word, of every -striking attitude! They are all so many risks which the instinct runs -of "understanding itself" too soon. Meanwhile the organising "idea," -which is destined to become master, grows and continues to grow into -the depths,—it begins to command, it leads you slowly back from your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -deviations and aberrations, it prepares individual qualities and -capacities, which one day will make themselves felt as indispensable -to the whole of your task,—step by step it cultivates all the -serviceable faculties, before it ever whispers a word concerning the -dominant task, the "goal," the "object," and the "meaning" of it all. -Looked at from this standpoint my life is simply amazing. For the task -of <i>transvaluing values,</i> more capacities were needful perhaps than -could well be found side by side in one individual; and above all, -antagonistic capacities which had to be free from the mutual strife -and destruction which they involve. An order of rank among capacities; -distance; the art of separating without creating hostility; to refrain -from confounding things; to keep from reconciling things; to possess -enormous multifariousness and yet to be the reverse of chaos—all -this was the first condition, the long secret work, and the artistic -mastery of my instinct. Its superior guardianship manifested itself -with such exceeding strength, that not once did I ever dream of what -was growing within me—until suddenly all my capacities were ripe, and -one day burst forth in all the perfection of their highest bloom. I -cannot remember ever having exerted myself, I can point to no trace of -<i>struggle</i> in my life; I am the reverse of a heroic nature. To "will" -something, to "strive" after something, to have an "aim" or a "desire" -in my mind—I know none of these things from experience. Even at this -moment I look out upon my future—a <i>broad</i> future!—as upon a calm -sea: no sigh of longing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> makes a ripple on its surface. I have not the -slightest wish that anything should be otherwise than it is: I myself -would not be otherwise.... But in this matter I have always been the -same. I have never had a desire. A man who, after his four-and-fortieth -year, can say that he has never bothered himself about <i>honours, -women,</i> or <i>money</i>!—not that they did not come his way.... It was -thus that I became one day a University Professor—I had never had -the remotest idea of such a thing; for I was scarcely four-and-twenty -years of age. In the same way, two years previously, I had one day -become a philologist, in the sense that my <i>first</i> philological work, -my start in every way, was expressly obtained by my master Ritschl for -publication in his <i>Rheinisches Museum.</i><a name="FNanchor_4_7" id="FNanchor_4_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_7" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> (Ritschl—and I say it -in all reverence—was the only genial scholar that I have ever met. -He possessed that pleasant kind of depravity which distinguishes us -Thuringians, and which makes even a German sympathetic—even in the -pursuit of truth we prefer to avail ourselves of roundabout ways. In -saying this I do not mean to underestimate in any way my Thuringian -brother, the intelligent Leopold von Ranke....)</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">10</p> - - -<p>You may be wondering why I should actually have related all these -trivial and, according to traditional accounts, insignificant details -to you; such action can but tell against me, more particularly if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> I -am fated to figure in great causes. To this I reply that these trivial -matters—diet, locality, climate, and one's mode of recreation, the -whole casuistry of; self-love—are inconceivably more important than, -all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem! It is precisely -in this quarter that we must begin to learn afresh. All those things -which mankind has valued with such earnestness heretofore are not even -real; they are mere creations of fancy, or, more strictly speaking, -<i>lies</i> born of the evil instincts of diseased and, in the deepest -sense, noxious natures—all the concepts, "God," "soul," "virtue," -"sin," "Beyond," "truth," "eternal life." ... But the greatness of -human nature, its "divinity," was sought for in them.... All questions -of politics, of social order, of education, have been falsified, root -and branch, owing to the fact that the most noxious men have been -taken for great men, and that people were taught to despise the small -things, or rather the fundamental things, of life. If I now choose to -compare myself with those creatures who have hitherto been honoured as -the first among men, the difference becomes obvious. I do not reckon -the so-called "first" men even as human beings—for me they are the -excrements of mankind, the products of disease and of the instinct -of revenge: they are so many monsters laden with rottenness, so many -hopeless incurables, who avenge themselves on life.... I wish to be -the opposite of these people: it is my privilege to have the very -sharpest discernment for every sign of healthy instincts. There is no -such thing as a morbid trait in me; even in times of serious illness -I have never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> grown morbid, and you might seek in vain for a trace of -fanaticism in my nature. No one can point to any moment of my life -in which I have assumed either an arrogant or a pathetic attitude. -Pathetic attitudes are not in keeping with greatness; he who needs -attitudes is false.... Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy—in -fact easiest—to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest -duties from me. Whoever could have seen me during the seventy days of -this autumn, when, without interruption, I did a host of things of -the highest rank—things that no man can do nowadays—with a sense of -responsibility for all the ages yet to come, would have noticed no sign -of tension in my condition, but rather a state of overflowing freshness -and good cheer. Never have I eaten with more pleasant sensations, -never has my sleep been better. I know of no other manner of dealing -with great tasks, than as <i>play</i>: this, as a sign of greatness, is -an essential prerequisite. The slightest constraint, a sombre mien, -any hard accent in the voice—all these things are objections to a -man, but how much more to his work!... One must not have nerves.... -Even to <i>suffer</i> from solitude is an objection—the only thing I have -always suffered from is "multitude."<a name="FNanchor_5_8" id="FNanchor_5_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_8" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> At an absurdly tender age, in -fact when I was seven years old, I already knew that no human speech -would ever reach me: did any one ever see me sad on that account? At -present I still possess the same affability towards everybody, I am -even full of consideration for the lowest: in all this there is not -an atom of haughtiness or of secret contempt. He whom I despise soon -guesses that he is despised by me: the very fact of my existence is -enough to rouse indignation in all those who have polluted blood in -their veins. My formula for greatness in man is! <i>amor fati</i>: the fact -that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or -behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, -and on no account concealed,—all idealism is falsehood in the face of -necessity,—but it must also be <i>loved....</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> Nietzsche, as is well known, devoted much time when a -student at Leipzig to the study of three Greek philosophers, Theognis, -Diogenes Laertius, and Democritus. This study first bore fruit in the -case of a paper, <i>Zur Geschichte der Theognideischen Spruchsammlung</i>, -which was subsequently published by the most influential journal of -classical philology in Germany. Later, however, it enabled Nietzsche to -enter for the prize offered by the University of Leipzig for an essay, -<i>De fontibus Diogenis Laertii.</i> He was successful in gaining the prize, -and the treatise was afterwards published in the <i>Rheinisches Museum,</i> -and is still quoted as an authority. It is to this essay, written when -he was twenty-three years of age, that he here refers.—TR.</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> The favourite uniform of the German Emperor, William -II.—TR.</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> In the latter years of his life, Nietzsche practically -made Italy his home.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_7" id="Footnote_4_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_7"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> See note on page 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_8" id="Footnote_5_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_8"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The German words are, <i>Einsamkeit</i> and <i>Vielsamkeit.</i> The -latter was coined by Nietzsche. The English word "multitude" should, -therefore, be understood as signifying multifarious instincts and -gifts, which in Nietzsche strove for ascendancy and caused him more -suffering than any solitude. Complexity of this sort, held in check -by a dominant instinct, as in Nietzsche's case, is of course the only -possible basis of an artistic nature.—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS" id="WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS">WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I am one thing, my creations are another. Here, before I speak of the -books themselves, I shall touch upon the question of the understanding -and misunderstanding with which they have met. I shall proceed to -do this in as perfunctory a manner as the occasion demands; for the -time has by no means come for this question. My time has not yet -come either; some are born posthumously. One s day institutions will -be needed in which men will live and teach, as I understand living -and teaching; maybe, also, that by that time, chairs will be founded -and endowed for the interpretation of <i>Zarathustra. </i> But I should -regard it as a complete contradiction of myself, if I expected to -find ears and eyes for my truths to-day: the fact that no one listens -to me, that no one knows how to receive at my hands to-day, is not -only comprehensible, it seems to me quite the proper thing. I do not -wish to be mistaken for another—and to this end I must not mistake -myself. To repeat what I have already said, I can point to but few -instances of ill-will in my life: and as for literary ill-will, I -could mention scarcely a single example of it. On the other hand, I -have met with far too much <i>pure foolery</i>!... It seems to me that to -take up one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of my books is one of the rarest honours that a man can -pay himself—even supposing that he put his shoes from off his feet -beforehand, not to mention boots.... When on one occasion Dr. Heinrich -von Stein honestly complained that he could not understand a word of -my <i>Zarathustra,</i> I said to him that this was just as it should be: to -have understood six sentences in that book—that is to say, to have -lived them—raises a man to a higher level among mortals than "modern" -men can attain. With this feeling of distance how could I even wish to -be read by the "moderns" whom I know! My triumph is just the opposite -of what Schopenhauer's was—I say "<i>Non</i> legor, <i>non</i> legar."—Not -that I should like to underestimate the pleasure I have derived from -the innocence with which my works have frequently been contradicted. -As late as last summer, at a time when I was attempting, perhaps by -means of my weighty, all-too-weighty literature, to throw the rest of -literature off its balance, a certain professor of Berlin University -kindly gave me to understand that I ought really to make use of a -different form: no one could read such stuff as I wrote.—Finally, it -was not Germany, but Switzerland that presented me with the two most -extreme cases. An essay on <i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> by Dr. V. Widmann in -the paper called the <i>Bund,</i> under the heading "Nietzsche's Dangerous -Book," and a general account of all my works, from the pen of Herr -Karl Spitteler, also in the <i>Bund,</i> constitute a maximum in my life—I -shall not say of what.... The latter treated my <i>Zarathustra,</i> for -instance as "<i>advanced exercises in style</i>," and expressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the wish -that later on I might try and attend to the question of substance as -well; Dr. Widmann assured me of his respect for the courage I showed -in endeavouring to abolish all decent feeling. Thanks to a little -trick of destiny, every sentence in these criticisms seemed, with -a consistency that I could but admire, to be an inverted truth. In -fact it was most remarkable that all one had to do was to "transvalue -all values," in order to hit the nail on the head with regard to me, -instead of striking my head with the nail.... I am more particularly -anxious therefore to discover an explanation. After all, no one can -draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man -has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access. To -take an extreme case, suppose a book contains simply incidents which -lie quite outside the range of general or even rare experience—suppose -it to be the <i>first</i> language to express a whole series of experiences. -In this case nothing it contains will really be heard at all, and, -thanks to an acoustic delusion, people will believe that where nothing -is heard there is nothing to hear.... This, at least, has been my -usual experience, and proves, if you will, the originality of my -experience. He who thought he had understood something in my work, had -as a rule adjusted something in it to his own image—not infrequently -the very opposite of myself, an "idealist," for instance. He who -understood nothing in my work, would deny that I was worth considering -at all.—The word "Superman," which designates a type of man that -would be one of nature's rarest and luckiest strokes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> as opposed to -"modern" men, to "good" men, to Christians and other Nihilists,—a -word which in the mouth of Zarathustra, the annihilator of morality, -acquires a very profound meaning,—is understood almost everywhere, and -with perfect innocence, in the light of those values to which a flat -contradiction was made manifest in the figure of Zarathustra—that is -to say, as an "ideal" type, a higher kind of man, half "saint" and half -"genius." ... Other learned cattle have suspected me of Darwinism on -account of this word: even the "hero cult" of that great unconscious -and involuntary swindler, Carlyle,—a cult which I repudiated with -such roguish malice,—was recognised in my doctrine. Once, when I -whispered to a man that he would do better I to seek for the Superman -in a Cæsar Borgia than in a Parsifal, he could not believe his ears. -The fact that I am quite free from curiosity in regard to criticisms of -my books, more particularly when they appear in newspapers, will have -to be forgiven me. My friends and my publishers know this, and never -speak to me of such things. In one particular case, I once saw all the -sins that had been committed against a single book—it was <i>Beyond Good -and Evil;</i> I could tell you a nice story about it. Is it possible that -the <i>National-Zeitung</i>—a Prussian paper (this comment is for the sake -of my foreign readers—for my own part, I beg to state, I read only <i>Le -Journal des Débats</i>)—really and seriously regarded the book as a "sign -of the times," or a genuine and typical example of Tory philosophy,<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -for which the <i>Kreuz-Zeitung</i> had not sufficient courage?...</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This was said for the benefit of Germans: for everywhere else I have -my readers—all of them exceptionally intelligent men, characters that -have won their spurs and that have been reared in high offices and -superior duties; I have even real geniuses among my readers. In Vienna, -in St Petersburg, in Stockholm, in Copenhagen, in Paris, and New -York—I have been discovered everywhere: I have not yet been discovered -in Europe's flatland—Germany.... And, to make a confession, I rejoice -much more heartily over those who do not read me, over those who have -neither heard of my name nor of the word philosophy. But whithersoever -I go, here in Turin, for instance, every face brightens and softens -at the sight of me. A thing that has flattered me more than anything -else hitherto, is the fact that old market-women cannot rest until -they have picked out the sweetest of their grapes for me. To this -extent must a man be a philosopher.... It is not in vain that the -Poles are considered as the French among the Slavs. A charming Russian -lady will not be mistaken for a single moment concerning my origin. -I am not successful at being pompous, the most I can do is to appear -embarrassed.... I can think in German, I can feel in German—I can do -most things; but this is beyond my powers.... My old master Ritschl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -went so far as to declare that I planned even my philological treatises -after the manner of a Parisian novelist—that I made them absurdly -thrilling. In Paris itself people are surprised at "<i>toutes mes audaces -et finesses</i>";—the words are Monsieur Taine's;—I fear that even in -the highest forms of the dithyramb, that salt will be found pervading -my work which never becomes insipid, which never becomes "German"—and -that is, wit.... I can do nought else. God help me! Amen.—We all know, -some of us even from experience, what a "long-ears" is. Well then, I -venture to assert that I have the smallest ears that have ever been -seen. This fact is not without interest to women—it seems to me they -feel that I understand them better!... I am essentially the anti-ass, -and on this account alone a monster in the world's history—in Greek, -and not only in Greek, I am the <i>Antichrist.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>I am to a great extent aware of my privileges as a writer: in one -or two cases it has even been brought home to me how very much the -habitual > reading of my works "spoils" a man's taste. Other books -simply cannot be endured after mine, and least of all philosophical -ones. It is an incomparable distinction to cross the threshold of -this noble and subtle world—in order to do so one must certainly -not be a German; it is, in short, a distinction which one must have -deserved. He, however, who is related to me through loftiness of -will, experiences genuine raptures of understanding in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> my books: -for I swoop down from heights into which no bird has ever soared; I -know abysses into which no foot has ever slipped. People have told -me that it is impossible to lay down a book of mine—that I disturb -even the night's rest.... There is no prouder or at the same time more -subtle kind of books: they sometimes attain to the highest pinnacle -of earthly endeavour, cynicism; to capture their thoughts a man must -have the tenderest fingers as well as the most intrepid fists. Any -kind of spiritual decrepitude utterly excludes all intercourse with -them—even any kind of dyspepsia: a man must have no nerves, but he -must have a cheerful belly. Not only the poverty of a man's soul and -its stuffy air excludes all intercourse with them, but also, and to a -much greater degree, cowardice, uncleanliness, and secret intestinal -revengefulness; a word from my lips suffices to make the colour of -all evil instincts rush into a face. Among my acquaintances I have -a number of experimental subjects, in whom I see depicted all the -different, and instructively different, reactions which follow upon -a perusal of my works. Those who will have nothing to do with the -contents of my books, as for instance my so-called friends, assume an -"impersonal" tone concerning them: they wish me luck, and congratulate -me for having produced another work; they also declare that my writings -show progress, because they exhale a more cheerful spirit.... The -thoroughly vicious people, the "beautiful souls," the false from top to -toe, do not know in the least what to do with my books—consequently, -with the beautiful consistency of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> beautiful souls, they regard -my work as beneath them. The cattle among my acquaintances, the mere -Germans, leave me to understand, if you please, that they are not -always of my opinion, though here and there they agree with me.... I -have heard this said even about <i>Zarathustra.</i> "Feminism," whether in -mankind or in man, is likewise a barrier to my writings; with it, no -one could ever enter into this labyrinth of fearless knowledge. To -this end, a man must never have spared himself, he must have been hard -in his habits, in order to be good-humoured and merry among a host of -inexorable truths. When I try to picture the character of a perfect -reader, I always imagine a monster of courage and curiosity, as well as -of suppleness, cunning, and prudence—in short, a born adventurer and -explorer. After all, I could not describe better than <i>Zarathustra</i> has -done unto whom I really address myself: unto whom alone would he reveal -his riddle?</p> - -<p>"Unto you, daring explorers and experimenters, and unto all who have -ever embarked beneath cunning sails upon terrible seas;</p> - -<p>"Unto you who revel in riddles and in twilight, whose souls are lured -by flutes unto every treacherous abyss:</p> - -<p>"For ye care not to grope your way along a thread with craven fingers; -and where ye are able to <i>guess,</i> ye hate to <i>argue</i>?"</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>I will now pass just one or two general remarks about my <i>art of -style.</i> To communicate a state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> an inner tension of pathos by means -of signs, including the tempo of these signs,—that is the meaning of -every style; and in view of the fact that the multiplicity of inner -states in me is enormous, I am capable of many kinds of style—in -short, the most multifarious art of style that any man has ever had at -his disposal. Any style is <i>good</i> which genuinely communicates an inner -condition, which does not blunder over the signs, over the tempo of the -signs, or over <i>moods</i>—all the laws of phrasing are the outcome of -representing moods artistically. Good style, in itself, is a piece of -sheer foolery, mere idealism, like "beauty in itself," for instance, -or "goodness in itself," or "the thing-in-itself." All this takes for -granted, of course, that there exist ears that can hear, and such men -as are capable and worthy of a like pathos, that those are not wanting -unto whom one may communicate one's self. Meanwhile my Zarathustra, -for instance, is still in quest of such people—alas! he will have to -seek a long while yet! A man must be worthy of listening to him.... -And, until that time, there will be no one who will understand the art -that has been squandered in this book. No one has ever existed who has -had more novel, more strange, and purposely created art forms to fling -to the winds. The fact that such things were possible in the German -language still awaited proof; formerly, I myself would have denied -most emphatically that it was possible. Before my time people did not -know what could be done with the German language—what could be done -with language in general. The art of grand rhythm, of grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> style in -periods, for expressing the tremendous fluctuations of sublime and -superhuman passion, was first discovered by me: with the dithyramb -entitled "The Seven Seals," which constitutes the last discourse of -the third part of <i>Zarathustra,</i> I soared miles above all that which -heretofore has been called poetry.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>The fact that the voice which speaks in my works is that of a -psychologist who has not his peer, is perhaps the first conclusion -at which a good reader will arrive—a reader such as I deserve, and -one who reads me just as the good old philologists used to read their -Horace. Those propositions about which all the world is fundamentally -agreed—not to speak of fashionable philosophy, of moralists and -other empty-headed and cabbage-brained people—are to me but ingenuous -blunders: for instance, the belief that "altruistic" and "egoistic"; -are opposites, while all the time the "ego" itself is merely a "supreme -swindle," an "ideal." ... There are no such things as egoistic or -altruistic actions: both concepts are psychological nonsense. Or -the proposition that "man pursues happiness"; or the proposition -that "happiness is the reward of virtue." ... Or the proposition -that "pleasure and pain are opposites." ... Morality, the Circe of -mankind, has falsified everything psychological, root and branch—it -has demoralised everything, even to the terribly nonsensical point -of calling love "unselfish." A man must first be firmly poised, he -must stand securely on his two legs, otherwise he cannot love at -all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> This indeed the girls know only too well: they don't care two -pins about unselfish and merely objective men.... May I venture to -suggest, incidentally, that I know women? This knowledge is part of my -Dionysian patrimony. Who knows? maybe I am the first psychologist of -the eternally feminine. Women all like me.... But that's an old story: -save, of course, the abortions among them, the emancipated ones, those -who lack the where-withal to have children. Thank goodness I am not -willing to let myself be torn to pieces! the perfect woman tears you -to pieces when she loves you: I know these amiable Mænads.... Oh! what -a dangerous, creeping, subterranean little beast of prey she is! And -so agreeable withal! ... A little woman, pursuing her vengeance, would -force open even the iron gates of Fate itself. Woman is incalculably -more wicked than man, she is also cleverer. Goodness in a woman is -already a sign of <i>degeneration.</i> All cases of "beautiful souls" in -women may be traced to a faulty physiological condition—but I go no -further, lest I should become medicynical. The struggle for equal -rights is even a symptom of disease; every doctor knows this. The more -womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail against rights -in general: the natural order of things, the eternal war between the -sexes, assigns to her by far the foremost rank. Have people had ears -to hear my definition of love? It is the only definition worthy of a -philosopher. Love, in its means, is war; in its foundation, it is the -mortal hatred of the sexes. Have you heard my reply to the question -how a woman can be cured, "saved"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> in fact?—Give her a child! A woman -needs children, man is always only a means, thus spake Zarathustra. -"The emancipation of women,"—this is the instinctive hatred of -physiologically botched—that is to say, barren—women for those of -their sisters who are well constituted: the fight against "man" is -always only a means, a pretext, a piece of strategy. By trying to rise -to "Woman <i>per se</i>," to "Higher Woman," to the "Ideal Woman," all they -wish to do is to lower the general level of women's rank: and there are -no more certain means to this end than university education, trousers, -and the rights of voting cattle. Truth to tell, the emancipated are -the anarchists in the "eternally feminine" world, the physiological -mishaps, the most deep-rooted instinct of whom is revenge. A whole -species of the most malicious "idealism"—which, by the bye, also -manifests itself in men, in Henrik Ibsen for instance, that typical -old maid—whose object is to poison the clean conscience, the natural -spirit, of sexual love.... And in order to leave no doubt in your minds -in regard to my opinion, which, on this matter, is as honest as it -is severe, I will reveal to you one more clause out of my moral code -against vice—with the word "vice" I combat every kind of! opposition -to Nature, or, if you prefer fine words, idealism. The clause reads: -"Preaching of chastity is a public incitement to unnatural practices. -All depreciation of the sexual life, all the sullying of it by means -of the concept 'impure,' is the essential crime against Life—is the -essential crime against the Holy Spirit of Life."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - -<p>In order to give you some idea of myself as a psychologist, let me -take this curious piece of psychological analysis out of the book -<i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> in which it appears. I forbid, by the bye, any -guessing as to whom I am describing in this passage. "The genius of -the heart, as that great anchorite possesses it, the divine tempter -and born Pied Piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to sink into -the inmost depths of every soul, who neither utters a word nor casts a -glance, in which some seductive motive or trick does not lie: a part -of whose masterliness is that he understands the art of seeming—not -what he is, but that which will place a fresh constraint upon his -followers to press ever more closely upon him, to follow him ever more -enthusiastically and whole-heartedly.... The genius of the heart, -which makes all loud and self-conceited things hold their tongues and -lend their ears, which polishes all rough souls and makes them taste a -new longing—to lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be -reflected in them.... The genius of the heart which teaches the clumsy -and too hasty hand to hesitate and grasp more tenderly; which scents -the hidden and forgotten treasure, the pearl of goodness and sweet -spirituality, beneath thick black ice, and is a divining rod for every -grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in heaps of mud and sand.... -The genius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away -richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, not as though favoured and crushed -by the good things of others;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> but richer in himself, fresher to -himself than before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing -wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more fragile, more -bruised; but full of hopes which as yet lack names, full of a new will -and striving, full of a new unwillingness and counter-striving." ...</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Junker-Philosophie.</i> The landed proprietors constitute -the dominating class in Prussia, and it is from this class that all -officers and higher officials are drawn. The <i>Kreuz-Zeitung</i> is the -organ of the Junker party.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY" id="THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY">"THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>In order to be fair to the <i>Birth of Tragedy</i> (1872) it is necessary -to forget a few things. It created a sensation and even fascinated by -means of its mistakes—by means of its application to Wagnerism, as -if the latter were the sign of an ascending tendency. On that account -alone, this treatise was an event in Wagner's life: thenceforward -great hopes surrounded the name of Wagner. Even to this day, people -remind me, sometimes in the middle of <i>Parsifal,</i> that it rests on -my conscience if the opinion, that this movement is of great value -to culture, at length became prevalent I have often seen the book -quoted as "The Second Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music": -people had ears only for new formulæ for Wagner's art, his object -and his mission—and in this way the real hidden value of the book -was overlooked. "Hellenism and Pessimism"—this would have been a -less equivocal title, seeing that the book contains the first attempt -at showing how the Greeks succeeded in disposing: of pessimism—in -what manner they overcame it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> ... Tragedy itself is the proof of -the fact that the Greeks were not pessimists: Schopenhauer blundered -here as he blundered in everything else.—Regarded impartially, -<i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> is a book quite strange to its age: no one -would dream that it was begun in the thunder of the battle of Wörth. -I thought out these problems on cold September nights beneath the -walls of Metz, in the midst of my duties as nurse to the wounded; it -would be easier to think that it was written fifty years earlier. Its -attitude towards politics is one of indifference,—"un-German,"<a name="FNanchor_1_10" id="FNanchor_1_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_10" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -as people would say to-day,—it smells offensively of Hegel; only in -one or two formulæ is it infected with the bitter odour of corpses -which is peculiar to Schopenhauer. An idea—the antagonism of the two -concepts Dionysian and Apollonian—is translated into metaphysics; -history itself is depicted as the development of this idea; in tragedy -this antithesis has become unity; from this standpoint things which -theretofore had never been face to face are suddenly confronted, and -understood and illuminated by each other.... Opera and revolution, -for instance.... The two decisive innovations in the book are, first, -the comprehension of the Dionysian phenomenon among the Greeks—it -provides the first psychological analysis of this phenomenon, and -sees in it the single root of all Greek art; and, secondly, the -comprehension of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Socraticism—Socrates being presented for the first -time as the instrument of Greek dissolution, as a typical decadent. -"Reason" <i>versus</i> Instinct. "Reason" at any cost, as a dangerous, -life-undermining force. The whole book is profoundly and politely -silent concerning Christianity: the latter is neither Apollonian nor -Dionysian; it denies all æsthetic values, which are the only values -that <i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> recognises. Christianity is most profoundly -nihilistic, whereas in the Dionysian symbol, the most extreme limits of -a yea-saying attitude to life are attained. In one part of the book the -Christian priesthood is referred to as a "perfidious order of goblins," -as "subterraneans."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This start of mine was remarkable beyond measure. As a confirmation -of my inmost personal experience I had discovered the only example -of this fact that history possesses,—with this I was the first -to understand the amazing Dionysian phenomenon. At the same time, by -recognising Socrates as a decadent, I proved most conclusively that -the certainty of my psychological grasp of things ran very little risk -at the hands of any sort of moral idiosyncrasy: to regard morality -itself as a symptom of degeneration is an innovation, a unique event -of the first order in the history of knowledge. How high I had soared -above the pitifully foolish gabble about Optimism and Pessimism with -my two new doctrines! I was the first to see the actual contrast: the -degenerate instinct which turns upon life with a subterranean lust -of vengeance (Christianity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" -id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> Schopenhauer's philosophy, and in -some respects too even Plato's philosophy—in short, the whole -of idealism in its typical forms), as opposed to a formula of the -highest yea-saying to life, born of an abundance and a superabundance -of life—a I yea-saying free from all reserve, applying even to -suffering, and guilt, and all that is questionable and strange in -existence.... This last, most joyous, most exuberant and exultant -yea to life, is not only the highest, but also the profoundest -conception, and one which is most strictly confirmed and supported by -truth and science. Nothing that exists must be suppressed, nothing -can be dispensed with. Those aspects of life which Christians and -other Nihilists reject, belong to an incalculably higher order in the -hierarchy of values, than that which the instinct of degeneration calls -good, and <i>may</i> call good. In order to understand this, a certain -courage is necessary, and, as a prerequisite of this, a certain -superfluity of strength: for a man can approach only as near to truth -as he has the courage to advance—that is to say, everything -depends strictly upon the measure of his strength. Knowledge, and the -affirmation of reality, are just as necessary to the strong man as -cowardice, the flight from reality—in fact, the "ideal"—are -necessary to the weak inspired by weakness.... These people are not at -liberty to "know,"—decadents stand in need of lies,—it is -one of their self-preservative measures. He who not only understands -the word "Dionysian," but understands <i>himself</i> in that term, does -not require any refutation of Plato, or of Christianity, or of -Schopenhauer—for his nose <i>scents decomposition.</i></p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>The extent to which I had by means of these doctrines discovered the -idea of "tragedy," the ultimate explanation of what the psychology of -tragedy is, I discussed finally in <i>The Twilight of the Idols</i> (Aph. -5, part 10).... "The saying of yea to life, and even to its weirdest -and most difficult problems: the will to life rejoicing at its own -infinite vitality in the sacrifice of its highest types—that is what I -called Dionysian, that is what I meant as the bridge to the psychology -of the tragic poet. Not to cast out terror and pity, or to purge one's -self of dangerous passion by discharging it with vehemence,—this was -Aristotle's<a name="FNanchor_2_11" id="FNanchor_2_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_11" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> misunderstanding of it,—but to be far beyond terror -and pity and to be the eternal lust of Becoming itself—that lust -which also involves the joy of destruction." ... In this sense I have -the right to regard myself as the first <i>tragic philosopher</i>—that is -to say, the most extreme antithesis and antipodes of a pessimistic -philosopher. Before my time no such thing existed as this translation -of the Dionysian phenomenon into philosophic emotion: tragic wisdom was -lacking; in vain have I sought for signs of it even among the great -Greeks in philosophy—those belonging to the two centuries before -Socrates. I still remained a little doubtful about Heraclitus, in whose -presence, alone, I felt warmer and more at ease than anywhere else. -The yea-saying to the impermanence and annihilation of things, which -is the decisive feature of a Dionysian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> philosophy; the yea-saying to -contradiction and war, the postulation of Becoming, together with the -radical rejection even of the concept <i>Being</i>— in all these things, at -all events, I must recognise him who has come nearest to me in thought -hither to. The doctrine of the "Eternal Recurrence"—that is to say, -of the absolute and eternal repetition of all things in periodical -cycles—this doctrine of Zarathustra's might, it is true, have been -taught before. In any case, the Stoics, who derived nearly all their -fundamental ideas from Heraclitus, show traces of it.</p> - -<p>A tremendous hope finds expression in this work. After all, I have -absolutely no reason to renounce the hope for a Dionysian future of -music. Let us look a century ahead, and let us suppose that my attempt -to destroy two millenniums of hostility to Nature and of the violation -of humanity be crowned with success That new party of life-advocates, -which will undertake the greatest of all tasks, the elevation and -perfection of mankind, as well as the relentless destruction of all -degenerate and parasitical elements, will make that <i>superabundance -of life</i> on earth once more possible, out of which the Dionysian -state will perforce arise again. I promise the advent of a tragic -age: the highest art in the saying of yea to life, "tragedy," will be -born again when mankind has the knowledge of the hardest, but most -necessary of wars, behind it, without, however, suffering from that -knowledge.... A psychologist might add that what I heard in Wagnerian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -music in my youth and early manhood had nothing whatsoever to do with -Wagner; that when I described Dionysian music, I described merely -what <i>I</i> personally had heard—that I was compelled instinctively to -translate and transfigure everything into the new spirit which filled -my breast. A proof of this, and as strong a proof as you could have, -is my essay, <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i>: in all its decisive psychological -passages I am the only person concerned—without any hesitation you may -read my name or the word "Zarathustra" wherever the text contains the -name of Wagner. The whole panorama of the <i>dithyrambic</i> artist is the -representation of the already existing author of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and -it is drawn with an abysmal depth which does not even once come into -contact with the real Wagner. Wagner himself had a notion of the truth; -he did not recognise himself in the essay.—In this way, "the idea of -Bayreuth" was changed into something which to those who are acquainted -with my <i>Zarathustra</i> will be no riddle—that is to say, into the -Great Noon when the highest of the elect will consecrate themselves -for the greatest of all duties—who knows? the vision of a feast which -I may live to see.... The pathos of the first few pages is universal -history; the look which is discussed on page 105<a name="FNanchor_3_12" id="FNanchor_3_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_12" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> of the book, is the -actual look of <i>Zarathustra;</i> Wagner, Bayreuth, the whole of this petty -German wretchedness, is a cloud upon which an infinite Fata Morgana -of the future is reflected. Even from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> psychological standpoint, -all the decisive traits in my character are introduced into Wagner's -nature—the juxtaposition of the most brilliant and most fatal forces, -a Will to Power such as no man has ever possessed—inexorable bravery -in matters spiritual, an unlimited power of learning unaccompanied by -depressed powers for action. Everything in this essay is a prophecy: -the proximity of the resurrection of the Greek spirit, the need of men -who will be counter-Alexanders, who will once more tie the Gordian knot -of Greek culture, after it has been cut. Listen to the world-historic -accent with which the concept "sense for the tragic" is introduced -on page 180: there are little else but world-historic accents in -this essay. This is the strangest kind of "objectivity" that ever -existed: my absolute certainty in regard to what I <i>am,</i> projected -itself into any chance reality—truth about myself was voiced from out -appalling depths. On pages 174 and 175 the style of <i>Zarathustra</i> is -described and foretold with incisive certainty, and no more magnificent -expression will ever be found than that on pages 144-147 for the event -for which <i>Zarathustra</i> stands—that prodigious act of the purification -and consecration of mankind.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_10" id="Footnote_1_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_10"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Those Germans who, like Nietzsche or Goethe, recognised -that politics constituted a danger to culture, and who appreciated the -literature of maturer cultures, such as that of France, are called -<i>un-deutsch</i> (un-German) by Imperialistic Germans.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_11" id="Footnote_2_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_11"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Aristotle's <i>Poetics</i>, c. vi.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_12" id="Footnote_3_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_12"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This number and those which follow refer to <i>Thoughts out -of Season,</i> Part I. in this edition of Nietzsche's Works.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON" id="THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON">"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>The four essays composing the <i>Thoughts out of Season</i> are thoroughly -warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -in drawing the sword—and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously -supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, -upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt -Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public -opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to -suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of -German culture—and still less the triumph of this culture; over -that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which -is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of -pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised -piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of -the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The -object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity -as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the -"historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first -time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the -third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher -concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; -and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are -presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign -contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," -"Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"—these two types -were Schopenhauer and Wagner, <i>or,</i> in a word, Nietzsche....</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The -stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger -on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation—I had told it that its -victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something -very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not -only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous -as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug -self-content—in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, -called <i>The Old and the New Faith</i> (the term "Philistine of Culture" -passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my -book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians -I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird -of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as -grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they -contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was -assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious <i>Grentzboten</i>; and it cost me -some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action -against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for -very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, -Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had -been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that -time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he -liked to refer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von -Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could -obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von -T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my -book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor -Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made -him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a -sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, -of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical -advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review -which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most -bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of -my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last -<i>humane</i> German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in -the <i>Augsburg Gazette,</i> and it can be read to-day, couched in rather -more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was -referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign -of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival -of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. -Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of -the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in -discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the -best polemical work in the German language,—the best performance in -the art of polemics, which for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> Germans is so dangerous and so strongly -to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even -greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of -language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists<a name="FNanchor_1_13" id="FNanchor_1_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_13" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for -the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his -admiration for my courage—that "greatest courage of all which places -the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects -of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has -ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany -I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the -privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, -least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise -is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put -one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's -entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my -opponent!—the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, -quite a novel kind of free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> thought found its expression in this way: -up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my -blood than the whole of that European and American species known as -<i>litres penseurs.</i> Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" -that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than -with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, -after their own fashion—that is to say, in their own image; against -that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, -if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an -"ideal." ... I am the first <i>Immoralist</i>.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - -<p>I should not like to say that the last two essays in the <i>Thoughts -out of Season,</i> associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner -respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these -two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of -course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the -second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I -already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a -theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws -its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do -something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented -educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and -self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness -and to world-historic duties, yearned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> to find expression. Roughly -speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined -types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes -opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, -in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression -at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly -sagacity, on page 183 of <i>Schopenhauer as Educator.</i> Plato made use -of Socrates in the same way—that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. -Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of -which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they -refer simply to me. The essay <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> is a vision of my -own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, -is written down in <i>Schopenhauer as Educator.</i> But, above all, the -<i>vow</i> I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold—at a height from -which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!—oh, how -far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land—I did not -deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger—<i>and</i> -success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future -which must not remain only a promise!—In this book every word has -been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not -lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with -blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its -wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being -a philosopher,—that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the -philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a -Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of -philosophy,—concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable -information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as -Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in -it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, -and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere -scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is -not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my -profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were -merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists -in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become -one thing—in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of -my fate to be a scholar for a while.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_13" id="Footnote_1_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_13"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The Purists constitute a definite body in Germany, which -is called the <i>Deutscher Sprach-Verein.</i> Their object is to banish -every foreign word from the language, and they carry this process of -ostracism even into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at -rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical. Strange -to say, their principal organ, and their other publications, are by -no means free either from solecisms or faults of style, and it is -doubtless to this curious anomaly that Nietzsche here refers.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN" id="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p><i>Human all-too-Human,</i> with its two sequels, is the memorial of a -crisis. It is called a book for free spirits: almost every sentence in -it is the expression of a triumph—by means of it I purged myself of -everything in me which was foreign to my nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> book means: "Where ye see ideal things I -see—human, alas! all-too-human things!" ... I know men better. The -word "free spirit" in this book must not be understood as anything -else than a spirit that has become free, that has once more taken -possession of itself. My tone, the pitch of my voice, has completely -changed; the book will be thought clever, cool, and at times both -hard and scornful. A certain spirituality, of noble taste, seems to -be ever struggling to dominate a passionate torrent at its feet. In -this respect there is some sense in the fact that it was the hundredth -anniversary of Voltaire's death that served, so to speak, as an excuse -for the publication of the book as early as 1878. For Voltaire, as the -opposite of every one who wrote after him, was above all a grandee of -the intellect; precisely what I am also. The name of Voltaire on one -of my writings—that was verily a step forward—in my direction.... -Looking into this book a little more closely, you perceive a pitiless -spirit who knows all the secret hiding-places in which ideals are wont -to skulk—where they find their dungeons, and, as it were, their last -refuge. With a torch in my hand, the light of which is not by any -means a flickering one, I illuminate this nether world with beams that -cut like blades. It is war, but war without powder and smoke, without -warlike attitudes, without pathos and contorted limbs—all these things -would still be "idealism." One error after the other is quietly laid -upon ice; the ideal is not refuted,—it freezes. Here, for instance, -"genius" freezes; round the corner the "saint" freezes; under a thick -icicle the "hero" freezes; and in the end "faith"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> itself freezes. -So-called "conviction" and also "pity" are considerably cooled—and -almost everywhere the "thing in itself" is freezing to death.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This book was begun during the first musical festival at Bayreuth; a -feeling of profound strangeness towards everything that surrounded -me there, is one of its first conditions. He who has any notion of -the visions which even at that time had flitted across my path, will -be able to guess what I felt when one day I came to my senses in -Bayreuth. It was just as if I had been dreaming. Where on earth was I? -I recognised nothing that I saw; I scarcely recognised Wagner. It was -in vain that I called up reminiscences. Tribschen—remote island of -bliss: not the shadow of a resemblance! The incomparable days devoted -to the laying of the first stone, the small group of the initiated -who celebrated them, and who were far from lacking fingers for the -handling of delicate things: not the shadow of a resemblance! <i>What -had happened?</i>—Wagner had been translated into German! The Wagnerite -had become master of Wagner!<i>—German</i> art! the German master! German -beer!... We who know only too well the kind of refined artists and -cosmopolitanism in taste, to which alone Wagner's art can appeal, were -beside ourselves at the sight of Wagner bedecked with German virtues. -I think I know the Wagnerite, I have experienced three generations -of them, from Brendel of blessed memory, who confounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> Wagner with -Hegel, to the "idealists" of the <i>Bayreuth Gazette,</i> who confound -Wagner with themselves,—I have been the recipient of every kind of -confession about Wagner, from "beautiful souls." My kingdom for just -one intelligent word I—In very truth, a blood-curdling company! Nohl, -Pohl, and <i>Kohl</i><a name="FNanchor_1_14" id="FNanchor_1_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_14" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and others of their kidney to infinity! There -was not a single abortion that was lacking among them—no, not even -the anti-Semite.—Poor Wagner! Into whose hands had he fallen? If -only he had gone into a herd of swine! But among Germans! Some day, -for the edification of posterity, one ought really to have a genuine -Bayreuthian stuffed, or, better still, preserved in spirit,—for -it is precisely spirit that is lacking in this quarter,—with this -inscription at the foot of the jar: "A sample of the spirit whereon -the 'German Empire' was founded." ... But enough! In the middle of -the festivities I suddenly packed my trunk and left the place for a -few weeks, despite the fact that a charming Parisian lady sought to -comfort me; I excused myself to Wagner simply by means of a fatalistic -telegram. In a little spot called Klingenbrunn, deeply buried in the -recesses of the Bohmerwald, I carried my melancholy and my contempt of -Germans about with me like an illness—and, from time to time, under -the general title of "The Plough-share," I wrote a sentence or two down -in my note-book, nothing but severe psychological stuff, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> it is -possible may have found its way into <i>Human, all-too-Human.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>That which had taken place in me, then, was not only a breach with -Wagner—I was suffering from a general aberration of my instincts, -of which a mere isolated blunder, whether it were Wagner or my -professorship at Bâle, was nothing more than a symptom. I was seized -with a fit of impatience with myself; I saw that it was high time that -I should turn my thoughts upon my own lot. In a trice I realised, with -appalling clearness, how much time had already been squandered—how -futile and how senseless my whole existence as a philologist appeared -by the side of my life-task. I was ashamed of this false modesty.... -Ten years were behind me, during which, to tell the truth, the -nourishment of my spirit had been at a standstill, during which I had -added not a single useful fragment to my knowledge, and had forgotten -countless things in the pursuit of a hotch-potch of dry-as-dust -scholarship. To crawl with meticulous care and short-sighted eyes -through old Greek metricians—that is what I had come to!... Moved to -pity I saw myself quite thin, quite emaciated: realities were only too -plainly absent from my stock of knowledge, and what the "idealities" -were worth the devil alone knew! A positively burning thirst overcame -me: and from that time forward I have done literally nothing else than -study physiology, medicine, and natural science—I even returned to -the actual study of history only when my life-task compelled me to. It -was at that time, too, that I first divined the relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> between an -instinctively repulsive occupation, a so-called vocation, which is the -last thing to which one is "called" and that need of lulling a feeling -of emptiness and hunger, by means of an art which is a narcotic—by -means of Wagner's art, for instance. After looking carefully about -me, I have discovered that a large number of young men are all in the -same state of distress: one kind of unnatural practice perforce leads -to another. In Germany, or rather, to avoid all ambiguity, in the -Empire,<a name="FNanchor_2_15" id="FNanchor_2_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_15" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> only too many are condemned to determine their choice too -soon, and then to pine away beneath a burden that they can no longer -throw off.... Such creatures crave for Wagner as for an opiate,—they -are thus able to forget themselves, to be rid of themselves for a -moment.... What am I saying!—for five or six hours.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>At this time my instincts turned resolutely against any further -yielding or following on my part, and any further misunderstanding -of myself. Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, -illness, poverty—anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified -"selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my -ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to -laziness—the so-called "sense of duty." At this juncture there came to -my help, in a way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> that I cannot sufficiently admire, and precisely at -the right time, that evil heritage which I derive from my father's side -of the family, and which, at bottom, is no more than a predisposition -to die young. Illness slowly liberated me from the toils, it spared me -any sort of sudden breach, any sort of violent and offensive step. At -that time I lost not a particle of the good will of others, but rather -added to my store. Illness likewise gave me the right completely to -reverse my mode of life; it not only allowed, it actually commanded, -me to forget; it bestowed upon me the necessity of lying still, of -having leisure, of waiting, and of exercising patience.... But all -this means thinking!... The state of my eyes alone put an end to all -book-wormishness, or, in plain English—philology: I was thus delivered -from books; for years I ceased from reading, and this was the greatest -boon I ever conferred upon myself! That nethermost self, which was, -as it were, entombed, and which had grown dumb because it had been -forced to listen perpetually to other selves (for that is what reading -means!), slowly awakened; at first it was shy and doubtful, but at -last it <i>spoke again</i> Never have I rejoiced more over my condition -than during the sickest and most painful moments of my life. You have -only to examine <i>The Dawn of Day,</i> or, perhaps, <i>The Wanderer and -his Shadow,</i><a name="FNanchor_3_16" id="FNanchor_3_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_16" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in order to understand what this "return to myself" -actually meant: in itself it was the highest kind of recovery!... My -cure was simply the result of it.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p><i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> this monument of a course of vigorous -self-discipline, by means of which I put an abrupt end to all the -"Superior Bunkum," "Idealism," "Beautiful Feelings," and other -effeminacies that had percolated into my being, was written principally -in Sorrento; it was finished and given definite shape during a winter -at Bâle, under conditions far less favourable than those in Sorrento. -Truth to tell, it was Peter Gast, at that time a student at the -University of Bâle, and a devoted friend of mine, who was responsible -for the book. With my head wrapped in bandages, and extremely painful, -I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along—to be -accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author. -When the completed book ultimately reached me,—to the great surprise -of the serious invalid I then was,—I sent, among others, two copies -to Bayreuth. Thanks to a miraculous flash of intelligence on the part -of chance, there reached me precisely at the same time a splendid copy -of the <i>Parsifal</i> text, with the following inscription from Wagner's -pen: "To his dear friend Friedrich Nietzsche, from Richard Wagner, -Ecclesiastical Councillor." At this crossing of the two books I seemed -to hear an ominous note. Did it not sound as if two swords had crossed? -At all events we both felt this was so, for each of us remained silent. -At about this time the first Bayreuth Pamphlets appeared: and I then -understood the move on my part for which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> it was high time. Incredible! -Wagner had become pious.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>My attitude to myself at that time (1876), and the unearthly certitude -with which I grasped my life-task and all its world-historic -consequences, is well revealed throughout the book, but more -particularly in one very significant passage, despite the fact that, -with my instinctive cunning, I once more circumvented the use of -the little word "I,"—not however, this time, in order to shed -world-historic glory on the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but on -that of another of my friends, the excellent Dr. Paul Rée—fortunately -much too acute a creature to be deceived—others were less subtle. -Among my readers I have a number of hopeless people, the typical -German professor for instance, who can always be recognised from the -fact that, judging from the passage in question, he feels compelled to -regard the whole book as a sort of superior Realism. As a matter of -fact it contradicts five or six of my friend's utterances: only read -the introduction to <i>The Genealogy of Morals</i> on this question.—The -passage above referred to reads: "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>" (read Nietzsche, the first -Immoralist), "has attained by means of his incisive and decisive -analysis of human actions? 'The moral man,' he says is no nearer to the -intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the physical man, for there -is no intelligible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> world.' This theory, hardened and sharpened under -the hammer-blow of historical knowledge" (read <i>The Transvaluation -of all Values</i>), "may some time or other, perhaps in some future -period,—1890!—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."<a name="FNanchor_4_17" id="FNanchor_4_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_17" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_14" id="Footnote_1_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_14"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nohl and Pohl were both writers on music; Kohl, however, -which literally means cabbage, is a slang expression, denoting superior -nonsense.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_15" id="Footnote_2_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_15"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Needless to say, Nietzsche distinguishes between -Bismarckian Germany and that other Germany—Austria, Switzerland, and -the Baltic Provinces—where the German language is also spoken.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_16" id="Footnote_3_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_16"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> Part II. in this edition.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_17" id="Footnote_4_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_17"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> vol. i. Aph. 37.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THE_DAWN_OF_DAY" id="THE_DAWN_OF_DAY">"THE DAWN OF DAY:</a></h4> - -<h5>THOUGHTS ABOUT MORALITY AS A PREJUDICE"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>With this book I open my campaign against morality. Not that it is at -all redolent of powder—you will find quite other and much nicer smells -in it, provided that you have any keenness in your nostrils. There -is nothing either of light or of heavy artillery in its composition, -and if its general end be a negative one, its means are not so—means -out of which the end follows like a logical conclusion, <i>not</i> like a -cannon-shot. And if the reader takes leave of this book with a feeling -of timid caution in regard to everything which has hitherto been -honoured and even worshipped under the name of morality, it does not -alter the fact that there is not one negative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> word, not one attack, -and not one single piece of malice in the whole work—on the contrary, -it lies in the sunshine, smooth and happy, like a marine animal, -basking in the sun between two rocks. For, after all, I was this marine -animal: almost every sentence in the book was thought out, or rather -<i>caught,</i> among that medley of rocks in the neighbourhood of Genoa, -where I lived quite alone, and exchanged secrets with the ocean. Even -to this day, when by chance I happen to turn over the leaves of this -book, almost every sentence seems to me like a hook by means of which I -draw something incomparable out of the depths; its whole skin quivers -with delicate shudders of recollection. This book is conspicuous for no -little art in gently catching things which whisk rapidly and silently -away, moments which I call godlike lizards—not with the cruelty of -that young Greek god who simply transfixed the poor little beast; -but nevertheless with something pointed—with a pen. "There are so -many dawns which have not yet shed their light"—this Indian maxim is -written over the doorway of this book. Where does its author seek that -new morning, that delicate red, as yet undiscovered, with which another -day—ah! a whole series of days, a whole world of new days!—will -begin? In the <i>Transvaluation of all Values,</i> in an emancipation from -all moral values, in a saying of yea, and in an attitude of trust, to -all that which hitherto has been forbidden, despised, and damned. This -yea-saying book projects its light, its love, its tenderness, over all -evil things, it restores to them their soul, their clear conscience, -and their superior right and privilege to exist on earth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> Morality is -not assailed, it simply ceases to be considered. This book closes with -the word "or?"—it is the only book which closes with an "or?".</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>My life-task is to prepare for humanity one supreme moment in which it -can come to its senses, a Great Noon in which it will turn its gaze -backwards and forwards, in which it will step from under the yoke -of accident and of priests, and for the first time set the question -of the Why and Wherefore of humanity as a whole—this life-task -naturally follows out of the conviction that mankind does <i>not</i> get -on the right road of its own accord, that it is by no means divinely -ruled, but rather that it is precisely under the cover of its most -holy valuations that the instinct of negation, of corruption, and of -degeneration has held such a seductive sway. The question concerning -the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest -importance to me because it determines the future of mankind. The -demand made upon us to believe that everything is really in the best -hands, that a certain book, the Bible, gives us the definite and -comforting assurance that there is a Providence that wisely rules the -fate of man,—when translated back into reality amounts simply to this, -namely, the will to stifle the truth which maintains the reverse of -all this, which is that hitherto man has been in the <i>worst possible</i> -hands, and that he has been governed by the physiologically botched, -the men of cunning and burning revengefulness, and the so-called -"saints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>"—those slanderers of the world and traducers of humanity. -The definite proof of the fact that the priest (including the priest -in disguise, the philosopher) has become master, not only within a -certain limited religious community, but everywhere, and that the -morality of decadence, the will to nonentity, has become morality -<i>per se,</i> is to be found in this: that altruism is now an absolute -value, and egoism is regarded with hostility everywhere. He who -disagrees with me on this point, I regard as infected. But all the -world disagrees with me. To a physiologist a like antagonism between -values admits of no doubt. If the most insignificant organ within the -body neglects, however slightly, to assert with absolute certainty its -self-preservative powers, its recuperative claims, and its egoism, the -whole system degenerates. The physiologist insists upon the removal of -degenerated parts, he denies all fellow-feeling for such parts, and -has not the smallest feeling of pity for them. But the desire of the -priest is precisely the degeneration of the whole of mankind; hence his -preservation of that which is degenerate—this is what his dominion -costs humanity. What meaning have those lying concepts, those handmaids -of morality, "Soul," "Spirit," "Free will," "God," if their aim is not -the physiological ruin of mankind? When earnestness is diverted from -the instincts that aim at self-preservation and an increase of bodily -energy, <i>i.e.</i> at an <i>increase of life</i>; when anæmia is raised to an -ideal and the contempt of the body is construed as "the salvation of -the soul," what is all this if it is not a recipe for decadence? Loss -of ballast, resistance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> offered to natural instincts, selflessness, -in fact—this is what has hitherto been known as morality. With <i>The -Dawn of Day</i> I first engaged in a struggle against the morality of -self-renunciation.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA" id="JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA">"JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p><i>Dawn of Day</i> is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The -same applies once more and in the highest degree to <i>La Gaya Scienza:</i> -in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go -gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most -wonderful month of January which I have ever lived—the whole book is a -gift—sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has -here become joyful.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Thou who with cleaving fiery lances<br /> -The stream of my soul from its ice dost free,<br /> -Till with a rush and a roar it advances<br /> -To enter with glorious hoping the sea:<br /> -Brighter to see and purer ever,<br /> -Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,—<br /> -So it praises thy wondrous endeavour,<br /> -January, thou beauteous saint!"<a name="FNanchor_1_18" id="FNanchor_1_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_18" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when -he has realised the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's -words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth -book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third -book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs -of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in -Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "<i>Gaya -Scienza,</i>" of that union of <i>singer, knight, and free spirit,</i> which -distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from -all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"—an -exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances -freely upon the corpse of morality,—is a perfect Provençalism.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_18" id="Footnote_1_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_18"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated for <i>Joyful Wisdom</i> by Paul V. Cohn.—TR.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE" id="THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE">"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA: A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I now wish to relate the history of <i>Zarathustra.</i> The fundamental -idea of the work, the <i>Eternal Recurrence,</i> the highest formula of -a Yea-saying to life that can ever be attained, was first conceived -in the month of August 1881. I made a note of the idea on a sheet of -paper, with the postscript: "Six thousand feet beyond man and time." -That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the -Lake of Silvaplana, and I halted not far from Surlei, beside a huge -rock that towered aloft like a pyramid. It was then that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> the thought -struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months before -this inspiration I had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden -and decisive change in my tastes—more particularly in music. The -whole of <i>Zarathustra</i> might perhaps be classified under the rubric -music. At all events, the essential condition of its production was -a second birth within me of the art of hearing. In Recoaro, a small -mountain resort near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and -my friend and maestro, Peter Gast—who was also one who had been born -again, discovered that the phœnix music hovered over us, in lighter -and brighter plumage than it had ever worn before. If, therefore, I -now calculate from that day forward the sudden production of the book, -under the most unlikely circumstances, in February 1883,—the last -part, out of which I quoted a few lines in my preface, was written -precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost -in Venice,—I come to the conclusion that the period of gestation -covered eighteen months. This period of exactly eighteen months, -might suggest, at least to Buddhists, that I am in reality a female -elephant The interval was devoted to the <i>Gaya Scienza,</i> which contains -hundreds of indications of the proximity of something unparalleled; -for, after all, it shows the beginning of <i>Zarathustra,</i> since it -presents <i>Zarathustra's</i> fundamental thought in the last aphorism -but one of the fourth book. To this interval also belongs that <i>Hymn -to Life</i> (for a mixed choir and orchestra), the score of which was -published in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> Leipzig two years ago by E. W. Fritsch, and which gave -perhaps no slight indication of my spiritual state during this year, -in which the essentially yea-saying pathos, which I call the tragic -pathos, completely filled me heart and limb. One day people will sing -it to my memory. The text, let it be well understood, as there is -some misunderstanding abroad on this point, is not by me; it was the -astounding inspiration of a young Russian lady, Miss Lou von Salome, -with whom I was then on friendly terms. He who is in any way able -to make some sense of the last words of the poem, will divine why I -preferred and admired it: there is greatness in them. Pain is not -regarded as an objection to existence: "And if thou hast no bliss now -left to crown me—Lead on! Thou hast thy Sorrow still."</p> - -<p>Maybe that my music is also great in this passage. (The last note of -the oboe, by the bye, is C sharp, not C. The latter is a misprint.) -During the following winter, I was living on that charmingly peaceful -Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, which cuts inland between Chiavari -and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold -and exceptionally rainy; and the small <i>albergo</i> in which I lived -was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if -the sea was rough. These circumstances were surely the very reverse -of favourable; and yet, in spite of it all, and as if in proof of my -belief that everything decisive comes to life in defiance of every -obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these -unfavourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> circumstances that my <i>Zarathustra</i> originated. In the -morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious -road to Zoagli, which rises up through a forest of pines and gives -one a view far out to sea. In the afternoon, or as often as my health -allowed, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond -Porto Fino. This spot affected me all the more deeply because it was -so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I -chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small forgotten -world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that -all <i>Zarathustra</i> came to me, above all, Zarathustra himself as a -type—I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that <i>he waylaid -me</i>.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>In order to understand this type, you must first be quite clear -concerning its fundamental physiological condition: this condition -is what I call <i>great healthiness.</i> In regard to this idea I cannot -make my meaning more plain or more personal than I have done already -in one of the last aphorisms (No. 382) of the fifth book of the <i>Gaya -Scienza</i>: "We new, nameless, and unfathomable creatures," so reads -the passage, "we firstlings of a future still unproved—we who have a -new end in view also require new means to that end, that is to say, -a new healthiness, a stronger, keener, tougher, bolder, and merrier -healthiness than any that has existed heretofore. He who longs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -feel in his own soul the whole range of values and aims that have -prevailed on earth until his day, and to sail round all the coasts -of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea'; who, from the adventures of his -own inmost experience, would fain know how it feels to be a conqueror -and discoverer of the ideal;—as also how it is with the artist, the -saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the man of piety and the -godlike anchorite of yore;—such a man requires one thing above all -for his purpose, and that is, <i>great healthiness</i>—such healthiness as -he not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, -because he is continually sacrificing it again, and is compelled to -sacrifice it! And now, therefore, after having been long on the way, -we Argonauts of the ideal, whose pluck is greater than prudence would -allow, and who are often shipwrecked and bruised, but, as I have said, -healthier than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, and for -ever recovering our health—it would seem as if we had before us, as -a reward for all our toils, a country still undiscovered, the horizon -of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to every country and every -refuge of the ideal that man has ever known, a world so overflowing -with beauty, strangeness, doubt, terror, and divinity, that both our -curiosity and our lust of possession are frantic with eagerness. Alas! -how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our -conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with <i>the man -of the present day</i>? This is bad indeed; but, that we should regard -his worthiest aims and hopes with ill-concealed amusement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> or perhaps -give them no thought at all, is inevitable. Another ideal now leads -us on, a wonderful, seductive ideal, full of danger, the pursuit of -which we should be loath to urge upon any one, because we are not so -ready to acknowledge any one's <i>right to it:</i> the ideal of a spirit who -plays ingenuously (that is to say, involuntarily, and as the outcome -of superabundant energy and power) with everything that, hitherto, -has been called holy, good, inviolable, and divine; to whom even the -loftiest thing that the people have with reason made their measure of -value would be no better than a danger, a decay, and an abasement, or -at least a relaxation and temporary forgetfulness of self: the ideal -of a humanly superhuman well-being and goodwill, which often enough -will seem inhuman—as when, for instance, it stands beside all past -earnestness on earth, and all past solemnities in hearing, speech, -tone, look, morality, and duty, as their most lifelike and unconscious -parody—but with which, nevertheless, <i>great earnestness</i> perhaps alone -begins, the first note of interrogation is affixed, the fate of the -soul changes, the hour hand moves, and tragedy begins."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion -of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? -If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of -superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible completely to -set aside the idea that one is the mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> incarnation, mouthpiece, or -medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation, in the sense -that something which profoundly convulses and upsets one becomes -suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and -accuracy—describes the simple fact. One hears—one does not seek; one -takes—one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like -lightning, it comes with necessity, without faltering—I have never had -any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy so great that the immense -strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, during which -one's steps now involuntarily rush and anon involuntarily lag. There -is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct -consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations -descending to one's very toes;—there is a depth of happiness in which -the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, -but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an -overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which -embraces a whole world of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing -rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort -of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens -quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, -of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntary nature of -the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all -perception of what is imagery and metaphor; everything seems to present -itself as the readiest, the truest, and simplest means of expression. -It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> own phrases, as if all -things came to one, and offered themselves as similes. ("Here do all -things come caressingly to thy discourse and flatter thee, for they -would fain ride upon thy back. On every simile thou ridest here unto -every truth. Here fly open unto thee all the speech and word shrines -of the world, here would all existence become speech, here would -all Becoming learn of thee how to speak.") This is my experience of -inspiration. I do not doubt but that I should have to go back thousands -of years before I could find another who could say to me: "It is mine -also!"</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>For a few weeks afterwards I lay an invalid in Genoa. Then followed -a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live—and -this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to -the poet-author of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and for the choice of which I was -not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. -I wanted to go to Aquila—the opposite of Rome in every respect, and -actually founded in a spirit of hostility towards that city, just as -I also shall found a city some day, as a memento of an atheist and -genuine enemy of the Church, a person very closely related to me, the -great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it -all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be -satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in -vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, -to avoid bad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the -Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for -a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from -which one obtained a general view of Rome, and could hear the fountains -plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed—"The -Night-Song." About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad -melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the affords, "dead through -immortality," ... In the summer, finding myself once more in the sacred -place where the first thought of <i>Zarathustra</i> flashed like a light -across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither -for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day -longer. In the ensuing winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which -then for the first time poured its light into my life, I found the -third <i>Zarathustra</i>—and came to the end of my task: the whole having -occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the -country round about Nice are hallowed for me by moments that I can -never forget. That decisive chapter, entitled "Old and New Tables," -was composed during the arduous ascent from the station to Eza—that -wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. During those moments when my -creative energy flowed most plentifully, my muscular activity was -always greatest. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of -"soul." I might often have been seen dancing in those days, and I could -then walk for seven or eight hours on end over the hills without a -suggestion of fatigue. I slept well and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> laughed a good deal—I was -perfectly robust and patient.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>With the exception of these periods of industry lasting ten days, the -years I spent during the production of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and thereafter, -were for me years of unparalleled distress. A man pays dearly for -being immortal: to this end he must die many times over during his -life. There is such a thing as what I call the rancour of greatness: -everything great, whether a work or a deed, once it is completed, turns -immediately against its author. The very fact that he is its author -makes him weak at this time. He can no longer endure his deed. He can -no longer look it full in the face. To have something at one's back -which one could never have willed, something to which the knot of human -destiny is attached—and to be forced thenceforward to bear it on one's -shoulders! Why, it almost crushes one! The rancour of greatness! A -somewhat different experience is the uncanny silence that reigns about -one. Solitude has seven skins which nothing can penetrate. One goes -among men; one greets friends: but these things are only new deserts, -the looks of those one meets no longer bear a greeting. At the best -one encounters a sort of revolt. This feeling of revolt, I suffered, -in varying degrees of intensity, at the hands of almost every one who -came near me; it would seem that nothing inflicts a deeper wound than -suddenly to make one's distance felt. Those noble natures are scarce -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> know not how to live unless they can revere. A third thing is -the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of -helplessness in the presence of all small things. This seems to me a -necessary outcome of the appalling expenditure of all defensive forces, -which is the first condition of every <i>creative</i> act, of every act -which proceeds from the most intimate, most secret, and most concealed -recesses of a man's being. The small defensive forces are thus, as it -were, suspended, and no fresh energy reaches them. I even think it -probable that one does not digest so well, that one is less willing -to move, and that one is much too open to sensations of coldness and -suspicion; for, in a large number of cases, suspicion is merely a -blunder in etiology. On one occasion when I felt like this I became -conscious of the proximity of a herd of cows, some time before I could -possibly have seen it with my eyes, simply owing to a return in me of -milder and more humane sentiments: <i>they</i> communicated warmth to me....</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>This work stands alone. Do not let us mention the poets in the -same breath; nothing perhaps has ever been produced out of such a -superabundance of strength. My concept "Dionysian" here became the -<i>highest</i> deed; compared with it everything that other men have done -seems poor and limited. The fact that a Goethe or a Shakespeare would -not for an instant have known how to take breath in this atmosphere of -passion and of the heights; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> fact that by the side of Zarathustra, -Dante is no more than a believer, and not one who first <i>creates</i> the -truth—that is to say, not a world-ruling spirit, a <i>Fate</i>; the fact -that the poets of the Veda were priests and not even fit to unfasten -Zarathustra's sandal—all this is the least of things, and gives no -idea of the distance, of the azure solitude, in which this work dwells. -Zarathustra has an eternal right to say: "I draw around me circles and -holy boundaries. Ever fewer are they that mount with me to ever loftier -heights. I build me a mountain range of ever holier mountains." If all -the spirit and goodness of every great soul were collected together, -the whole could not create a single one of Zarathustra's discourses. -The ladder upon which he rises and descends is of boundless length; -he has seen further, he has willed further, and <i>gone</i> further than -any other man. There is contradiction in every word that he utters, -this most yea-saying of all spirits. Through him all contradictions -are bound up into a new unity. The loftiest and the basest powers of -human nature, the sweetest, the lightest, and the most terrible, rush -forth from out one spring with everlasting certainty. Until his coming -no one knew what was height, or depth, and still less what was truth. -There is not a single passage in this revelation of truth which had -already been anticipated and divined by even the greatest among men. -Before Zarathustra there was no wisdom, no probing of the soul, no art -of speech: in his book, the most familiar and most vulgar thing utters -unheard-of words. The sentence quivers with passion. Eloquence has -become music. Forks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> lightning are hurled towards futures of which -no one has ever dreamed before. The most powerful use of parables that -has yet existed is poor beside it, and mere child's-play compared with -this return of language to the nature of imagery. See how Zarathustra -goes down from the mountain and speaks the kindest words to every -one! See with what delicate fingers he touches his very adversaries, -the priests, and how he suffers with them from themselves! Here, at -every moment, man is overcome, and the concept "Superman" becomes the -greatest reality,—out of sight, almost far away beneath him, lies -all that which heretofore has been called great in man. The halcyonic -brightness, the light feet, the presence of wickedness and exuberance -throughout, and all that is the essence of the type Zarathustra, was -never dreamt of before as a prerequisite of greatness. In precisely -these limits of space and in this accessibility to opposites -Zarathustra feels himself the <i>highest of all living things</i>: and when -you hear how he defines this highest, you will give up trying to find -his equal.</p> - -<p>"The soul which hath the longest ladder and can step down deepest,</p> - -<p>"The vastest soul that can run and stray and rove furthest in its own -domain,</p> - -<p>"The most necessary soul, that out of desire flingeth itself to chance,</p> - -<p>"The stable soul that plungeth into Becoming, the possessing soul that -must needs taste of willing and longing,</p> - -<p>"The soul that flyeth from itself, and over-taketh itself in the widest -circle,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The wisest soul that folly exhorteth most sweetly,</p> - -<p>"The most self-loving soul, in whom all things have their rise, their -ebb and flow."</p> - -<p>But this is the very idea of Dionysus. Another consideration leads -to this idea. The psychological problem presented by the type of -Zarathustra is, how can he, who in an unprecedented manner says -no, and <i>acts</i> no, in regard to all that which has been affirmed -hitherto, remain nevertheless a yea-saying spirit? how can he who -bears the heaviest destiny on his shoulders and whose very life-task -is a fatality, yet be the brightest and the most transcendental -of spirits—for Zarathustra is a dancer? how can he who has the -hardest and most terrible grasp of reality, and who has thought the -most "abysmal thoughts," nevertheless avoid conceiving these things -as objections to existence, or even as objections to the eternal -recurrence of existence?—how is it that on the contrary he finds -reasons for <i>being himself</i> the eternal affirmation of all things, "the -tremendous and unlimited saying of Yea and Amen"?... "Into every abyss -do I bear the benediction of my yea to Life." ... But this, once more, -is precisely the idea of Dionysus.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>What language will such a spirit speak, when he speaks unto his soul? -The language of the <i>dithyramb.</i> I am the inventor of the dithyramb. -Hearken unto the manner in which Zarathustra speaks to his soul <i>Before -Sunrise</i> (iii. 48). Before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> my time such emerald joys and divine -tenderness had found no tongue. Even the profoundest melancholy of -such a Dionysus takes shape as a dithyramb. As an example of this I -take "The Night-Song,"—the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his -superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is -condemned never to love.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover.</p> - -<p>"Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise -its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the -language of love.</p> - -<p>"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I -am begirt with light.</p> - -<p>"Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I -then suck at the breasts of light!</p> - -<p>"And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on -high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light.</p> - -<p>"But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the -flames I send forth.</p> - -<p>"I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft -have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking.</p> - -<p>"Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate -is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover -the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the -end of the feast!</p> - -<p>"They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there -'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be -bridged.</p> - -<p>"An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to -them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I -have given:—thus do I thirst for wickedness.</p> - -<p>"To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the -waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:—thus do I thirst for -wickedness.</p> - -<p>"For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my -loneliness give birth.</p> - -<p>"My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue -grow weary of itself.</p> - -<p>"He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing -groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom.</p> - -<p>"Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's -shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden -hands.</p> - -<p>"Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my -heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons!</p> - -<p>"Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do -they speak with their light—to me alone are they silent.</p> - -<p>"Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it -runneth its course.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward -suns,—thus doth every sun go its way.</p> - -<p>"Like a tempest do the suns fly over their course: for such is their -way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness.</p> - -<p>"Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, -that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk -and comfort from the udders of light.</p> - -<p>"Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice!</p> - -<p>"Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst!</p> - -<p>"It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after -darkness! And loneliness!</p> - -<p>"It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,—for -speech do I long.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>Such things have never been written, never been felt, never been -<i>suffered:</i> only a God, only Dionysus suffers in this way. The reply -to such a dithyramb on the sun's solitude in light would be Ariadne. -... Who knows, but I, who Ariadne is! To all such riddles no one -heretofore had ever found an answer; I doubt even whether any one had -ever seen a riddle here. One day Zarathustra severely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> determines his -life-task—and it is also mine. Let no one misunderstand its meaning. -It's a yea-saying to the point of justifying, to the point of redeeming -even all that is past.</p> - -<p>"I walk among men as among fragments of the future: of that future -which I see.</p> - -<p>"And all my creativeness and effort is but this, that I may be able to -think and recast all these fragments and riddles and dismal accidents -into one piece.</p> - -<p>"And how could I bear to be a man, if man were not also a poet, a -riddle reader, and a redeemer of chance!</p> - -<p>"To redeem all the past, and to transform every 'it was' into 'thus -would I have it'—that alone would be my salvation!"</p> - -<p>In another passage he defines as strictly as possible what to him alone -"man" can be,—not a subject for love nor yet for pity—Zarathustra -became master even of his loathing of man: man is to him a thing -unshaped, raw material, an ugly stone that needs the sculptor's chisel.</p> - -<p>"No longer to will, no longer to value, no longer to create! Oh, that -this great weariness may never be mine!</p> - -<p>"Even in the lust of knowledge, I feel only the joy of my will to beget -and to grow; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because -my procreative will is in it.</p> - -<p>"Away from God and gods did this will lure me: what would there be to -create if there were gods?</p> - -<p>"But to man doth it ever drive me anew, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> burning, creative will. -Thus driveth it the hammer to the stone.</p> - -<p>"Alas, ye men, within the stone there sleepeth an image for me, the -image of all my dreams! Alas, that it should have to sleep in the -hardest and ugliest stone!</p> - -<p>"<i>Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison.</i> From the stone -the fragments fly: what's that to me?</p> - -<p>"I will finish it: for a shadow came unto me—the stillest and lightest -thing on earth once came unto me!</p> - -<p>"The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Alas, my -brethren! What are the—gods to me now?"</p> - -<p>Let me call attention to one last point of view. The line in italics is -my pretext for this remark. A Dionysian life-task needs the hardness of -the hammer, and one of its first essentials is without doubt the <i>joy -even of destruction.</i> The command, "Harden yourselves!" and the deep -conviction that <i>all creators are hard,</i> is the really distinctive sign -of a Dionysian nature.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL" id="BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL">BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL:</a></h4> - - -<h5>"THE PRELUDE TO A PHILOSOPHY OF THE FUTURE"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly -as possible. Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was -accomplished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> there came the turn of the negative portion, both in -word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed -hitherto, the great war,—the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal -outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had slowly to -look about me for my peers, for those who, <i>out of strength,</i> would -proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time -onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much -about fishing as most people? If nothing was <i>caught,</i> it was not I who -was at fault <i>There were no fish to come and bite.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of -<i>modernity,</i> embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, -together with certain indications as to a type which would be the -reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble -and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a <i>school -for gentlemen</i>—the term <i>gentleman</i> being understood here in a -much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. -All those things of which the age is proud,—as, for instance, -far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the -historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its -lying-in-the-dust before <i>petits faits,</i> and the rage for science,—are -shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are -regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows -upon <i>Zarathustra,</i> you may possibly guess to what system of diet it -owes its life. The eye which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> owing to tremendous constraint, has -become accustomed to see at a great distance,—<i>Zarathustra</i> is even -more far-sighted than the Tsar,—is here forced to focus sharply that -which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about -him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this -book, the reader will find the same <i>voluntary</i> turning away from those -instincts which made a <i>Zarathustra</i> a possible feat. Refinement in -form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or -less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness -and cruelty,—the whole book does not contain one single good-natured -word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind -of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness -as is to be found in <i>Zarathustra</i>? From a theological standpoint—now -pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a -theologian—it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, -coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of -knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had -made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of -idleness, on that seventh day.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC" id="THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC">"THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS: A POLEMIC"</a></h4> - - -<p>The three essays which constitute this genealogy are, as regards -expression, aspiration, and the art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> of the unexpected, perhaps the -most curious things that have ever been written. Dionysus, as you know, -is also the god of darkness. In each case the beginning is calculated -to mystify; it is cool, scientific, even ironical, intentionally -thrust to the fore, intentionally reticent. Gradually less calmness -prevails; here and there a flash of lightning defines the horizon; -exceedingly unpleasant truths break upon your ears from out remote -distances with a dull, rumbling sound,—until very soon a fierce tempo -is attained in which everything presses forward at a terrible degree -of tension. At the end, in each case, amid fearful thunderclaps, a new -truth shines out between thick clouds. The truth of the first essays -the psychology of Christianity: the birth of Christianity out of the -spirit of resentment, not, as is supposed, out of the "Spirit,"—in -all its essentials, a counter-movement, the great insurrection against -the dominion of noble values. The second essay contains the psychology -of conscience: this is not, as you may believe, "the voice of God in -man"; it is the instinct of cruelty, which turns inwards once it is -unable to discharge itself outwardly. Cruelty is here exposed, for the -first time, as one of the oldest and most indispensable elements in the -foundation of culture. The third essay replies to the question as to -the origin of the formidable power of the ascetic ideal, of the priest -ideal, despite the fact that this ideal is essentially detrimental, -that it is a will to nonentity and to decadence. Reply: it flourished -not because God was active behind the priests, as is generally -believed, but because it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> a <i>faute de mieux</i>—from the fact that -hitherto it has been the only ideal and has had no competitors. "For -man prefers to aspire to nonentity than not to aspire at all." But -above all, until the time of <i>Zarathustra</i> there was no such thing -as a counter-ideal. You have understood my meaning. Three decisive -overtures on the part of a psychologist to a <i>Transvaluation of all -Values.</i>—This book contains the first psychology of the priest.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS" id="THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS">"THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS:</a></h4> - -<h5>HOW TO PHILOSOPHISE WITH THE HAMMER"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>This work—which covers scarcely one hundred and fifty pages, with its -cheerful and fateful tone, like a laughing demon, and the production -of which occupied so few days that I hesitate to give their number—is -altogether an exception among books: there is no work more rich in -substance, more independent, more upsetting—more wicked. If any one -should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how everything, before my -time, was standing on its head, he should begin reading me in this -book. That which is called "Idols" on the title page is simply the -old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain English, <i>The -Twilight of the Idols</i> means that the old truth is on its last legs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>There is no reality, no "ideality," which has not been touched in -this book (touched! what a cautious euphemism!). Not only the eternal -idols, but also the youngest—that is to say, the most senile: modern -ideas, for instance. A strong wind blows between the trees and in -all directions fall the fruit—the truths. There is the waste of an -all-too-rich autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush -some to death, there are too many of them. Those things that you can -grasp, however, are quite unquestionable; they are irrevocable decrees. -I alone have the criterion of "truths" in my possession. I alone <i>can</i> -decide. It would seem as if a second consciousness had grown up in me, -as if the "life-will" in me had thrown a light upon the downward path -along which it has been running throughout the ages. The <i>downward -path</i>—hitherto this had been called the road to "Truth." All obscure -impulse—"darkness and dismay"—is at an end, the "<i>good man</i>" was -precisely he who was least aware of the proper way.<a name="FNanchor_1_19" id="FNanchor_1_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_19" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> And, speaking -in all earnestness, no one before me knew the proper way, the way -upwards: only after my time could men once more find hope, life-tasks, -and roads mapped out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> that lead to culture—<i>I am the joyful harbinger -of this culture.</i> ... On this account alone I am also a fatality.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>Immediately after the completion of the above-named work, and without -letting even one day go by, I tackled the formidable task of the -<i>Transvaluation</i> with a supreme feeling of pride which nothing could -equal; and, certain at each moment of my immortality, I cut sign after -sign upon tablets of brass with the sureness of Fate. The Preface -came into being on 3rd September 1888. When, after having written it -down, I went out into the open that morning, I was greeted by the most -beautiful day I had ever seen in the Upper Engadine—clear, glowing -with colour, and presenting all the contrasts and all the intermediary -gradations between ice and the south. I left Sils-Maria only on the -20th of September. I had been forced to delay my departure owing to -floods, and I was very soon, and for some days, the only visitor in -this wonderful spot, on which my gratitude bestows the gift of an -immortal name. After a journey that was full of incidents, and not -without danger to life,—as for instance at Como, which was flooded -when I reached it in the dead of night,—I got to Turin on the -afternoon of the 21 st. Turin is the only suitable place for me, and -it shall be my home henceforward. I took the same lodgings as I had -occupied in the spring, 6111 Via Carlo Alberto, opposite the mighty -Palazzo Carignano, in which Vittorio Emanuele was born; and I had a -view of the Piazza Carlo Alberto and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> above it across to the hills. -Without hesitating, or allowing myself to be disturbed for a single -moment, I returned to my work, only the last quarter of which had still -to be written. On the 30th September, tremendous triumph; the seventh -day; the leisure of a god on the banks of the Po.<a name="FNanchor_2_20" id="FNanchor_2_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_20" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> On the same day, -I wrote the Preface to <i>The Twilight of the Idols,</i> the correction of -the proofs of which provided me with recreation during the month of -September. Never in my life have I experienced such an autumn; nor -had I ever imagined that such things were possible on earth—a Claude -Lorrain extended to infinity, each day equal to the last in its wild -perfection.</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> A witty reference to Goethe's well-known passage in the -Prologue to <i>Faust</i>:— -</p> -<p> -"A good man, though in darkness and dismay,<br /> -May still be conscious of the proper way."<br /> -</p> -<p> -The words are spoken by the Lord.—TR. </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> There is a wonderful promenade along the banks of the Po, -for which Turin is famous, and of which Nietzsche was particularly -fond.—TR.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM" id="THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM">"THE CASE OF WAGNER: A MUSICIAN'S PROBLEM"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>In order to do justice to this essay a man ought to suffer from the -fate of music as from an open wound.—From what do I suffer when I -suffer from the fate of music? From the fact that music has lost -its world-transfiguring, yea-saying character—that it is decadent -music and no longer the flute of Dionysus. Supposing, however, that -the fate of music be as dear to man as his own life, because joy and -suffering are alike bound up with it; then he will find this pamphlet -comparatively mild and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> full of consideration. To be cheerful in -such circumstances, and laugh good-naturedly with others at one's -self,—<i>ridendodicere severum</i><a name="FNanchor_1_21" id="FNanchor_1_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_21" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> when the <i>verum dicere</i> would -justify every sort of hardness,—is humanity itself. Who doubts that -I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to point my -<i>heavy</i> guns at Wagner?—Everything decisive in this question I kept -to myself—I have loved Wagner.—After all, an attack upon a more than -usually subtle "unknown person" whom another would not have divined -so easily, lies in the meaning and path of my life-task. Oh, I have -still quite a number of other "unknown persons" to unmask besides a -Cagliostro of Music! Above all, I have to direct an attack against -the German people, who, in matters of the spirit, grow every day -more indolent, poorer in instincts, and more <i>honest</i> who, with an -appetite for which they are to be envied, continue to diet themselves -on contradictions, and gulp down "Faith" in company with science, -Christian love together with anti-Semitism, and the will to power (to -the "Empire"), dished up with the gospel of the humble, without showing -the slightest signs of indigestion. Fancy this absence of party-feeling -in the presence of opposites! Fancy this gastric neutrality and -"disinterestedness"! Behold this sense of justice in the German palate, -which can grant equal rights to all,—which finds everything tasteful! -Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans are idealists. When I was last -in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Wagner and the -<i>Trumpeter of Sakkingen</i><a name="FNanchor_2_22" id="FNanchor_2_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_22" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> equal rights; while I myself witnessed -the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most -genuine and most German of musicians,—using German here in the old -sense of the word,—a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the -master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of -which was to cultivate and spread artful (<i>listige</i><a name="FNanchor_3_23" id="FNanchor_3_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_23" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>) Church music. -Without a shadow of doubt the Germans are idealists.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>But here nothing shall stop me from being rude, and from telling the -Germans one or two unpleasant home truths: who else would do it if I -did not? I refer to their laxity in matters historical. Not only have -the Germans entirely lost the <i>breadth of vision</i> which enables one -to grasp the course of culture and the values of culture; not only -are they one and all political (or Church) puppets; but they have -also actually <i>put a ban upon</i> this very breadth of vision. A man -must first and foremost be "German," he must belong to "<i>the</i> race"; -then only can he pass judgment upon all values and lack of values -in history—then only can he establish them.... To be German is in -itself an argument, "Germany, Germany above all,"<a name="FNanchor_4_24" id="FNanchor_4_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_24" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> is a principle; -the Germans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> stand for the "moral order of the universe" in history; -compared with the Roman Empire, they are the up-holders of freedom; -compared with the eighteenth century, they are the restorers of -morality, of the "Categorical Imperative." There is such a thing as -the writing of history according to the lights of Imperial Germany; -there is, I fear, anti-Semitic history—there is also history written -with an eye to the Court, and Herr von Treitschke is not ashamed -of himself. Quite recently an idiotic opinion <i>in historicis,</i> an -observation of Vischer the Swabian æsthete, since happily deceased, -made the round of the German newspapers as a "truth" to which every -German <i>must assent</i> The observation was this: "The Renaissance <i>and</i> -the Reformation only together constitute a whole—the æsthetic -rebirth, and the moral rebirth." When I listen to such things, I lose -all patience, and I feel inclined, I even feel it my duty, to tell the -Germans, for once in a way, all that they have on their conscience. -<i>Every great crime against culture for the last four centuries lies -on their conscience....</i> And always for the same reason, always owing -to their bottomless cowardice in the face of reality, which is also -cowardice in the face of truth; always owing to the love of falsehood -which has become almost instinctive in them—in short, "idealism." -It was the Germans who caused Europe to lose the fruits, the whole -meaning of her last period of greatness—the period of the Renaissance. -At a moment when a higher order of values, values that were noble, -that said yea to life, and that guaranteed a future, had succeeded -in triumphing over the opposite values,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> the values of degeneration, -in the very seat of Christianity itself,—and <i>even in the hearts of -those sitting there,</i>—Luther, that cursed monk, not only restored the -Church, but, what was a thousand times worse, restored Christianity, -and at a time too when it lay defeated. Christianity, the <i>Denial of -the Will to Live,</i> exalted to a religion! Luther was an impossible -monk who, thanks to his own "impossibility," attacked the Church, -and in so doing restored it! Catholics would be perfectly justified -in celebrating feasts in honour of Luther, and in producing festival -plays<a name="FNanchor_5_25" id="FNanchor_5_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_25" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> in his honour. Luther and the "rebirth of morality"! May all -psychology go to the devil! Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans -are idealists. On two occasions when, at the cost of enormous courage -and self-control, an upright, unequivocal, and perfectly scientific -attitude of mind had been attained, the Germans were able to discover -back stairs leading down to the old "ideal" again, compromises between -truth and the "ideal," and, in short, formulæ for the right to reject -science and to perpetrate falsehoods. Leibniz and Kant—these two -great breaks upon the intellectual honesty of Europe! Finally, at a -moment when there appeared on the bridge that spanned two centuries -of decadence, a superior force of genius and will which was strong -enough to consolidate Europe and to convert it into a political and -economic unit, with the object of ruling the world, the Germans, with -their Wars of Independence, robbed Europe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> of the significance—the -marvellous significance, of Napoleon's life. And in so doing they laid -on their conscience everything that followed, everything that exists -to-day,—this sickliness and want of reason which is most opposed to -culture, and which is called Nationalism,—this <i>névrose nationale</i> -from which Europe is suffering acutely; this eternal subdivision of -Europe into petty states, with politics on a municipal scale: they have -robbed Europe itself of its significance, of its reason,—and have -stuffed it into a cul-de-sac. Is there any one except me who knows the -way out of this cul-de-sac? Does anyone except me know of an aspiration -which would be great enough to bind the people of Europe once more -together?</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>And after all, why should I not express my suspicions? In my case, -too, the Germans will attempt to make a great fate give birth merely -to a mouse. Up to the present they have compromised themselves with -me; I doubt whether the future will improve them. Alas! how happy I -should be to prove a false prophet in this matter! My natural readers -and listeners are already Russians, Scandinavians, and Frenchmen—will -they always be the same? In the history of knowledge, Germans are -represented only by doubtful names, they have been able to produce only -"<i>unconscious</i>" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, -Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or -Leibniz; they were all mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> <i>Schleiermachers</i>).<a name="FNanchor_6_26" id="FNanchor_6_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_26" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> The Germans must -not have the honour of seeing the first upright intellect in their -history of intellects, that intellect in which truth ultimately got the -better of the fraud of four thousand years, reckoned as one with the -German intellect. "German intellect" is my foul air: I breathe with -difficulty in the neighbourhood of this psychological uncleanliness -that has now become instinctive—an uncleanliness which in every -word and expression betrays a German. They have never undergone a -seventeenth century of hard self-examination, as the French have,—a -La Rochefoucauld, a Descartes, are a thousand times more upright -than the very first among Germans,—the latter have not yet had any -psychologists. But psychology is almost the standard of measurement -for the cleanliness or uncleanliness of a race.... For if a man is -not even clean, how can he be deep? The Germans are like women, you -can scarcely ever I fathom their depths—they haven't any, and that's -the end of it. Thus they cannot even be called shallow. That which is -called "deep" in Germany, is precisely this instinctive uncleanliness -towards one's self, of which I have just spoken: people refuse to be -clear in regard to their own natures. Might I be allowed, perhaps, to -suggest the word "German" as an international epithet denoting this -psychological depravity?—At the moment of writing, for instance, the -German Emperor is declaring it to be his Christian duty to liberate -the slaves in Africa;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> among us Europeans, then, this would be called -simply "German." ... Have the Germans ever produced even a book that -had depth? They are lacking in the mere idea of what constitutes a -book. I have known scholars who thought that Kant was deep. At the -Court of Prussia I fear that Herr von Treitschke is regarded as deep. -And when I happen to praise Stendhal as a deep psychologist, I have -often been compelled, in the company of German University Professors, -to spell his name aloud.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>And why should I not proceed to the end? I am fond of clearing the -air. It is even part of my ambition to be considered as essentially a -despiser of Germans. I expressed my suspicions of the German character -even at the age of six-and-twenty (see <i>Thoughts out of Season,</i> -vol. ii. pp. 164, 165),—to my mind the Germans are impossible. -When I try to think of the kind of man who is opposed to me in all -my instincts, my mental image takes the form of a German. The first -thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a -feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order -everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for -this is what constitutes a gentleman. Otherwise he belongs hopelessly -to that open-hearted, open-minded—alas! and always very good-natured -species, <i>la canaille</i>! But the Germans are <i>canaille</i>—alas! they are -so good-natured! A man lowers himself by frequenting the society of -Germans: the German places every one on an equal footing. With the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -exception of my intercourse with one or two artists, and above all -with Richard Wagner, I cannot say that I have spent one pleasant hour -with Germans. Suppose, for one moment, that the profoundest spirit -of all ages were to appear among Germans, then one of the saviours -of the Capitol would be sure to arise and declare that his own ugly -soul was just as great. I can no longer abide this race with which -a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances—woe -to me! I am a nuance—and which has not <i>esprit</i> in its feet, and -cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, -they simply have legs. The Germans have not the faintest idea of how -vulgar they are—but this in itself is the acme of vulgarity,—they are -not even ashamed of being merely Germans. They will have their say in -everything, they regard themselves as fit to decide all questions; I -even fear that they have decided about me. My whole life is essentially -a proof of this remark. In vain have I sought among them for a sign of -tact and delicacy towards myself. Among Jews I did indeed find it, but -not among Germans. I am so constituted as to be gentle and kindly to -every one,—I have the right not to draw distinctions,—but this does -not prevent my eyes from being open. I except no one, and least of all -my friends,—I only trust that this has not prejudiced my reputation -for humanity among them? There are five or six things which I have -always made points of honour. Albeit, the truth remains that for many -years I have considered almost every letter that has reached me as a -piece of cynicism. There is more cynicism in an attitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> of goodwill -towards me than in any sort of hatred. I tell every friend to his face -that he has never thought it worth his while to <i>study</i> any one of my -writings: from the slightest hints I gather that they do not even know -what lies hidden in my books. And with regard even to my <i>Zarathustra,</i> -which of my friends would have seen more in it than a piece of -unwarrantable, though fortunately harmless, arrogance? Ten years have -elapsed, and no one has yet felt it a duty to his conscience to defend -my name against the absurd silence beneath which it has been entombed. -It was a foreigner, a Dane, who first showed sufficient keenness of -instinct and of courage to do this, and who protested indignantly -against my so-called friends. At what German University to-day would -such lectures on my philosophy be possible, as those which Dr. Brandes -delivered last spring in Copenhagen, thus proving once more his right -to the title psychologist? For my part, these things have never caused -me any pain; that which is <i>necessary</i> does not offend me. <i>Amor fati</i> -is the core of my nature. This, however, does not alter the fact that -I love irony and even world-historic irony. And thus, about two years -before hurling the destructive thunderbolt of the <i>Transvaluation,</i> -which will send the whole of civilisation into convulsions, I sent -my <i>Case of Wagner</i> out into the world. The Germans were given the -chance of blundering and immortalising their stupidity once more on my -account, and they still have just enough time to do it in. And have -they fallen in with my plans? Admirably! my dear Germans. Allow me to -congratulate you.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_21" id="Footnote_1_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_21"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The motto of <i>The Case of Wagner.</i>—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_22" id="Footnote_2_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_22"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> An opera by Nessler which was all the rage in Germany -twenty years ago.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_23" id="Footnote_3_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_23"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Unfortunately it is impossible to render this play on the -words in English.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_24" id="Footnote_4_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_24"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The German National Song (<i>Deutschland, Deutschland über -alles</i>).—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_25" id="Footnote_5_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_25"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Ever since the year 1617 such plays have been produced by -the Protestants of Germany.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_26" id="Footnote_6_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_26"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <i>Schleiermacher</i> literally means a weaver or maker of -veils.—TR.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY" id="WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY">WHY I AM A FATALITY</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I know my destiny. There will come a day when my name will recall -the memory of something formidable—a crisis the like of which has -never been known on earth, the memory of the most profound clash -of consciences, and the passing of a sentence upon all that which -theretofore had been believed, exacted, and hallowed. I am not a -man, I am dynamite. And with it all there is nought of the founder -of a religion in me. Religions are matters for the mob; after coming -in contact with a religious man, I always feel that I must wash my -hands.... I require no "believers," it is my opinion that I am too -full of malice to believe even in myself; I never address myself to -masses. I am horribly frightened that one day I shall be pronounced -"holy." You will understand why I publish this book beforehand—it is -to prevent people from wronging me. I refuse to be a saint; I would -rather be a clown. Maybe I am a clown. And I am notwithstanding, or -rather not <i>not</i>withstanding, the mouthpiece of truth; for nothing -more blown-out with falsehood has ever existed, than a saint. But -my truth is terrible: for hitherto <i>lies</i> have been called truth. -<i>The Transvaluation of all Values,</i> this is my formula for mankind's -greatest step towards coming to its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> senses—a step which in me became -flesh and genius. My destiny ordained that I should be the first decent -human being, and that I should feel myself opposed to the falsehood -of millenniums. I was the first to discover truth, and for the simple -reason that I was the first who became conscious of falsehood as -falsehood—that is to say, I smelt it as such. My genius resides in -my nostrils. I contradict as no one has contradicted hitherto, and am -nevertheless the reverse of a negative spirit. I am the harbinger of -joy, the like of which has never existed before; I have discovered -tasks of such lofty greatness that, until my time, no one had any idea -of such things. Mankind can begin to have fresh hopes, only now that I -have lived. Thus, I am necessarily a man of Fate. For when Truth enters -the lists against the falsehood of ages, shocks are bound to ensue, -and a spell of earthquakes, followed by the transposition of hills and -valleys, such as the world has never yet imagined even in its dreams. -The concept "politics" then becomes elevated entirely to the sphere -of spiritual warfare. All the mighty realms of the ancient order of -society are blown into space—for they are all based on falsehood: -there will be wars, the like of which have never been seen on earth -before. Only from my time and after me will politics on a large scale -exist on earth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>If you should require a formula for a destiny of this kind that has -taken human form, you will find it in my <i>Zarathustra</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And he who would be a creator in good and evil—verily, he must first -be a destroyer, and break values into pieces.</p> - -<p>"Thus the greatest evil belongeth unto the greatest good: but this is -the creative good."</p> - -<p>I am by far the most terrible man that has ever existed; but this does -not alter the fact that I shall become the most beneficent. I know the -joy of <i>annihilation</i> to a degree which is commensurate with my power -to annihilate. In both cases I obey my Dionysian nature, which knows -not how to separate the negative deed from the saying of yea. I am the -first immoralist, and in this sense I am essentially the annihilator.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>People have never asked me as they should have done, what the name -of Zarathustra precisely meant in my mouth, in the mouth of the -first immoralist; for that which distinguishes this Persian from all -others in the past is the very fact that he was the exact reverse -of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle -between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. -The translation of morality into the realm of metaphysics, as force, -cause, end-in-itself, is his work. But the very question suggests -its own answer. Zarathustra created this most portentous of all -errors,—morality; therefore he must be the first to expose it. Not -only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject -than any other thinker,—all history is indeed the experimental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things,—but -because of the more important fact that Zarathustra was the most -truthful of thinkers. In his teaching alone is truthfulness upheld as -the highest virtue—that is to say, as the reverse of the cowardice -of the "idealist" who takes to his heels at the sight of reality. -Zarathustra has more pluck in his body than all other thinkers put -together. To tell the truth and to aim straight: that is the first -Persian virtue. Have I made myself clear? ... The overcoming of -morality by itself, through truthfulness, the moralist's overcoming of -himself in his opposite—in me—that is what the name Zarathustra means -in my mouth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>In reality two negations are involved in my title Immoralist. I first -of all deny the type of man that has hitherto been regarded as the -highest—the <i>good,</i> the <i>kind,</i> and the <i>charitable</i>; and I also -deny that kind of morality which has become recognised and paramount -as morality-in-itself—I speak of the morality of decadence, or, to -use a still cruder term, Christian morality. I would agree to the -second of the two negations being regarded as the more decisive, for, -reckoned as a whole, the overestimation of goodness and kindness seems -to me already a consequence of decadence, a symptom of weakness, and -incompatible with any ascending and yea-saying life. Negation and -annihilation are inseparable from a yea-saying attitude towards life. -Let me halt for a moment at the question of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> psychology of the -good man. In order to appraise the value of a certain type of man, the -cost of his maintenance must be calculated,—and the conditions of his -existence must be known. The condition of the existence of the <i>good</i> -is falsehood: or, otherwise expressed, the refusal at any price to -see how reality is actually constituted. The refusal to see that this -reality is not so constituted as always to be stimulating beneficent -instincts, and still less, so as to suffer at all moments the intrusion -of ignorant and good-natured hands. To consider distress of all kinds -as an objection, as something which must be done away with, is the -greatest nonsense on earth; generally speaking, it is nonsense of the -most disastrous sort, fatal in its stupidity—almost as mad as the will -to abolish bad weather, out of pity for the poor, so to speak. In the -great economy of the whole universe, the terrors of reality (in the -passions, in the desires, in the will to power) are incalculably more -necessary than that form of petty happiness which is called "goodness"; -it is even needful to practise leniency in order so much as to allow -the latter a place at all, seeing that it is based upon a falsification -of the instincts. I shall have an excellent opportunity of showing the -incalculably calamitous consequences to the whole of history, of the -credo of optimism, this monstrous offspring of the <i>homines optimi.</i> -Zarathustra,<a name="FNanchor_1_27" id="FNanchor_1_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_27" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> the first who recognised that the optimist is just as -degenerate as the pessimist, though perhaps more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> detrimental, says: -"<i>Good men never speak the truth. False shores and false harbours -were ye taught by the good. In the lies of the good were ye born and -bred. Through the good everything hath become false and crooked from -the roots.</i>" Fortunately the world is not built merely upon those -instincts which would secure to the good-natured herd animal his paltry -happiness. To desire everybody to become a "good man," "a gregarious -animal," "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul," or—as Herbert -Spencer wished—a creature of altruism, would mean robbing existence of -its greatest character, castrating man, and reducing humanity to a sort -of wretched Chinadom. <i>And this some have tried to do! It is precisely -this that men called morality.</i> In this sense Zarathustra calls "the -good," now "the last men," and anon "the beginning of the end"; and -above all, he considers them as <i>the most detrimental kind of men,</i> -because they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and at the -cost of the Future.</p> - -<p>"The good—they cannot create; they are ever the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>"They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables; they sacrifice -<i>unto themselves</i> the future; they crucify the whole future of humanity!</p> - -<p>"The good—they are ever the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world may do, <i>the harm of the -good is the most calamitous of all harm.</i>"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good man, is perforce the -friend of the evil man. When a degenerate kind of man has succeeded -to the highest rank among the human species, his position must have -been gained at the cost of the reverse type—at the cost of the strong -man who is certain of life. When the gregarious animal stands in -the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be -degraded to the rank of the evil. If falsehood insists at all costs on -claiming the word "truth" for its own particular standpoint, the really -truthful man must be sought out among the despised. Zarathustra allows -of no doubt here; he says that it was precisely the knowledge of the -good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute horror of men. And -it was out of this feeling of repulsion that he grew the wings which -allowed him to soar into remote futures. He does not conceal the fact -that his type of man is one which is relatively superhuman—especially -as opposed to the "good" man, and that the good and the just would -regard his superman as the <i>devil.</i></p> - -<p>"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this is the doubt that ye -wake in my breast, and this is my secret laughter: methinks ye would -call my Superman—the devil! So strange are ye in your souls to all -that is great, that the Superman would be terrible in your eyes for his -goodness."</p> - -<p>It is from this passage, and from no other, that you must set out to -understand the goal to which Zarathustra aspires—the kind of man that -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> conceives sees reality <i>as it is;</i> he is strong enough for this—he -is not estranged or far removed from it, he is that reality himself, in -his own nature can be found all the terrible and questionable character -of reality: <i>only thus can man have greatness.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>But I have chosen the title of Immoral is t as a surname and as a badge -of honour in yet another sense; I am very proud to possess this name -which distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No one hitherto -has felt Christian morality beneath him; to that end there were needed -height, a remoteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological depth, not -believed to be possible hitherto. Up to the present Christian morality -has been the Circe of all thinkers—they stood at her service. What -man, before my time, had descended into the underground caverns from -out of which the poisonous fumes of this ideal—of this slandering -of the world—burst forth? What man had even dared to suppose that -they were underground caverns? Was a single one of the philosophers -who preceded me a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a -psychologist—that is to say, a "superior swindler," an "Idealist"? -Before my time there was no psychology. To be the first in this new -realm may amount to a curse; at all events, it is a fatality: <i>for one -is also the first to despise.</i> My danger is the loathing of mankind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? That which defines me, that which makes me -stand apart from the whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that -I <i>unmasked</i> Christian morality. For this reason I was in need of a -word which conveyed the idea of a challenge to everybody. Not to have -awakened to these discoveries before, struck me as being the sign -of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has on its conscience, -as self-deception become instinctive, as the fundamental will to -be blind to every phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in -fact, as an almost criminal fraud <i>in psychologicis.</i> Blindness in -regard to Christianity is the essence of criminality—for it is the -crime <i>against</i> life. Ages and peoples, the first as well as the -last, philosophers and old women, with the exception of five or six -moments in history (and of myself, the seventh), are all alike in -this. Hitherto the Christian has been <i>the</i> "moral being," a peerless -oddity, and, <i>as</i> "a moral being," he was more absurd, more vain, more -thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage to himself, than the greatest -despiser of humanity could have deemed possible. Christian morality -is the most malignant form of all false too the actual Circe of -humanity: that which has corrupted mankind. It is not error as error -which infuriates me at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the -millenniums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of decency, and -of bravery in spiritual things, which betrays itself in the triumph of -Christianity; it is rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -ghastly fact that <i>anti-nature</i> itself received the highest honours as -morality and as law, and remained suspended over man as the Categorical -Imperative. Fancy blundering in this way, <i>not</i> as an individual, -<i>not</i> as a people, but as a whole species! as <i>humanity</i>! To teach the -contempt of all the principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the -existence of a "soul," of a "spirit," in order to be able to defy the -body; to spread the feeling that there is something impure in the very -first prerequisite of life—in sex; to seek the principle of evil in -the profound need of growth and expansion—that is to say, in severe -self-love (the term itself is slanderous); and conversely to see a -higher moral value—but what am I talking about?—I mean the <i>moral -value per se,</i> in the typical signs of decline, in the antagonism of -the instincts, in "selflessness," in the loss of ballast, in "the -suppression of the personal element," and in "love of one's neighbour" -(neighbouritis!). What! is humanity itself in a state of degeneration? -Has it always been in this state? One thing is certain, that ye are -taught only the values of decadence as the highest values. The morality -of self-renunciation is essentially the morality of degeneration; the -fact, "I am going to the dogs," is translated into the imperative," -Ye shall all go to the dogs"—and not only into the imperative. This -morality of self-renunciation, which is the only kind of morality that -has been taught hitherto, betrays the will to nonentity—it denies life -to the very roots. There still remains the possibility that it is not -mankind that is in a state of degeneration, but only that parasitical -kind of man—the priest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> who, by means of morality and lies, has -climbed up to his position of determinator of values, who divined in -Christian morality his road to power. And, to tell the truth, this -is my opinion. The teachers and I leaders of mankind—including the -theologians—have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their) -transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards; life; hence -morality. <i>The definition of morality;</i> Morality is the idiosyncrasy of -decadents, actuated by a desire <i>to avenge themselves with success upon -life.</i> I attach great value to this definition.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? I have not uttered a single word which I had -not already said five years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra. -The unmasking of Christian morality is an event which unequalled in -history, it is a real catastrophe. The man who throws light upon it -is a <i>force majeure,</i> a fatality; he breaks the history of man into -two. Time is reckoned up before him and after him. The lightning -flash of truth struck precisely that which theretofore had stood -highest: he who understands what was destroyed by that flash should -look to see whether he still holds anything in his hands. Everything -which until then was called truth, has been revealed as the most -detrimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form of life; the -holy pretext, which was the "improvement" of man, has been recognised -as a ruse for draining life of its energy and of its blood. Morality -conceived as <i>Vampirism</i>.... The man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> unmasks morality has also -unmasked the worthlessness of the values in which men either believe -or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be revered in the most -venerable man—even in the types of men that have been pronounced -holy; all he can see in them is the most fatal kind of abortions, -fatal, <i>because they fascinate.</i> The concept "God" was invented as -the opposite of the concept life—everything detrimental, poisonous, -and slanderous, and all deadly hostility to life, wad bound together -in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts "beyond" and "true world" -were invented in order to depreciate the only world that exists—in -order that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left to earthly -reality. The concepts "soul," "spirit," and last of all the concept -"immortal soul," were invented in order to throw contempt on the body, -in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to cultivate an attitude -of appalling levity towards all things in life which deserve to be -treated seriously, <i>i.e.</i> the questions of nutrition and habitation, -of intellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanliness, and -weather. Instead of health, we find the "salvation of the soul"—that -is to say, a <i>folie circulate</i> fluctuating between convulsions and -penitence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept "sin," together -with the torture instrument appertaining to it, which is the concept -"free will," was invented in order to confuse and muddle our instincts, -and to render the mistrust of them man's second nature! In the concepts -"disinterestedness" and "self-denial," the actual signs of decadence -are to be found. The allurement of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> which is detrimental, the -inability to discover one's own advantage and self-destruction, are -made into absolute qualities, into the "duty," the "holiness," and -the "divinity" of man. Finally—to keep the worst to the last—by the -notion of the <i>good</i> man, all that is favoured which is weak, ill, -botched, and sick-in-itself, which <i>ought to be wiped out.</i> The law -of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of opposition to the -proud, well-constituted man, to him who says yea to life, to him who -is certain of the future, and who guarantees the future—this man is -henceforth called the <i>evil</i> one. And all this was believed in as -<i>morality!—Ecrasez l'infâme!</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">9</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? <i>Dionysus</i> versus <i>Christ.</i></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_27" id="Footnote_1_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_27"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Needless to say this is Nietzsche, and no longer the -Persian.—TR.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a><br /><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - - - -<h4><a name="EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY" id="EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY">EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY</a></h4> - - -<p>The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in -the Editorial Note to <i>The Joyful Wisdom,</i> in which he declared -his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has -nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. -This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an -injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an -author, as it were, in his <i>négligé,</i> or, in plain English, "in his -shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and -rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage -of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not -readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, -contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small -notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress -everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, -more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. -He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the <i>Songs -and Epigrams,</i> nearly all of which are to be found translated here, -and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half -have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> appear in this -volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated -in the Fourth Part of <i>Zarathustra.</i> These Dionysus Dithyrambs were -prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final -manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual -composition, however, belongs to an earlier date.</p> - -<p>All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. -Paul Victor Cohn.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a><br /><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a><br /><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></p> -<h3><a name="SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC" id="SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC">SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.</a></h3> - - -<h4>SONGS</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -TO MELANCHOLY<a name="FNanchor_1_28" id="FNanchor_1_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_28" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O Melancholy, be not wroth with me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I this pen should point to praise thee only,</span><br /> -And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely.</span><br /> -Thus oft thou saw'st me,—yesterday, at least,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming,</span><br /> -While, visioning the carrion of his feast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming.</span><br /> -<br /> -Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning!</span><br /> -Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening.</span><br /> -What though they did not soar unto thine height,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices,</span><br /> -For <i>that</i> they sank the deeper so they might<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.</span><br /> -<br /> -Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bent hideous like a savage at his altar,</span><br /> -There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter.</span><br /> -<br /> -So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thunder of the avalanche's paces,</span><br /> -Thou spakest to me—nor wast false like man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces.</span><br /> -<br /> -Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me,</span><br /> -To point me out the vulture's airy are<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laughing avalanches, to repel me.</span><br /> -Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The torment to win life in all its changes;</span><br /> -Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges.</span><br /> -<br /> -All this am I—shuddering I feel it all—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower,</span><br /> -The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moaning storm—all symbols of thy power,—</span><br /> -Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting,</span><br /> -I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Life, for Life, for Life—forever thirsting!</span><br /> -<br /> -O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven.</span><br /> -He trembles who beholds thine awful mask;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given.</span><br /> -Song upon trembling song by starts and fits<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding,</span><br /> -The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O goddess, goddess—leave me to my scolding!</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AFTER A NIGHT STORM<a name="FNanchor_2_29" id="FNanchor_2_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_29" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane.</span><br /> -Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roars the swollen brook unto the plain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll,</span><br /> -'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl.</span><br /> -<br /> -Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Raptures of thy voice—and howls of pain.</span><br /> -Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the mace of thunder hurled amain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam,</span><br /> -Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am!</span><br /> -<br /> -The immortal Amazon they call me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All things weak and womanish I shun;</span><br /> -Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Victress I and tigress all in one!</span><br /> -<br /> -Where I tread there corpses fall before me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From mine eyes the furious torches fly,</span><br /> -And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp—or die!"</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>Two Fragments</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -1<br /> -<br /> -Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we sing in friendship's honour!</span><br /> -Where the eye of friendship glances,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Filled with all the joy of friendship</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come thou nigh to aid me,</span><br /> -Rosy dawn in thy gaze and<br /> -In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -Morning's past: the sun of noonday<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scorches with hot ray our heads.</span><br /> -Let us sit beneath the arbour<br /> -Singing songs in praise of friendship.<br /> -Friendship was our life's red dawning,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its sunset red shall be.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WANDERER<a name="FNanchor_3_30" id="FNanchor_3_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_30" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -All through the night a wanderer walks<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sturdy of stride,</span><br /> -With winding vale and sloping height<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E'er at his side.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair is the night:</span><br /> -On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>And knows not where his path will lead.<br /> -<br /> -A bird's song in the night is heard,<br /> -"Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How dost thou grip my sense and feet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pourest heart-vexation sweet</span><br /> -Into mine ear—I must remain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hearken fain:</span><br /> -Why lure me with inviting strain?"<br /> -<br /> -The good bird speaks, staying his song:<br /> -"I lure not thee,—no, thou art wrong—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With these my trills</span><br /> -I lure my mate from off the hills—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor heed thy plight.</span><br /> -To me alone the night's not fair.<br /> -What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,<br /> -On, onward ever, resting ne'er.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why stand'st thou now?</span><br /> -What has my piping done to thee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou roaming wight?"</span><br /> -The good bird pondered, silent quite,<br /> -"Why doth my piping change his plight?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why stands he now,</span><br /> -That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO THE GLACIER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -At noontide hour, when first,<br /> -Into the mountains Summer treads,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,<br /> -Then too he speaks,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>Yet we can only see his speech.<br /> -<br /> -His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath<br /> -On fevered couch.<br /> -The glacier and the fir tree and the spring<br /> -Answer his call<br /> -—Yet we their answer only see.<br /> -For faster from the rock leaps down<br /> -The torrent stream, as though to greet,<br /> -And stands, like a white column trembling,<br /> -All yearning there.<br /> -And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree<br /> -Than e'er before.<br /> -And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone<br /> -A sudden light breaks forth—<br /> -Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign.<br /> -<br /> -Even the dead man's eye<br /> -Surely once more grows light,<br /> -When, sorrowful, his child<br /> -Gives him embrace and kiss:<br /> -Surely once more the flame of light<br /> -Wells out, and glowing into life<br /> -The dead eye speaks: "My child!<br /> -Ah child, you know I love you true!"<br /> -<br /> -So all things glow and speak—the glacier speaks,<br /> -The brook, the fir,<br /> -Speak with their glance the selfsame words:<br /> -We love you true,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true!<br /> -<br /> -And he,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,<br /> -Woe-worn, gives kisses<br /> -More ardent ever,<br /> -And will not go:<br /> -But like to veils he blows his words<br /> -From out his lips,<br /> -His cruel words:<br /> -"My greeting's parting,<br /> -My coming going,<br /> -In youth I die."<br /> -<br /> -All round they hearken<br /> -And scarcely breathe<br /> -(No songster sings),<br /> -And shuddering run<br /> -Like gleaming ray<br /> -Over the mountain;<br /> -All round they ponder,—<br /> -Nor speak—<br /> -<br /> -Twas at the noon,<br /> -At noontide hour, when first<br /> -Into the mountains Summer treads,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AUTUMN<a name="FNanchor_4_31" id="FNanchor_4_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_31" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!—<br /> -The sun creeps 'gainst the hill<br /> -And climbs and climbs<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>And rests at every step.<br /> -<br /> -How faded grew the world!<br /> -On weary, slackened strings the wind<br /> -Playeth his tune.<br /> -Fair Hope fled far—<br /> -He waileth after.<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!<br /> -O fruit of the tree,<br /> -Thou tremblest, fallest?<br /> -What secret whispered unto thee<br /> -The Night,<br /> -That icy shudders deck thy cheek,<br /> -Thy cheek of purple hue?<br /> -<br /> -Silent art thou, nor dost reply—<br /> -Who speaketh still?—<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!—<br /> -"I am not fair,"—<br /> -So speaks the lone star-flower,—<br /> -"Yet men I love<br /> -And comfort men—<br /> -Many flowers shall they behold,<br /> -And stoop to me,<br /> -And break me, ah!—<br /> -So that within their eyes shall gleam<br /> -Remembrance swift,<br /> -<i>Remembrance of far fairer things than I</i>:—<br /> -I see it—see it—and I perish so."<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO<a name="FNanchor_5_32" id="FNanchor_5_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_32" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Maiden, in gentle wise<br /> -You stroke your lamb's soft fleece,<br /> -Yet flashing from your eyes<br /> -Both light and flame ne'er cease.<br /> -Creature of merry jest<br /> -And favourite near and far,<br /> -Pious with kindness blest,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Amorosissima!</span><br /> -<br /> -What broke so soon the chain,<br /> -What does your heart deplore?<br /> -And who, pray, would not fain,<br /> -If you loved him, adore?—<br /> -You're mute, but from your eye,<br /> -The tear-drop is not far,<br /> -You're mute: you'll yearn and die,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Amorosissima?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"<a name="FNanchor_6_33" id="FNanchor_6_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_33" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me!—<br /> -Now a ship, but once a girl,<br /> -Ah, and still too much a girl!<br /> -My steering-wheel, so bright to see,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>But for sake of love doth whirl.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me,<br /> -With hundred flags to ornament,<br /> -A captain smart, on glory bent,<br /> -Steers me, puffed with vanity<br /> -(He himself's an ornament).<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me,<br /> -And where'er a little flame<br /> -Gleams for me, I, like a lamb,<br /> -Go my journey eagerly<br /> -(I was always such a lamb!).<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Think you I can bark and whine<br /> -Like a dog, this mouth of mine<br /> -Throwing smoke and flame full free?<br /> -Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Once I spoke a bitter word,<br /> -That my lover, when he heard,<br /> -Fast and far away did flee:<br /> -Yes, I killed him with that word!<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me:<br /> -Hardly heard, I sprang so glib<br /> -From the cliff and broke a rib:<br /> -From my frame my soul went free,<br /> -Yes, escaped me through that rib.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Then my soul, like cat in flight<br /> -Straight did on this ship alight<br /> -Swiftly bounding—one, two, three!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>Yes, its claws are swift to smite.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me!—<br /> -Now a ship, but once a girl,<br /> -Ah, and still too much a girl!<br /> -My steering-wheel, so bright to see,<br /> -For sake of love alone doth whirl.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -MAIDEN'S SONG<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Yesterday with seventeen years<br /> -Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair,<br /> -I am grey-haired, it appears,<br /> -Now in all things—save my hair.<br /> -<br /> -Yesterday, I had a thought,<br /> -Was't a thought?—you laugh and scorn!<br /> -Did you ever have a thought?<br /> -Rather was a feeling born.<br /> -<br /> -Dare a woman think? This screed<br /> -Wisdom long ago begot:<br /> -"Follow woman must, not lead;<br /> -If she thinks, she follows not."<br /> -<br /> -Wisdom speaks—I credit naught:<br /> -Rather hops and stings like flea:<br /> -"Woman seldom harbours thought;<br /> -If she thinks, no good is she!"<br /> -<br /> -To this wisdom, old, renowned,<br /> -Bow I in deep reverence:<br /> -Now my wisdom I'll expound<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>In its very quintessence.<br /> -<br /> -A voice spoke in me yesterday<br /> -As ever—listen if you can:<br /> -"Woman is more beauteous aye,<br /> -But more interesting—man!"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"<a name="FNanchor_7_34" id="FNanchor_7_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_34" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Cave where the dead ones rest,<br /> -O marble falsehood, thee<br /> -I love: for easy jest<br /> -My soul thou settest free.<br /> -<br /> -To-day, to-day alone,<br /> -My soul to tears is stirred,<br /> -At thee, the pictured stone,<br /> -At thee, the graven word.<br /> -<br /> -This picture (none need wis)<br /> -I kissed the other day.<br /> -When there's so much to kiss<br /> -Why did I kiss the—clay?<br /> -<br /> -Who knows the reason why?<br /> -"A tombstone fool!" you laugh:<br /> -I kissed—I'll not deny—<br /> -E'en the long epitaph.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO FRIENDSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Hail to thee, Friendship!<br /> -My hope consummate,<br /> -My first red daybreak!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Alas, so endless<br /> -Oft path and night seemed,<br /> -And life's long road<br /> -Aimless and hateful!<br /> -Now life I'd double<br /> -In thine eyes seeing<br /> -Dawn-glory, triumph,<br /> -Most gracious goddess!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O'er man and beast I grew so high,<br /> -And speak—but none will give reply.<br /> -<br /> -Too lone and tall my crest did soar:<br /> -I wait: what am I waiting for?<br /> -<br /> -The clouds are grown too nigh of late,<br /> -'Tis the first lightning I await.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TREE IN AUTUMN<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I in blissful blindness stood?</span><br /> -Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanished my golden dreaming mood.</span><br /> -<br /> -Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knock first! Where have your manners fled?</span><br /> -I threw—and fear has made me speedy—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dishes of ripe fruit—at your head.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>After a Gipsy Proverb</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Here the gallows, there the cord,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hangman's ruddy beard.</span><br /> -Round, the venom-glancing horde:—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing new to me's appeared.</span><br /> -Many times I've seen the sight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now laughing in your face I cry,</span><br /> -"Hanging me is useless quite:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!"</span><br /> -<br /> -Beggars all! Ye envy me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winning what ye never won!</span><br /> -True, I suffer agony,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for you—your life is done.</span><br /> -Many times I've faced death's plight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet steam and light and breath am I.</span><br /> -Hanging me is useless quite:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE NEW COLUMBUS<a name="FNanchor_8_35" id="FNanchor_8_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_35" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"Dearest," said Columbus, "never<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trust a Genoese again.</span><br /> -At the blue he gazes ever,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distance doth his soul enchain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Strangeness is to me too dear—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Genoa has sunk and passed—</span><br /> -Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sea before me: land—at last?</span><br /> -<br /> -Firmly let us plant our feet,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er can we give up this game—</span><br /> -From the distance what doth greet?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One death, one happiness, one fame.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -IN LONESOMENESS<a name="FNanchor_9_36" id="FNanchor_9_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_36" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -The cawing crows<br /> -Townwards on whirring pinions roam;<br /> -Soon come the snows—<br /> -Thrice happy now who hath a home!<br /> -<br /> -Fast-rooted there,<br /> -Thou gazest backwards—oh, how long!<br /> -Thou fool, why dare<br /> -Ere winter come, this world of wrong?<br /> -<br /> -This world—a gate<br /> -To myriad deserts dumb and hoar!<br /> -Who lost through fate<br /> -What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.<br /> -<br /> -Now stand'st thou pale,<br /> -A frozen pilgrimage thy doom,<br /> -Like smoke whose trail<br /> -Cold and still colder skies consume.<br /> -<br /> -Fly, bird, and screech,<br /> -Like desert-fowl, thy song apart!<br /> -Hide out of reach,<br /> -Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.<br /> -<br /> -Firmly let us plant our feet,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er can we give up this game—</span><br /> -From the distance what doth greet?<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">One death, one happiness, one fame.</span><br /> -<br /> -The cawing crows<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Townwards on whirring pinions roam:</span><br /> -Soon come the snows—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woe unto him who hath no home!</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>My Answer</i><br /> -<br /> -The man presumes—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Lord!—to think that I'd return</span><br /> -To those warm rooms<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where snug the German ovens burn</span><br /> -<br /> -My friend, you see<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis but thy folly drives me far,—</span><br /> -Pity for <i>thee</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all that German blockheads are!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -VENICE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ON the bridge I stood,<br /> -Mellow was the night,<br /> -Music came from far—<br /> -Drops of gold outpoured<br /> -On the shimmering waves.<br /> -Song, gondolas, light,<br /> -Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.<br /> -<br /> -The chords of my soul, moved<br /> -By unseen impulse, throbbed<br /> -Secretly into a gondola song,<br /> -With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy.<br /> -Had I a listener there?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_28" id="Footnote_1_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_28"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_29" id="Footnote_2_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_29"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_30" id="Footnote_3_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_30"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This poem was written on the betrothal of one of -Nietzsche's Bâle friends.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_31" id="Footnote_4_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_31"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_32" id="Footnote_5_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_32"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, -near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl -with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath— -"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_33" id="Footnote_6_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_33"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired -by a ship that was christened <i>Angiolina,</i> in memory of a -love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_34" id="Footnote_7_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_34"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same -tombstone.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_35" id="Footnote_8_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_35"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great -part of his life at Genoa.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_36" id="Footnote_9_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_36"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="EPIGRAMS" id="EPIGRAMS">EPIGRAMS</a></h4> - - - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -CAUTION: POISON!<a name="FNanchor_1_37" id="FNanchor_1_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_37" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading;<br /> -<br /> -For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -With jesters it is good to jest:<br /> -Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WORD<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I dearly love the living word,<br /> -That flies to you like a merry bird,<br /> -Ready with pleasant nod to greet,<br /> -E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet,<br /> -Yet it has blood, can pant you deep:<br /> -Then to the dove's ear it will creep:<br /> -And curl itself, or start for flight—<br /> -Whate'er it does, it brings delight.<br /> -<br /> -Yet tender doth the word remain,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>Soon it is ill, soon well again:<br /> -So if its little life you'd spare,<br /> -O grasp it lightly and with care,<br /> -Nor heavy hand upon it lay,<br /> -For e'en a cruel glance would slay!<br /> -There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing!<br /> -All stark, all formless, and all cold,<br /> -Its little body changed and battered,<br /> -By death and dying rudely shattered.<br /> -<br /> -A dead word is a hateful thing,<br /> -A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting.<br /> -A curse on ugly trades I cry<br /> -That doom all little words to die!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>A Book</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back?<br /> -Is e'en for chamois here no track?<br /> -<br /> -So here I wait and firmly clasp<br /> -What eye and hand will let me grasp!<br /> -<br /> -Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath,<br /> -And under me—world, man, and death!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -JOYFUL WISDOM<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -This is no book—for such, who looks?<br /> -Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books!<br /> -What's dead and gone they make their prey,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.<br /> -<br /> -This is no book—for such, who looks?<br /> -Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks?<br /> -This is a promise, an act of will,<br /> -A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill;<br /> -A wind from sea, an anchor light,<br /> -A whirr of wheels, a steering right.<br /> -The cannon roars, white smokes its flame,<br /> -The sea—the monster—laughs and scents its game.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -DEDICATION<a name="FNanchor_2_38" id="FNanchor_2_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_38" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -He who has much to tell, keeps much<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silent and unavowed.</span><br /> -He who with lightning-flash would touch<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must long remain a cloud!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE NEW TESTAMENT<a name="FNanchor_3_39" id="FNanchor_3_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_39" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Is this your Book of Sacred Lore,<br /> -For blessing, cursing, and such uses?—<br /> -Come, come now: at the very door<br /> -God some one else's wife seduces?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE "TRUE GERMAN"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes,<br /> -To you I'm true, I wis."<br /> -He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>Went to Cosmopolis.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO THE DARWINIANS<a name="FNanchor_4_40" id="FNanchor_4_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_40" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A fool this honest Britisher<br /> -Was not ... But a Philosopher!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As <i>that</i> you really rate him?</span><br /> -Set Darwin up by Goethe's side?<br /> -But majesty you thus deride—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Genii majestatem</i>!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -To HAFIZ<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>Toast Question of a Water-Drinker</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -What you have builded, yonder inn,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'ertops all houses high:</span><br /> -The posset you have brewed therein<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world will ne'er drink dry.</span><br /> -The bird that once appeared on earth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As phœnix, is your, guest.</span><br /> -The mouse that gave a mountain birth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is you yourself confessed!</span><br /> -You're all and naught, you're inn and wine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're phœnix, mountain, mouse.</span><br /> -Back to yourself to come you pine<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fly from out your house.</span><br /> -Downward from every height you've sunk,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the depths still shine:</span><br /> -The drunkenness of all the drunk,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why do you ask for—wine?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO SPINOZA<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Of "All in One" a fervent devotee<br /> -<i>Amore Dei,</i> of reasoned piety,<br /> -Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!—<br /> -Yet underneath this love there sate<br /> -A torch of vengeance, burning secretly<br /> -The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate.<br /> -Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -That which he taught, has had its day,<br /> -That which he lived, shall live for aye:<br /> -Look at the man! No bondsman he!<br /> -Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO RICHARD WAGNER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O You who chafe at every fetter's link,<br /> -A restless spirit, never free:<br /> -Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered,<br /> -Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured,<br /> -Till from each cup of balm you poison drink,<br /> -Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink,<br /> -You too, you too, among the overpowered!<br /> -<br /> -For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped,<br /> -Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread,<br /> -With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread,<br /> -And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped.<br /> -But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>For I escaped!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -MUSIC OF THE SOUTH<a name="FNanchor_5_41" id="FNanchor_5_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_41" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -All that my eagle e'er saw clear,<br /> -I see and feel in heart to-day<br /> -(Although my hope was wan and gray)<br /> -Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear,<br /> -A balm to touch, a balm to hear,<br /> -As down from heaven it winged its way.<br /> -<br /> -So now for lands of southern fire<br /> -To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport!<br /> -Thither now turn the ship's desire—<br /> -No ship e'er sped to fairer port.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A RIDDLE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A riddle here—can you the answer scent?<br /> -"When man discovers, woman must invent."——<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO FALSE FRIENDS<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -You stole, your eye's not clear to-day.<br /> -You only stole a thought, sir? nay,<br /> -Why be so rudely modest, pray?<br /> -Here, take another handful—stay,<br /> -Take all I have, you swine—you may<br /> -Eat till your filth is purged away.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FRIEND YORICK<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Be of good cheer,<br /> -Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>As now it does, I fear,<br /> -Is it not "God"? And though in error lain,<br /> -'Tis but your own dear child,<br /> -Your flesh and blood,<br /> -That tortures you and gives you pain,<br /> -Your little rogue and do-no-good,<br /> -See if the rod will change its mood!<br /> -<br /> -In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear<br /> -Philosophy—and let me now<br /> -Whisper one word as medicine,<br /> -My own prescription, in your ear,<br /> -My remedy against such spleen—<br /> -"Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween,"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -RESOLUTION<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I should be wise to suit my mood,<br /> -Not at the beck of other men:<br /> -God made as stupid as he could<br /> -The world—well, let me praise him then.<br /> -<br /> -And if I make not straight my track,<br /> -But, far as may be, wind and bend,<br /> -That's how the sage begins his tack,<br /> -And that is how the fool will—end.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> -<br /> -The world stands never still,<br /> -Night loves the glowing day—<br /> -Sweet sounds to ear "I will!"<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>And sweeter still "I may!"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE HALCYONIAN[6]<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Addressing me most bashfully,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A woman to-day said this:</span><br /> -"What would you be like in ecstasy,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If sober you feel such bliss?"</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FINALE<a name="FNanchor_6_42" id="FNanchor_6_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_42" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Laughter is a serious art.<br /> -I would do it better daily.<br /> -Did I well to-day or no?<br /> -Came the spark right from the heart?<br /> -Little use though head wag gaily,<br /> -If the heart contain no glow.<br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_37" id="Footnote_1_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_37"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_38" id="Footnote_2_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_38"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> On the title-page of a copy of <i>Joyful Wisdom,</i> dedicated -to Herr August Bungal.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_39" id="Footnote_3_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_39"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_40" id="Footnote_4_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_40"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_41" id="Footnote_5_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_41"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful -friend, and a musician whose "Southern" music Nietzsche -admired.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_42" id="Footnote_6_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_42"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS" id="DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a></h4> - - -<h5>(1888)</h5> - - -<p class="center">These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to -himself so as to endure his last solitude.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a><br /><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;"> -OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Ten years passed by—<br /> -Not a drop reached me,<br /> -No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love<br /> -—A rainless land....<br /> -Now entreat I my wisdom<br /> -Not to become stingy in this drought;<br /> -Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew,<br /> -Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness!<br /> -<br /> -I once bade the clouds<br /> -Depart from my mountains;<br /> -Once I said to them,<br /> -"More light, ye dark ones!"<br /> -To-day I entice them to come:<br /> -Make me dark with your udders:<br /> -—I would milk you,<br /> -Ye cows of the heights!<br /> -Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love<br /> -I pour over the land.<br /> -<br /> -Away, away, ye truths<br /> -That look so gloomy!<br /> -I will not have on my mountains<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>Bitter, impatient truths.<br /> -May truth approach me to-day<br /> -Gilded by smiles,<br /> -Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,—<br /> -A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree.<br /> -<br /> -To-day I stretch my hands<br /> -Toward the tresses of chance,<br /> -Wise enough to lead,<br /> -To outwit chance like a child.<br /> -To-day I will be hospitable<br /> -'Gainst the unwelcome,<br /> -'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly....<br /> -—Zarathustra is no hedgehog.<br /> -<br /> -My soul,<br /> -Insatiable with its tongue,<br /> -Has already tasted of all things good and evil,<br /> -And has dived into all depths.<br /> -But ever, like the cork,<br /> -It swims to the surface again,<br /> -And floats like oil upon brown seas:<br /> -Because of this soul men call me fortunate.<br /> -<br /> -Who are my father and mother?<br /> -Is not my father Prince Plenty?<br /> -And my mother Silent Laughter?<br /> -Did not the union of these two<br /> -Beget me, the enigmatic beast—<br /> -Me, the monster of light—<br /> -Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom?<br /> -<br /> -Sick to-day from tenderness,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>A dewy wind,<br /> -Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains—<br /> -Sweet and stewing<br /> -In his own juice,<br /> -Beneath his own summit,<br /> -Beneath his ice,<br /> -Weary and happy,<br /> -A Creator on his seventh day.<br /> -<br /> -—Silence!<br /> -A truth passes over me<br /> -Like a cloud,—<br /> -With invisible lightnings it strikes me,<br /> -On broad, slow stairs,<br /> -Its happiness climbs to me:<br /> -Come, come, beloved truth!<br /> -<br /> -—Silence!<br /> -'Tis <i>my</i> truth!<br /> -From timid eyes,<br /> -From velvet shudders,<br /> -Her glance meets mine,<br /> -Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance.<br /> -She has guessed the reason of my happiness,<br /> -She has guessed me—ha! what is she thinking?<br /> -A purple dragon<br /> -Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance.<br /> -<br /> -—Silence! My truth is speaking!—<br /> -<br /> -"Woe to thee, Zarathustra!<br /> -Thou lookest like one<br /> -That hath swallowed gold:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>They will slit up thy belly yet!<br /> -<br /> -Thou art too rich,<br /> -Thou corrupter of many!<br /> -Thou makest too many jealous,<br /> -Too many poor....<br /> -Even on me thy light casts a shadow—<br /> -I feel chill: go away, thou rich one<br /> -Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Who would here descend,<br /> -How soon<br /> -Is he swallowed up by the depths!<br /> -But thou, Zarathustra,<br /> -Still lovest the abysses,<br /> -Lovest them as doth the fir tree!<br /> -<br /> -The fir flings its roots<br /> -Where the rock itself gazes<br /> -Shuddering at the depths,—<br /> -The fir pauses before the abysses<br /> -Where all around<br /> -Would fain descend:<br /> -Amid the impatience<br /> -Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents<br /> -It waits so patient, stern and silent,<br /> -Lonely....<br /> -<br /> -Lonely!<br /> -Who would venture<br /> -Here to be guest—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>To be thy guest?<br /> -<br /> -A bird of prey, perchance<br /> -Joyous at others' misfortune,<br /> -Will cling persistent<br /> -To the hair of the steadfast watcher,<br /> -With frenzied laughter,<br /> -A vulture's laughter....<br /> -<br /> -Wherefore so steadfast?<br /> -—Mocks he so cruel:<br /> -He must have wings, who loves the abyss,<br /> -He must not stay on the cliff,<br /> -As thou who hangest there!—<br /> -<br /> -O Zarathustra,<br /> -Cruellest Nimrod!<br /> -Of late still a hunter of God,<br /> -A spider's web to capture virtue,<br /> -An arrow of evil!<br /> -Now<br /> -Hunted by thyself,<br /> -Thine own prey<br /> -Caught in the grip of thine own soul.<br /> -<br /> -Now<br /> -Lonely to me and thee,<br /> -Twofold in thine own knowledge,<br /> -Mid a hundred mirrors<br /> -False to thyself,<br /> -Mid a hundred memories<br /> -Uncertain,<br /> -Weary at every wound,<br /> -Shivering at every frost,<br /> -Throttled in thine own noose,<br /> -Self-knower!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>Self-hangman!<br /> -<br /> -Why didst bind thyself<br /> -With the noose of thy wisdom?<br /> -Why luredst thyself<br /> -Into the old serpent's paradise?<br /> -Why stolest into<br /> -Thyself, thyself?...<br /> -<br /> -A sick man now,<br /> -Sick of serpent's poison,<br /> -A captive now<br /> -Who hast drawn the hardest lot:<br /> -In thine own shaft<br /> -Bowed as thou workest,<br /> -In thine own cavern<br /> -Digging at thyself,<br /> -Helpless quite,<br /> -Stiff,<br /> -A cold corse<br /> -Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens,<br /> -Overburdened by thyself,<br /> -A knower!<br /> -A self-knower!<br /> -The wise Zarathustra!...<br /> -<br /> -Thou soughtest the heaviest burden,<br /> -So foundest thou thyself,<br /> -And canst not shake thyself off....<br /> -<br /> -Watching,<br /> -Chewing,<br /> -One that stands upright no more!<br /> -Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>Deformed spirit!<br /> -<br /> -And of late still so proud<br /> -On all the stilts of thy pride!<br /> -Of late still the godless hermit,<br /> -The hermit with one comrade—the devil,<br /> -The scarlet prince of every devilment!...<br /> -<br /> -Now—<br /> -Between two nothings<br /> -Huddled up,<br /> -A question-mark,<br /> -A weary riddle,<br /> -A riddle for vultures....<br /> -They will "solve" thee,<br /> -They hunger already for thy "solution,"<br /> -They flutter already about their "riddle,"<br /> -About thee, the doomed one!<br /> -O Zarathustra,<br /> -Self-knower!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>Self-hangman!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE SUN SINKS<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I<br /> -<br /> -Not much longer thirstest thou,<br /> -O burnt-up heart!<br /> -Promise is in the air,<br /> -From unknown mouths I feel a breath,<br /> -—The great coolness comes....<br /> -My sun stood hot above me at noonday:<br /> -A greeting to you that are coming,<br /> -Ye sudden winds,<br /> -Ye cool spirits of afternoon!<br /> -<br /> -The air is strange and pure.<br /> -See how the night<br /> -Leers at me with eyes askance,<br /> -Like a seducer!...<br /> -Be strong, my brave heart,<br /> -And ask not "Why?"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -The day of my life!<br /> -The sun sinks,<br /> -And the calm flood<br /> -Already is gilded.<br /> -Warm breathes the rock:<br /> -Did happiness at noonday<br /> -Take its siesta well upon it?<br /> -In green light<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss<br /> -<br /> -Day of my life!<br /> -Eventide's nigh,<br /> -Thy eye already<br /> -Glows half-broken,<br /> -Thy dew already<br /> -Pours out its tear-drops,<br /> -Already over the white seas<br /> -Walks the purple of thy love,<br /> -Thy last hesitating holiness....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -3<br /> -<br /> -Golden gaiety, come!<br /> -Thou, the sweetest foretaste—<br /> -Foretaste of death!<br /> -—Went I my way too swiftly?<br /> -Now that the foot grows weary,<br /> -Thine eye still catches me,<br /> -Thy happiness still catches me.<br /> -<br /> -Around but waves and play.<br /> -Whatever was hard<br /> -—Sank into blue oblivion.<br /> -My boat now stands idle.<br /> -Storm and motion—how did it forget them!<br /> -Desire and Hope are drowned,<br /> -Sea and soul are becalmed.<br /> -<br /> -Seventh Solitude!<br /> -Never felt!<br /> -Sweet certainty nearer,<br /> -Or warmer the sun's ray.<br /> -—Glows not the ice of my summit yet?<br /> -Silvery, light, a fish<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>Now my vessel swims out....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE LAST DESIRE<a name="FNanchor_1_43" id="FNanchor_1_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_43" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -So would I die<br /> -As then I saw him die,<br /> -The friend, who like a god<br /> -Into my darkling youth<br /> -Threw lightning's light and fire:<br /> -Buoyant yet deep was he,<br /> -Yea, in the battle's strife<br /> -With the gay dancer's heart.<br /> -<br /> -Amid the warriors<br /> -His was the lightest heart,<br /> -Amid the conquerors<br /> -His brow was dark with thought—<br /> -He was a fate poised on his destiny:<br /> -Unbending, casting thought into the past<br /> -And future, such was he.<br /> -<br /> -Fearful beneath the weight of victory,<br /> -Yet chanting, as both victory and death<br /> -Came hand and hand to him.<br /> -<br /> -Commanding even as he lay in death,<br /> -And his command that man annihilate.<br /> -<br /> -So would I die<br /> -As then I saw him die,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>Victorious and destroying.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE BEACON<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Here, where the island grew amid the seas,<br /> -A sacrificial rock high-towering,<br /> -Here under darkling heavens,<br /> -Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires,<br /> -A beacon for ships that have strayed,<br /> -A beacon for them that have an answer!...<br /> -<br /> -These flames with grey-white belly,<br /> -In cold distances sparkle their desire,<br /> -Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights—<br /> -A snake upreared in impatience:<br /> -This signal I set up there before me.<br /> -This flame is mine own soul,<br /> -Insatiable for new distances,<br /> -Speeding upward, upward its silent heat.<br /> -<br /> -Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men?<br /> -Why fled he swift from all continents?<br /> -Six solitudes he knows already—<br /> -But even the sea was not lonely enough for him,<br /> -On the island he could climb, on the mount he<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">became flame,</span><br /> -At the seventh solitude<br /> -He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head.<br /> -<br /> -Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars<br /> -Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens!<br /> -At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod.<br /> -Give answer to the flame's impatience,<br /> -Let me, the fisher on high mountains,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>Catch my seventh, last solitude!——<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FAME AND ETERNITY<a name="FNanchor_2_44" id="FNanchor_2_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_44" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I<br /> -<br /> -Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood<br /> -Upon this adverse fate of thine?<br /> -Beware, lest from thy doleful mood<br /> -A countenance <i>90</i> dark is brewed<br /> -That men in seeing thee divine<br /> -A hate more bitter than the brine.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Speak, why does Zarathustra roam<br /> -Upon the towering mountain-height?<br /> -Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home<br /> -Is shut so long from human sight?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash,<br /> -The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights<br /> -Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash<br /> -Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights,<br /> -Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love,<br /> -The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above<br /> -And looms with menace of a thundercloud.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide!<br /> -To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud<br /> -Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>And bastions and ramparts sway and rock,<br /> -<br /> -The lightning sears the dusky face of night,<br /> -And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock<br /> -The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth<br /> -The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -This fame, which all the wide world loves,<br /> -I touch with gloves,<br /> -And scorning beat<br /> -Beneath my feet.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Who hanker after the pay of it?<br /> -Who cast themselves in the way of it?<br /> -These prostitutes to gold,<br /> -These merchant folk. They fold<br /> -Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame,<br /> -Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill.<br /> -They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep,<br /> -And let their greedy paws unhindered creep<br /> -Into its depths. So let them take their fill,<br /> -For if thou dost not offer them enough,<br /> -Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -They are all virtuous, yea every one.<br /> -Virtue and fame are ever in accord<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>So long as time doth run,<br /> -<br /> -The tongues that prate of virtue as reward<br /> -Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be<br /> -One guilty of all vile and horrid sin!<br /> -And when I see fame's importunity<br /> -So advertise her shameless harlotry,<br /> -Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin<br /> -One place alone, the lowest, would I win.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -This fame, which all the wide world loves,<br /> -I touch with gloves,<br /> -And scorning beat<br /> -Beneath my feet.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -3<br /> -<br /> -Hush! I see vastness!—and of vasty things<br /> -Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine<br /> -Them with his words? Then take the might which brings<br /> -The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea.<br /> -O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars!<br /> -And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>A shining constellation falls towards me.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -4<br /> -<br /> -O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being!<br /> -O carved tablets of Eternity!<br /> -And dost thou truly bend thy way to me?<br /> -Thy loveliness, to all—obscurity,<br /> -What? Fear'st not to unveil before <i>my</i> seeing?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -O shield of Destiny!<br /> -O carven tablets of Eternity!<br /> -Yea, verily, thou knowest—what mankind doth hate,<br /> -What I alone do love: thou art inviolate<br /> -To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate!<br /> -'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity,<br /> -Canst kindle everlasting love in me!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate!<br /> -That no desire can reach to invocate,<br /> -That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay,<br /> -Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea:<br /> -For I love thee, Eternity!<br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_43" id="Footnote_1_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_43"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_44" id="Footnote_2_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_44"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a><br /><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS" id="FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a></h4> - -<h5>(1882-88)</h5> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a><br /><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">SPEECHES, PARABLES, AND SIMILES</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -3<br /> -<br /> -My home's in the highlands,<br /> -For the highlands I yearn not,<br /> -I raise not mine eyes aloft:<br /> -I am one that looks downward,<br /> -One that must bless,—All<br /> -blessers look downward.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -11<br /> -<br /> -Thus I began,<br /> -I unlearned all self-pity!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -13<br /> -<br /> -Not in shattering idols,<br /> -But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee,<br /> -Consisted thy valour.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -14<br /> -<br /> -See, there stand<br /> -Those heavy cats of granite,<br /> -Those old, old Values.<br /> -Woe is me! How overthrow them?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Scratching cats,<br /> -With paws that are fettered,<br /> -There they sit<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>And their glance is poison.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -17<br /> -<br /> -A lightning-flash became my wisdom:<br /> -With sword of adamant it clove me every<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">darkness!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -19<br /> -<br /> -A thought that still<br /> -Flows hot, like lava:<br /> -But all streams of lava<br /> -Build a fortress around them,<br /> -And every thought finally<br /> -Oppresses itself with laws.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -20<br /> -<br /> -Such is my will:<br /> -And since 'tis my will,<br /> -All goes as I wish—<br /> -That was my final wisdom:<br /> -I willed what I must,<br /> -And thus I forced every "must,"—<br /> -Since then has been for me no "must."<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -23<br /> -<br /> -Deceit<br /> -Is war's whole art<br /> -The fox's skin<br /> -Is my secret shirt of mail<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -25<br /> -<br /> -We of the new underworld<br /> -Grub for new treasures.<br /> -Godless it seemed to the ancients<br /> -To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures<br /> -And once more this godlessness revives,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -28<br /> -<br /> -Looking for love and finding masks,<br /> -Finding accursed masks and having to break them!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -29<br /> -<br /> -Do I love you?<br /> -Yes, as the rider loves his steed,<br /> -That carryeth him to his goal.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -30<br /> -<br /> -His pity is cruel,<br /> -His loving hand-clasp bruises,<br /> -Give not a giant your hand!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -31<br /> -<br /> -Ye fear me?<br /> -Ye fear the taut-strung bow?<br /> -Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -33<br /> -<br /> -I am naught but a word-maker.<br /> -What matter words?<br /> -What matter I?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -34<br /> -<br /> -Ah, my friends,<br /> -Whither has flown all that is called "good"?<br /> -Whither all good people?<br /> -Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods?<br /> -I call all good,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -35<br /> -<br /> -Not through his sins and greatest follies.<br /> -Through his perfection I suffered,<br /> -As I suffered most from men.<a name="FNanchor_1_45" id="FNanchor_1_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_45" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -36<br /> -<br /> -"Man is evil."<br /> -So spake the wisest<br /> -For my consolement.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -37<br /> -<br /> -And only when I to myself am a burden<br /> -Do ye fall heavy upon me!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -38<br /> -<br /> -Too soon, already<br /> -I laugh again:<br /> -For a foe 'tis easy<br /> -To make me amends.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -39<br /> -<br /> -Gentle am I towards man and chance;<br /> -Gentle with all men, and even with grasses:<br /> -A spot of sunshine on winter curtains,<br /> -Moist with tenderness,<br /> -A thawing wind to snow-bound souls:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Proud-minded towards trifling<br /> -Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger,<br /> -'Tis aye my pleasure<br /> -To be bamboozled:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -40<br /> -<br /> -A strange breath breathes and spits at me,<br /> -Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -41<br /> -<br /> -Little people,<br /> -Confiding, open-hearted,<br /> -But low-built portals,<br /> -Where only the low of stature can enter.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -How can I get through the city-gate<br /> -Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -42<br /> -<br /> -My wisdom was like to the sun,<br /> -I longed to give them light,<br /> -But I only deceived them.<br /> -The sun of my wisdom<br /> -Blinded the eyes<br /> -Of these poor bats....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -43<br /> -<br /> -Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">a seer did:</span><br /> -Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">journeyed.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -44<br /> -<br /> -Back! on my heels too closely ye follow!<br /> -Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">you!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -45<br /> -<br /> -"He goes to hell who goes thy ways!"<br /> -So be it I to my hell<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -46<br /> -<br /> -Your God, you tell me,<br /> -Is a God of love?<br /> -The sting of conscience<br /> -A sting from God?<br /> -A sting of love?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -48<br /> -<br /> -They chew gravel,<br /> -They lie on their bellies<br /> -Before little round things,<br /> -They adore all that falleth not down—<br /> -These last servants of God<br /> -Believers (in reality)!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -50<br /> -<br /> -They made their God out of nothing,<br /> -What wonder if now he is naught?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -51<br /> -<br /> -Ye loftier men! There have once been<br /> -More thoughtful times, more reflective,<br /> -Than is our to-day and to-morrow.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -52<br /> -Our time is like a sick woman—<br /> -Let her but shriek, rave, scold,<br /> -And break the tables and dishes!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -54<br /> -<br /> -Ye mount?<br /> -Is it true that ye mount,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>Ye loftier men?<br /> -<br /> -Are ye not, pray,<br /> -Like to a ball<br /> -Sped to the heights<br /> -By the lowest that's in you?<br /> -Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -55<br /> -<br /> -All that you thought<br /> -You had to despise,<br /> -Where you only renounced!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -56<br /> -<br /> -All men repeat the refrain!<br /> -No, no, and thrice say No!<br /> -What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven?<br /> -We would not enter the kingdom of heaven,<br /> -The kingdom of earth shall be ours?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -57<br /> -<br /> -The will redeemeth,<br /> -He that has nothing to do<br /> -In a Nothing finds food for trouble.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -58<br /> -<br /> -You cannot endure it more,<br /> -Your tyrannous destiny,<br /> -Love it—you're given no choice!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -59<br /> -<br /> -These alone free us from woes<br /> -(Choose now I)<br /> -Sudden death<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>Or long-drawn-out love.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -60<br /> -<br /> -Of death we are sure,<br /> -So why not be merry?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -61<br /> -<br /> -The worst of pleas<br /> -I have hidden from you—that life grew tedious!<br /> -Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -62<br /> -<br /> -Lonely days,<br /> -Ye must walk on valorous feet!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -63<br /> -<br /> -Loneliness<br /> -Plants naught, it ripens....<br /> -And even then you must have the sun for your<br /> -friend.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -64<br /> -<br /> -Once more must ye plunge in the throng—In<br /> -the throng ye grow hard and smooth.<br /> -Solitude withers<br /> -And lastly destroys.—<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -65<br /> -<br /> -When on the hermit comes the great fear;<br /> -When he runs and runs<br /> -And knows not whither;<br /> -When the storms roar behind<br /> -And the lightning bears witness against him,<br /> -And his cavern breeds spectres<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>And fills him with dread.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -67<br /> -<br /> -Throw thy pain in the depths,<br /> -Man, forget! Man, forget!<br /> -Divine is the art of forgetting!<br /> -Wouldst fly?<br /> -Wouldst feel at home in the heights?<br /> -Throw thy heaviest load in the sea!<br /> -Here is the sea, hurl thyself in the sea!<br /> -Divine is the art of forgetting!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -69<br /> -<br /> -Look forward, never look back!<br /> -We sink to the depths<br /> -If we peer ever into the depths.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -70<br /> -<br /> -Beware, beware<br /> -Of warning the reckless!<br /> -Thy warning will drive them<br /> -To leap into every abyss!<br /> -<br /> -71<br /> -<br /> -Why hurled he himself from the heights?<br /> -What led him astray?<br /> -His pity for all that is lowly led him astray,<br /> -And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold.<br /> -<br /> -72<br /> -<br /> -Whither went he? Who knows?<br /> -We only know that he sank.<br /> -A star went out in the desolate void,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>And lone was the void.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -73<br /> -<br /> -What we have not<br /> -But need,<br /> -We must take.<br /> -And so a good conscience I took.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -74<br /> -<br /> -Who is there that could bestow right upon thee?<br /> -So take thy right!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -75<br /> -<br /> -O ye waves,<br /> -Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me?<br /> -Do ye raise me your crests in wrath?<br /> -With my rudder I smite<br /> -Your folly full square.<br /> -This bark ye yourselves<br /> -To immortal life will carry along.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -77<br /> -<br /> -When no new voice was heard,<br /> -Ye made from old words<br /> -A law:<br /> -When life grows stark, there shoots up the law.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -78<br /> -<br /> -What none can refute<br /> -Ye say must be true?<br /> -Oh, ye innocents!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -79<br /> -<br /> -Art thou strong?<br /> -Strong as an ass? Strong as God?<br /> -Art thou proud?<br /> -So proud as to flaunt<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>Unashamed thy conceit?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -80<br /> -<br /> -Beware,<br /> -And ne'er beat the drum<br /> -Of thy destiny I<br /> -Go out of the way<br /> -From all pom-pom of fame!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Be not known too soon!<br /> -Be one that has hoarded renown!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -81<br /> -<br /> -Wilt thou grasp at the thorns?<br /> -Thy fingers must pay.<br /> -Grasp at a poniard.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -85<br /> -<br /> -Be a tablet of gold,<br /> -They will grave upon thee<br /> -In golden script.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -86<br /> -<br /> -Upright he stands<br /> -With more sense of "justice"<br /> -In his outermost toe<br /> -Than I have in all my head.<br /> -A virtue-monster<br /> -Mantled in white.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -87<br /> -<br /> -Already he mimics himself,<br /> -Already weary he grows,<br /> -Already he seeks the paths he has trod—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden!<br /> -<br /> -Secretly burnt—<br /> -Not for his faith,<br /> -Rather because he had lost the heart<br /> -To find new faith.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -88<br /> -<br /> -Too long he sat in the cage,<br /> -That runaway!<br /> -Too long he dreaded<br /> -A gaoler!<br /> -<br /> -Timorous now he goeth his ways,<br /> -All things make him to stumble—<br /> -The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -89<br /> -<br /> -Ye chambers smoky and musty,<br /> -Ye cages and narrow hearts,<br /> -How could your spirit be free?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -90<br /> -<br /> -Narrow souls!<br /> -Huckster-souls!<br /> -When money leaps into the box<br /> -The soul leaps into it too!<a name="FNanchor_2_46" id="FNanchor_2_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_46" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -92<br /> -<br /> -Are ye women,<br /> -That ye wish to suffer<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>From that which ye love?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -99<br /> -<br /> -They are cold, these men of learning!<br /> -Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food,<br /> -And their mouths could learn to eat fire!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -101<br /> -<br /> -Your false love<br /> -For the past,<br /> -A love for the graves of the dead,<br /> -Is a theft from life<br /> -That steals all the future.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -An antiquary<br /> -Is a craftsman of dead things,<br /> -Who lives among coffins and skeletons.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -103<br /> -<br /> -Only the poet who can lie<br /> -Wilfully, skilfully,<br /> -Can tell the truth.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -104<br /> -<br /> -Our chase after truth,<br /> -Is't a chase after happiness?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -105<br /> -<br /> -Truth<br /> -Is a woman, no better,<br /> -Cunning in her shame:<br /> -Of what she likes best<br /> -She will know naught,<br /> -And covers her face....<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>To what doth she yield<br /> -But to violence?<br /> -Violence she needs.<br /> -Be hard, ye sages!<br /> -Ye must compel her,<br /> -That shamefaced Truth....<br /> -For her happiness<br /> -She needs constraint—She<br /> -is a woman, no better.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -106<br /> -<br /> -We thought evil of each other?<br /> -We were too distant,<br /> -But now in this tiny hut,<br /> -Pinned to one destiny,<br /> -How could we still be foes?<br /> -We must needs love those<br /> -Whom we cannot escape.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -107<br /> -<br /> -Love thy foe,<br /> -Let the robber rob thee:<br /> -The woman hears and—does it.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -110<br /> -<br /> -A proud eye<br /> -With silken curtains,<br /> -Seldom clear,<br /> -Honours him that may see it unveiled.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -111<br /> -<br /> -Sluggard eyes<br /> -That seldom love—<br /> -But when they love, the levin flashes<br /> -As from shafts of gold<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -117<br /> -<br /> -They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling.<br /> -Grasp them, they pinch you;<br /> -Leave them alone, and they walk backward.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -119<br /> -<br /> -Crooked go great rivers and men,<br /> -Crooked, but turned to their goal;<br /> -That is their highest courage,<br /> -They dreaded not crooked paths.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -121<br /> -<br /> -Wouldst catch them?<br /> -Then speak to them<br /> -As to stray sheep:<br /> -"Your path, your path<br /> -You have lost!"<br /> -They follow all<br /> -That flatter them so:<br /> -"What? had we a path?"<br /> -Each whispers the other:<br /> -"It really seems that we have a path."<br /> -</p> - - -<p class="p2">[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, -several fragments having been omitted.—TR.]</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_45" id="Footnote_1_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_45"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he -considers equivalent to harmlessness.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_46" id="Footnote_2_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_46"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, -who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money -leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a><br /><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="HYMN_TO_LIFE" id="HYMN_TO_LIFE">HYMN TO LIFE.</a></h4> - -<p><i>For Chorus and Orchestra.</i> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</span> -Trans. <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER.</span> Arr. for Piano <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A.</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn01.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn02.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn03.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn04.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn05.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn06.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a><br /><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - - - - - - - - - - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 ***</div> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/cover.png b/old/52190-h/images/cover.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 83973fc..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/cover.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/hymn01.png b/old/52190-h/images/hymn01.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 528e05c..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/hymn01.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/hymn02.png b/old/52190-h/images/hymn02.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 119fe7a..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/hymn02.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/hymn03.png b/old/52190-h/images/hymn03.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 886a2ff..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/hymn03.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/hymn04.png b/old/52190-h/images/hymn04.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 79ac338..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/hymn04.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/hymn05.png b/old/52190-h/images/hymn05.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 98bee08..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/hymn05.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/hymn06.png b/old/52190-h/images/hymn06.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3fb589a..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/hymn06.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52190-h/images/ill_niet.jpg b/old/52190-h/images/ill_niet.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d035085..0000000 --- a/old/52190-h/images/ill_niet.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-0.txt b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c93e7de..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6275 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 *** -ECCE HOMO - -(_NIETZSCHES AUTOBIOGRAPHY_) - -BY - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - - -TRANSLATED BY - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI - - -POETRY RENDERED BY - -PAUL V. COHN -- FRANCIS BICKLEY - -HERMAN SCHEFFAUER -- DR. G. T. WRENCH - -HYMN TO LIFE (_composed by F. NIETZSCHE_) - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Seventeen - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1911 - - - -CONTENTS - -TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION -AUTHOR'S PREFACE -WHY I AM SO WISE -WHY I AM SO CLEVER -WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS -The Birth of Tragedy -Thoughts out of Season -Human, All-too-Human -The Dawn of Day -The Joyful Wisdom -Thus spake Zarathustra -Beyond Good and Evil -The Genealogy of Morals -The Twilight of the Idols -The Case of Wagner -WHY I AM A FATALITY -EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY -POETRY-- -Songs, Epigrams, etc. -Dionysus-Dithyrambs -Fragments of Dionysus-Dithyrambs -HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE - - - - -TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - - -_Ecce Homo_ is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true -that the pamphlet _Nietzsche contra Wagner_ was prepared a month -later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as -anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of -aphorisms drawn from such previous works as _Joyful Wisdom, Beyond -Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,_ etc. Coming at the end of a -year in which he had produced the _Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the -Idols,_ and _The Antichrist, Ecce Homo_ is not only a coping-stone -worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting -conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his -character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement -as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end, -Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which, -in the _Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that -every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and -intimates when his time seems to have come--that is to say, while he -is still _himself_ while he still knows what he is about, and is able -to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a -manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man -lying on his back, decrepit and exhausted, or to the moribund victim -of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole -life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly -and proudly,--sword in hand. War, which he--and he alone among all -the philosophers of Christendom--had praised so whole-heartedly, at -last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him -a victim on the battlefield--the terrible battlefield of thought, on -which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet -been established or even thought of. - -To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed -for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at -least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and -of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is -aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find -in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and -inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a -Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"--however much they may -have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of -certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only -in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation -and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be -preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of -thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only -as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a -like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices -against Nietzsche's lack of the very virtue they so abundantly possess -or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous -remark: "_Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden_" (Only nobodies are ever modest). - -It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life. -Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday, -it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but -for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche -left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight -years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December -1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares -the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and -inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public -mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he -existed" ("_die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin_"). And, true to his -intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of -the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in -which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to -the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task, -and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, _Dionysus_ versus -_Christ,_--everything comes straight from the shoulder, without -hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without -concealment. Only in one place does he appear to conceal something, and -then he actually leads one to understand that he is doing so. It is in -regard to Wagner, the greatest friend of his life. "Who doubts," he -says, "that I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to -point my heavy guns at Wagner?"--But he adds: "Everything decisive in -this question I kept to myself--I have loved Wagner" (p. 122). - -To point, as many have done, to the proximity of all Nietzsche's autumn -work of the year 1888 to his breakdown at the beginning of 1889, and -to argue that in all its main features it foretells the catastrophe -that is imminent, seems a little too plausible, a little too obvious -and simple to require refutation. That Nietzsche really was in a state -which in medicine is known as _euphoria_--that is to say, that state -of highest well-being and capacity which often precedes a complete -breakdown, cannot, I suppose, be questioned; for his style, his -penetrating vision, and his vigour, reach their zenith in the works -written in this autumn of 1888; but the contention that the matter, the -substance, of these works reveals any signs whatsoever of waning mental -health, or, as a certain French biographer has it, of an inability to -"hold himself and his judgments in check," is best contradicted by -the internal evidence itself. To take just a few examples at random, -examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. of -the present work; consider the reserve and the restraint with which the -idea in Aphorism 7 of that chapter is worked out,--not to speak of the -restraint and self-mastery in the idea itself, namely:-- - -"To be one's enemy's equal--this is the first condition of an -honourable duel. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one -commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage -war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack -only things that are triumphant--if necessary I wait until they become -triumphant. Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find -no allies, against which I stand alone--against which I compromise -nobody but myself.... Thirdly, I never make personal attacks--I use a -personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a -general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent.... -Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal -differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of -disagreeable experiences is lacking." - -And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II., Wagner--the -supposed mortal enemy, the supposed envied rival to Nietzsche--is -treated. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or -who is losing control? - -And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work -and put the question--Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that -we find in these pages? Is it the old countenance with which we are -familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will -the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche -here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed -in _Thus spake Zarathustra,_ five years previously, and is perfectly -conscious of this fidelity (see p. 141); neither can he be even on the -verge of any marked change, because the whole of the third chapter, -in which he reviews his life-work, is simply a reiteration and a -confirmation of his old points of view, which are here made all the -more telling by additional arguments suggested, no doubt, by maturer -thought. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its -cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily -incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the -genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the _Thoughts out of -Season_ (pp. 75-76, 80, 81, 82), a summing up which a most critical -analysis of the essays in question can but verify. Romanticism, -idealism, Christianity, are still scorned and despised; another -outlook, a nobler, braver, and more earthly outlook, is still upheld -and revered; the great yea to life, including all that it contains -that is terrible and questionable, is still pronounced in the teeth of -pessimists, nihilists, anarchists, Christians, and other decadents; and -Germany, "Europe's flatland," is still subjected to the most relentless -criticism. If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere -growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most -careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former -opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are -found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so -radically to have perturbed. - -But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this -autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion -of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would -have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own. This -anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, -suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including -Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler -with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and -Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and -help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de -Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,--this was the man -who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device _amor fati_ upon -his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the -unspeakable suffering he had endured. - -And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's -sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate -instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile -structure--the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,--his terrible -will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite -problems. We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, -Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, -what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity -in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is -highly organised. Disraeli says in _Contarini Fleming_ (Part iv. chap. -v.):-- - - "I have sometimes half believed, although the suspicion is - mortifying, that there is only one step between his state - who deeply indulges in imaginative meditation, and insanity; - for I well remember that at this period of my life, when - I indulged in meditation to a degree that would now be - impossible, and I hope unnecessary, my senses sometimes - appeared to be wandering." - -And artists are the proper judges of artists,--not Oxford Dons, like -Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something -for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly -av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the -eleventh edition of the _Encyclopedia Britannica,_ and implies the -hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is -madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to -go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this -want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's -doctrine still is. - -Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he went mad so late is -the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work -he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he -actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years -of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were -everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at -his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the -phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors. - -No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with -understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, -to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no -longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since -then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will -prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent -pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with -that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and -"the modest" has always confronted everything truly great. - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI. - - - - -PREFACE - - -1 - -As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my -fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made -upon them, it seems to me _above_ all necessary to declare here who -and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well -known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself. But -the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the -smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people -have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made -credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive -at all. I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come -to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I -am _not_ alive.... Under these circumstances, it is a duty--and one -against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the -pride of my instincts, rebel--to say: _Listen! for I am such and such a -person. For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!_ - - - -2 - -I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the -contrary, I am the very opposite in nature to the kind of man that -has been honoured hitherto as virtuous. Between ourselves, it seems -to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I -am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be -even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book! Maybe I have here -succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same -time sympathetic manner--maybe this is the only purpose of the present -work. - -The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to -"improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only -learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols (idols -is the name I give to all ideals) is much more like my business. In -proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been -robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness.... The "true -world" and the "apparent world"--in plain English, the fictitious world -and reality.... Hitherto the _lie_ of the ideal has been the curse of -reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has -become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to -be worshipped which are the exact _opposite_ of the ones which would -ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future. - - - -3 - -He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious -that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be -built for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The -ice is near, the loneliness is terrible--but how serenely everything -lies in the sunshine! how freely one can breathe! how much, one feels, -lies beneath one! Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is -a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks--the -seeking--out of everything strange and questionable in existence, -everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through -long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I -acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally -desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising -and idealising. The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of -their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain -mind endure; how much truth can it dare?--these questions became for -me ever more and more the actual test of values. Error (the belief in -the ideal) is not blindness; error is cowardice.... Every conquest, -every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness -towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self. I do not refute -ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence.... _Nitimur -in vetitum;_ with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; -for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without -exception, Truth. - - - -4 - -In my lifework, my _Zarathustra_ holds a place apart. With it, I gave -my fellow-men the greatest gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. -This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only -the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,--the -whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath -it,--but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of -truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered -without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness. Here it is -not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness -and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would -not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper -heed to the tones--the halcyonic tones--that fall from the lips of -Zarathustra:-- - -"The most silent words are harbingers of the storm; thoughts that come -on dove's feet lead the world. - -"The figs fall from the trees; they are good and sweet, and, when they -fall, their red skins are rent. - -"A north wind am I unto ripe figs. - -"Thus, like figs, do these precepts drop down to you, my friends; now -drink their juice and their sweet pulp. - -"It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and afternoon." - -No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is -demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and -well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out--a slow and gentle gait -is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the -most elect; it is a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? -one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. I Is not Zarathustra, -because of these things, a _seducer?_ ... But what, indeed, does he -himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just -the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," -and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is -other than they. - -"Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus -would I have it. - -"Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves -against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath -deceived you. - -"The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but -also to hate his friends. - -"The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why -would ye not pluck at my wreath? - -"Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? -Take heed, lest a statue crush you. - -"Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? -Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers? - -"Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all -believers; therefore is all believing worth so little. - -"Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all -denied me will I come back unto you." - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. - - - - - -On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the -grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I -looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many -good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth -year to-day; I had the _right_ to bury it--that in it which still -had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the -_Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight -of the Idols,_ my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer--all these -things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. _How -could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?_ - -That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life. - - - - -ECCE HOMO - - -HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS - - - - -WHY I AM SO WISE - - - -1 - - -The happiness of my existence, its unique character perhaps, consists -in its fatefulness: to speak in a riddle, as my own father I am already -dead, as my own mother I still live and grow old. This double origin, -taken as it were from the highest and lowest rungs of the ladder of -life, at once a decadent and a beginning, this, if anything, explains -that neutrality, that freedom from partisanship in regard to the -general problem of existence, which perhaps distinguishes me. To the -first indications of ascending or of descending life my nostrils are -more sensitive than those of any man that has yet lived. In this domain -I am a master to my backbone--I know both sides, for I am both sides. -My father died in his six-and-thirtieth year: he was delicate, lovable, -and morbid, like one who is preordained to pay simply a flying visit--a -gracious reminder of life rather than life itself. In the same year -that his life declined mine also declined: in my six-and-thirtieth year -I reached the lowest point in my vitality,--I still lived, but my eyes -could distinguish nothing that lay three paces away from me. At that -time--it was the year 1879--I resigned my professorship at Bâle, lived -through the summer like a shadow in St. Moritz, and spent the following -winter, the most sunless of my life, like a shadow in Naumburg. This -was my lowest ebb. During this period I wrote _The Wanderer and His -Shadow._ Without a doubt I was conversant with shadows then. The winter -that followed, my first winter in Genoa, brought forth that sweetness -and spirituality which is almost inseparable from extreme poverty -of blood and muscle, in the shape of _The Dawn of Day,_ The perfect -lucidity and cheerfulness, the intellectual exuberance even, that this -work reflects, coincides, in my case, not only with the most profound -physiological weakness, but also with an excess of suffering. In the -midst of the agony of a headache which lasted three days, accompanied -by violent nausea, I was possessed of most singular dialectical -clearness, and in absolutely cold blood I then thought out things, for -which, in my more healthy moments, I am not enough of a climber, not -sufficiently subtle, not sufficiently cold. My readers perhaps know -to what extent I consider dialectic a symptom of decadence, as, for -instance, in the most famous of all cases--the case of Socrates. All -the morbid disturbances of the intellect, even that semi-stupor which -accompanies fever, have, unto this day, remained completely unknown to -me; and for my first information concerning their nature and frequency, -I was obliged to have recourse to the learned works which have been -compiled on the subject. My circulation is slow. No one has ever been -able to detect fever in me. A doctor who treated me for some time as -a nerve patient finally declared: "No! there is nothing wrong with -your nerves, it is simply I who am nervous." It has been absolutely -impossible to ascertain any local degeneration in me, nor any organic -stomach trouble, however much I may have suffered from profound -weakness of the gastric system as the result of general exhaustion. -Even my eye trouble, which sometimes approached so parlously near -to blindness, was only an effect and not a cause; for, whenever my -general vital condition improved, my power of vision also increased. -Having admitted all this, do I need to say that I am experienced in -questions of decadence? I know them inside and out. Even that filigree -art of prehension and comprehension in general, that feeling for -delicate shades of difference, that psychology of "seeing through brick -walls," and whatever else I may be able to do, was first learnt then, -and is the specific gift of that period during which everything in -me was subtilised,--observation itself, together with all the organs -of observation. To look upon healthier concepts and values from the -standpoint of the sick, and conversely to look down upon the secret -work of the instincts of decadence from the standpoint of him who is -laden and self-reliant with the richness of life--this has been my -longest exercise, my principal experience. If in anything at all, it -was in this that I became a master. To-day my hand knows the trick, I -now have the knack of reversing perspectives: the first reason perhaps -why a _Transvaluation of all Values_ has been possible to me alone. - - - -2 - - -For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of -such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always -instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily -health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those -remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain -details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself -to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in -life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my -refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and -to be doctored--all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts -respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself -in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of -success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is -that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature -cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound -nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to -a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long -period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered -life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even -trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them--out -of my Will to Health and to Life I made my philosophy.... For this -should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my -vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: -the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of -poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes -recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such -lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral -block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only -which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits -of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for -injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; -that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively -gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a -selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, -whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural -scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, -the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with -that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in -him--he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting -it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can -digest himself and others; he knows how to forget--he is strong enough -to make everything turn to his own advantage. - -Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just -described is none other than myself. - - - -3 - - -This double thread of experiences, this means of access to two worlds -that seem so far asunder, finds in every detail its counterpart in my -own nature--I am my own complement: I have a "second" sight, as well -as a first. And perhaps I also have a third sight. By the very nature -of my origin I was allowed an outlook beyond all merely local, merely -national and limited horizons; it required no effort on my part to be -a "good European." On the other hand, I am perhaps more German than -modern Germans--mere Imperial Germans--can hope to be,--I, the last -anti-political German. Be this as it may, my ancestors were Polish -noblemen: it is owing to them that I have so much race instinct in my -blood--who knows? perhaps even the _liberum veto_[1] When I think of -the number of times in my travels that I have been accosted as a Pole, -even by Poles themselves, and how seldom I have been taken for a German, -it seems to me as if I belonged to those only who have a sprinkling -of German in them. But my mother, Franziska Oehler, is at any rate -something very German; as is also my paternal grandmother, Erdmuthe -Krause. The latter spent the whole of her youth in good old Weimar, -not without coming into contact with Goethe's circle. Her brother, -Krause, the Professor of Theology in Königsberg, was called to the -post of General Superintendent at Weimar after Herder's death. It is -not unlikely that her mother, my great grandmother, is mentioned in -young Goethe's diary under the name of "Muthgen." She married twice, -and her second husband was Superintendent Nietzsche of Eilenburg. -In 1813, the year of the great war, when Napoleon with his general -staff entered Eilenburg on the 10th of October, she gave birth to a -son. As a daughter of Saxony she was a great admirer of Napoleon, and -maybe I am so still. My father, born in 1813, died in 1849. Previous -to taking over the pastorship of the parish of Röcken, not far from -Lützen, he lived for some years at the Castle of Altenburg, where he -had charge of the education of the four princesses. His pupils are the -Queen of Hanover, the Grand-Duchess Constantine, the Grand-Duchess of -Oldenburg, and the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg. He was full of -loyal respect for the Prussian King, Frederick William the Fourth, from -whom he obtained his living at Röcken; the events of 1848 saddened him -extremely. As I was born on the 15 th of October, the birthday of the -king above mentioned, I naturally received the Hohenzollern names of -Frederick William. There was at all events one advantage in the choice -of this day: my birthday throughout the whole of my childhood was a day -of public rejoicing. I regard it as a great privilege to have had such -a father: it even seems to me that this embraces all that I can claim -in the matter of privileges--life, the great yea to life, excepted. -What I owe to him above all is this, that I do not need any special -intention, but merely a little patience, in order involuntarily to -enter a world of higher and more delicate things. There I am at home, -there alone does my inmost passion become free. The fact that I had -to pay for this privilege almost with my life, certainly does not -make it a bad bargain. In order to understand even a little of _my -Zarathustra,_ perhaps a man must be situated and constituted very much -as I am myself--with one foot beyond the realm of the living. - - - -4 - - -I have never understood the art of arousing ill-feeling against -myself,--this is also something for which I have to thank my -incomparable father,--even when it seemed to me highly desirable -to do so. However un-Christian it may seem, I do not even bear any -ill-feeling towards myself. Turn my life about as you may, you will -find but seldom--perhaps indeed only once--any trace of some one's -having shown me ill-will. You might perhaps discover, however, too -many traces of _goodwill...._ My experiences even with those on whom -every other man has burnt his fingers, speak without exception in their -favour; I tame every bear, I can make even clowns behave decently. -During the seven years in which I taught Greek to the sixth form of -the College at Bâle, I never had occasion to administer a punishment; -the laziest youths were diligent in my class. The unexpected has -always found me equal to it; I must be unprepared in order to keep my -self-command. Whatever the instrument was, even if it were as out of -tune as the instrument "man" can possibly be,--it was only when I was -ill that I could not succeed in making it express something that was -worth hearing. And how often have I not been told by the "instruments" -themselves, that they had never before heard their voices express such -beautiful things.... This was said to me most delightfully perhaps by -that young fellow Heinrich von Stein, who died at such an unpardonably -early age, and who, after having considerately asked leave to do -so, once appeared in Sils-Maria for a three days' sojourn, telling -everybody there that it was _not_ for the Engadine that he had come. -This excellent person, who with all the impetuous simplicity of a -young Prussian nobleman, had waded deep into the swamp of Wagnerism -(and into that of Dübringism[2] into the bargain!), seemed almost -transformed during these three days by a hurricane of freedom, like one -who has been suddenly raised to his full height and given wings. Again -and again I said to him that this was all owing to the splendid air; -everybody felt the same,--one could not stand 6000 feet above Bayreuth -for nothing,--but he would not believe me.... Be this as it may, if -I have been the victim of many a small or even great offence, it was -not "will," and least of all ill-will that actuated the offenders; but -rather, as I have already suggested, it was goodwill, the cause of no -small amount of mischief in f my life, about which I had to complain. -_My_ experience gave me a right to feel suspicious in regard to all -so-called "unselfish" instincts, in regard to the whole of "neighbourly -love" which is ever ready and waiting with deeds or with advice. To -me it seems that these instincts are a sign of weakness, they are an -example of the inability to withstand a stimulus--it is only among -decadents that this _pity_ is called a virtue. What I reproach the -pitiful with is, that they are too ready to forget shame, reverence, -and the delicacy of feeling which knows how to keep at a distance; they -do not remember that this gushing pity stinks of the mob, and that it -is next of kin to bad manners--that pitiful hands may be thrust with -results fatally destructive into a great destiny, into a lonely and -wounded retirement, and into the privileges with which great guilt -endows one. The overcoming of pity I reckon among the noble virtues; -In the "Temptation of Zarathustra" I have imagined a case, in which a -great cry of distress reaches his ears, in which pity swoops down upon -him like a last sin, and would make him break faith with himself. To -remain one's own master in such circumstances, to keep the sublimity -of one's mission pure in such cases,--pure from the many ignoble and -more short-sighted impulses which come into play in so-called unselfish -actions,--this is the rub, the last test perhaps which a Zarathustra -has to undergo--the actual proof of his power. - - - -5 - - -In yet another respect I am no more than my father over again, and as -it were the continuation of his life after an all-too-early death. -Like every man who has never been able to meet his equal, and unto -whom the concept "retaliation" is just as incomprehensible as the -notion of "equal rights," I have forbidden myself the use of any sort -of measure of security or protection--and also, of course, of defence -and "justification"--in all cases in which I have been made the victim -either of trifling or even _very great_ foolishness. My form of -retaliation consists in this: as soon as possible to set a piece of -cleverness at the heels of an act of stupidity; by this means perhaps -it may still be possible to overtake it. To speak in a parable: I -dispatch a pot of jam in order to get rid of a bitter experience.... -Let anybody only give me offence, I shall "retaliate," he can be quite -sure of that: before long I discover an opportunity of expressing my -thanks to the "offender" (among other things even for the offence)--or -of _asking_ him for something, which can be more courteous even than -giving. It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter, -is more good-natured, more straightforward, than silence. Those--who -keep silent are almost always lacking in subtlety and refinement of -heart; silence is an objection, to swallow a grievance must necessarily -produce a bad temper--it even upsets the stomach. All silent people -are dyspeptic. You perceive that I should not like to see rudeness -undervalued; it is by far the most _humane_ form of contradiction, and, -in the midst of modern effeminacy, it is one of our first virtues; If -one is sufficiently rich for it, it may even be a joy to be wrong. If -a god were to descend to this earth, he would have to do nothing but -wrong--to take _guilt_ not punishment, on one's shoulders, is the first -proof of divinity. - - - -6 - - -Freedom from resentment and the understanding of the nature of -resentment--who knows how very much after all I am indebted to my long -illness for these two things? The problem is not exactly simple: a -man must have experienced both through his strength and through his -weakness, If illness and weakness are to be charged with anything at -all, it is with the fact that when they prevail, the very instinct of -recovery, which is the instinct of defence and of war in man, becomes -decayed. He knows not how to get rid of anything, how to come to -terms with anything, and how to cast anything behind him. Everything -wounds him. People and things draw importunately near, all experiences -strike deep, memory is a gathering wound. To be ill is a sort of -resentment in itself. Against this resentment the invalid has only -one great remedy--I call it _Russian fatalism,_ that fatalism which -is free from revolt, and with which the Russian soldier, to whom a -campaign proves unbearable, ultimately lays himself down in the snow. -To accept nothing more, to undertake nothing more, to absorb nothing -more--to cease entirely from reacting.... The tremendous sagacity -of this fatalism, which does not always imply merely the courage for -death, but which in the most dangerous cases may actually constitute -a self-preservative measure, amounts to a reduction of activity in -the vital functions, the slackening down of which is like a sort of -will to hibernate. A few steps farther in this direction we find the -fakir, who will sleep for weeks in a tomb.... Owing to the fact that -one would be used up too quickly if one reacted, one no longer reacts -at all: this is the principle. And nothing on earth consumes a man -more quickly than the passion of resentment. Mortification, morbid -susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst -for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison--this is surely the -most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by -exhausted men. It involves a rapid wasting away of nervous energy, an -abnormal increase of detrimental secretions, as, for instance, that -of bile into the stomach. To the sick man resentment ought to be more -strictly forbidden than anything else--it is _his_ special danger: -unfortunately, however, it is also his most natural propensity. This -was fully grasped by that profound physiologist Buddha. His "religion," -which it would be better to call a system of hygiene, in order to avoid -confounding it with a creed so wretched as Christianity, depended -for its effect upon the triumph over resentment: to make the soul -free therefrom was considered the first step towards recovery. "Not -through hostility is hostility put to flight; through friendship does -hostility end": this stands at the beginning of Buddha's teaching--this -is not a precept of morality, but of physiology. Resentment born of -weakness is not more deleterious to anybody than it is to the weak -man himself--conversely, in the case of that man whose nature is -fundamentally a rich one, resentment is a superfluous feeling, a -feeling to remain master of which is almost a proof of riches. Those -of my readers who know the earnestness-with which my philosophy wages -war against the feelings of revenge and rancour, even to the extent of -attacking the doctrine of "free will" (my conflict with Christianity -is only a particular instance of it), will understand why I wish to -focus attention upon my own personal attitude and the certainty of -my practical instincts precisely in this matter. In my moments of -decadence I forbade myself the indulgence of the above feelings, -because they were harmful; as soon as my life recovered enough riches -and pride, however, I regarded them again as forbidden, but this time -because they were _beneath_ me. That "Russian fatalism" of which I have -spoken manifested itself in me in such a way that for years I held -tenaciously to almost insufferable conditions, places, habitations, -and companions, once chance had placed them on my path--it was better -than changing them, than feeling that they could be changed, than -revolting against them.... He who stirred me from this fatalism, he -who violently tried to shake me into consciousness, seemed to me then -a mortal enemy--in point of fact, there was danger of death each time -this was done. To regard one's self as a destiny, not to wish one's -self "different"--this, in such circumstances, is sagacity, itself. - - - -7 - - -War, on the other hand, is something different. At heart I am a -warrior. Attacking belongs to my instincts. To _be able to be_ an -enemy, to _be_ an enemy--maybe these things presuppose a strong nature; -in any case all strong natures involve these things. Such natures need -resistance, consequently they go in search of obstacles: the pathos of -aggression belongs of necessity to strength as much as the feelings -of revenge and of rancour belong to weakness. Woman, for instance, is -revengeful; her weakness involves this passion, just as it involves -her susceptibility in the presence of other people's suffering. The -strength of the aggressor can be measured by the opposition which -he needs; every increase of growth betrays itself by a seeking out -of more formidable opponents--or problems: for a philosopher who -is combative challenges even problems to a duel. The task is not -to overcome opponents in general, but only those opponents against -whom one has to summon all one's strength, one's skill, and one's -swordsmanship--in fact, opponents who are one's equals.... To be one's -enemy's equal--this is the first condition of an honourable duel. Where -one despises, one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees -something _beneath_ one, one _ought_ not to wage war. My war tactics -can be reduced to four principles A First, I attack only things that -are triumphant--if necessary I wait until they become triumphant. -Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no allies, -against which I stand alone--against which I compromise nobody but -myself.... I have not yet taken one single step before the public eye, -which did not compromise me: that is _my_ criterion of a proper mode -of action. Thirdly, I never make personal attacks--I use a personality -merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, -but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent. In this way I -attacked David Strauss, or rather the success given to a senile book by -the cultured classes of Germany--by this means I caught German culture -red-handed. In this way I attacked Wagner, or rather the falsity or -mongrel instincts of our "culture" which confounds the super-refined -with the strong, and the effete with the great. Fourthly, I attack -only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in -which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is -lacking. On the contrary, attacking is to me a proof of goodwill and, -in certain circumstances, of gratitude. By means of it, I do honour to -a thing, I distinguish a thing; whether I associate my name with that -of an institution or a person, by being _against_ or _for_ either, -is all the same to me. If I wage war against Christianity, I feel -justified in doing so, because in that quarter I have met with no fatal -experiences and difficulties--the most earnest Christians have always -been kindly disposed to me. I, personally, the most essential opponent -of Christianity, am far from holding the individual responsible for -what is the fatality of long ages. - -May I be allowed to hazard a suggestion concerning one last trait -in my character, which in my intercourse with other men has led me -into some difficulties? I am gifted with a sense of cleanliness the -keenness of which is phenomenal; so much so, that I can ascertain -physiologically--that is to say, smell--the proximity, nay, the inmost -core, the "entrails" of every human soul.... This sensitiveness of mine -is furnished with psychological antennæ, wherewith I feel and grasp -every secret: the quality of concealed filth lying at the base of many -a human character which may be the inevitable outcome of base blood, -and which education may have veneered, is revealed to me at the first -glance. If my observation has been correct, such people, whom my sense -of cleanliness rejects, also become conscious, on their part, of the -cautiousness to which my loathing prompts me: and this does not make -them any more fragrant.... In keeping with a custom which I have long -observed,--pure habits and honesty towards myself are among the first -conditions of my existence, I would die in unclean surroundings,--I -swim, bathe, and splash about, as it were, incessantly in water, in -any kind of perfectly transparent and shining element. That is why -my relations with my fellows try my patience to no small extent; my -humanity does not consist in the fact that I understand the feelings -of my fellows, but that I can endure to understand.... My humanity -is a perpetual process of self-mastery. But I need solitude--that is -to say, recovery, return to myself, the breathing of free, crisp, -bracing air.... The whole of my _Zarathustra_ is a dithyramb in honour -of solitude, or, if I have been understood, in honour of purity. Thank -Heaven, it is not in honour of "pure foolery"![3] He who has an eye for -colour will call him a diamond. The loathing of mankind, of the rabble, -was always my greatest danger.... Would you hearken to the words spoken -by Zarathustra concerning deliverance from loathing? - -"What forsooth hath come unto me? How did I deliver myself from -loathing? Who hath made mine eye younger? How did I soar to the height, -where there are no more rabble sitting about the well? - -"Did my very loathing forge me wings and the strength to scent -fountains afar off? Verily to the loftiest heights did I need to fly, -to find once more the spring of joyfulness. - -"Oh, I found it, my brethren! Up here, on the loftiest height, the -spring of joyfulness gusheth forth for me. And there is a life at the -well of which no rabble can drink with you. - -"Almost too fiercely dost thou rush, for me, thou spring of joyfulness! -And ofttimes dost thou empty the pitcher again in trying to fill it. - -"And yet must I learn to draw near thee more humbly. Far too eagerly -doth my heart jump to meet thee. - -"My heart, whereon my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, -over-blessed summer: how my summer heart yearneth for thy coolness! - -"Farewell, the lingering affliction of my spring! Past is the -wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and -summer noontide! - -"A summer in the loftiest heights, with cold springs and blessed -stillness: oh come, my friends, that the stillness may wax even more -blessed! - -"For this is our height and our home: too high and steep is our -dwelling for all the unclean and their appetites. - -"Do but cast your pure eyes into the well of my joyfulness, my friends! -How could it thus become muddy! It will laugh back at you with its -purity. - -"On the tree called Future do we build our nest: eagles shall bring -food in their beaks unto us lonely ones! - -"Verily not the food whereof the unclean might partake. They would -think they ate fire and would burn their mouths! - -"Verily, no abodes for the unclean do we here hold in readiness! To -their bodies our happiness would seem an ice-cavern, and to their -spirits also! - -"And like strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the -eagles, companions of the snow, and playmates of the sun: thus do -strong winds live. - -"And like a wind shall I one day blow amidst them, and take away their -soul's breath with my spirit: thus my future willeth it. - -"Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low lands; and this is -his counsel to his foes and to all those who spit and spew: 'Beware of -spitting against the wind!'" - - -[Footnote 1: The right which every Polish deputy, whether a great or an -inferior nobleman, possessed of forbidding the passing of any measure -by the Diet, was called in Poland the _liberum veto_ (in Polish _nie -pozwalam_), and brought all legislation to a standstill.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Eugen Dübring is a philosopher and political economist -whose general doctrine might be characterised as a sort of abstract -Materialism with an optimistic colouring.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: This, of course, is a reference to Wagner's _Parsifal._ -See my note on p. 96 of _The Will to Power_ vol. i.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I AM SO CLEVER - - - -1 - - -Why do I know more things than other people? Why, in fact, am I so -clever? I have never pondered over questions that are not questions. I -have never squandered my strength. Of actual religious difficulties, -for instance, I have no experience. I have never known what it is to -feel "sinful." In the same way I completely lack any reliable criterion -for ascertaining what constitutes a prick of conscience: from all -accounts a prick of conscience does not seem to be a very estimable -thing.... Once it was done I should hate to leave an action of mine -in the lurch; I should prefer completely to omit the evil outcome, -the consequences, from the problem concerning the value of an action. -In the face of evil consequences one is too ready to lose the proper -standpoint from which one's deed ought to be considered. A prick of -conscience strikes me as a sort of "evil eye." Something that has -failed should be honoured all the more jealously, precisely because -it has failed--this is much more in keeping with my morality.--"God," -"the immortality of the soul," "salvation," a "beyond"--to all these -notions, even as a child, I never paid any attention whatsoever, nor -did I waste any time upon them,--maybe I was never _naif_ enough for -that?--I am quite unacquainted with atheism as a result, and still -less as an event in my life: in me it is inborn, instinctive. I am -too inquisitive, too incredulous, too high spirited, to be satisfied -with such a palpably clumsy solution of things. God is a too palpably -clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy -towards us thinkers--at bottom He is really no more than a coarse -and rude _prohibition_ of us: ye shall not think!... I am much more -interested in another question,--a question upon which the "salvation -of humanity" depends to a far greater degree than it does upon any -piece of theological curiosity: I refer to nutrition. For ordinary -purposes, it may be formulated as follows: "How precisely must _thou_ -feed thyself in order to attain to thy maximum of power, or _virtù_ -in the Renaissance style,--of virtue free from moralic acid?" My -experiences in regard to this matter have been as bad as they possibly -could be; I am surprised that I set myself this question so late in -life, and that it took me so long to draw "rational" conclusions -from my experiences. Only the absolute worth-_1_ lessness of German -culture--its "idealism"--can to some extent explain how it was that -precisely in this matter I was so backward that my ignorance was almost -saintly. This "culture," which from first to last teaches one to lose -sight of actual things and to hunt after thoroughly problematic and -so-called ideal aims, as, for instance, "classical culture"--as if it -were not hopeless from the start to try to unite "classical" and -"German" in one concept. It is even a little comical--try and imagine -a "classically cultured" citizen of Leipzig!--Indeed, I can say, that -up to a very mature age, my food was entirely bad--expressed morally, -it was "impersonal," "selfless," "altruistic," to the glory of cooks -and all other fellow-Christians. It was through the cooking in vogue -at Leipzig, for instance, together with my first study of Schopenhauer -(1865), that I earnestly renounced my "Will to Live." To spoil one's -stomach by absorbing insufficient nourishment--this problem seemed to -my mind solved with admirable felicity by the above-mentioned cookery. -(It is said that in the year 1866 changes were introduced into this -department.) But as to German cookery in general--what has it not got -on its conscience! Soup _before_ the meal (still called _alla tedesca_ -in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled -to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of -pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely -bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the _ancients,_ and not alone -of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect -took its origin--that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.... -German intellect is indigestion; it can assimilate nothing. But even -English diet, which in comparison with German, and indeed with French -alimentation, seems to me to constitute a "return to Nature,"--that is -to say, to cannibalism,--is profoundly opposed to my own instincts. It -seems to me to give the intellect heavy feet, in fact, Englishwomen's -feet.... The best cooking is that of Piedmont. Alcoholic drinks do -not agree with me; a single glass of wine or beer a day is amply -sufficient to turn life into a valley of tears for me;--in Munich live -my antipodes. Although I admit that this knowledge came to me somewhat -late, it already formed part of my experience even as a child. As a boy -I believed that the drinking of wine and the smoking of tobacco were at -first but the vanities of youths, and later merely bad habits. Maybe -the poor wine of Naumburg was partly responsible for this poor opinion -of wine in general. In order to believe that wine was exhilarating, I -should have had to be a Christian--in other words, I should have had to -believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity. Strange to say, whereas -small quantities of alcohol, taken with plenty of water, succeed in -making me feel out of sorts, large quantities turn me almost into a -rollicking tar. Even as a boy I showed my bravado in this respect. To -compose a long Latin essay in one night, to revise and recopy it, to -aspire with my pen to emulating the exactitude and the terseness of my -model, Sallust, and to pour a few very strong grogs over it all--this -mode of procedure, while I was a pupil at the venerable old school of -Pforta, was not in the least out of keeping with my physiology, nor -perhaps with that of Sallust, however much it may have been alien to -dignified Pforta. Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more -and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, -who have experienced what vegetarianism is,--just as Wagner, who -converted me back to meat, experienced it,--cannot with sufficient -earnestness advise all more _spiritual_ natures to abstain absolutely -from alcohol. Water answers the purpose.... I have a predilection in -favour of those places where in all directions one has opportunities -of drinking from running brooks (Nice, Turin, Sils). _In vino Veritas_: -it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the -world about the concept "Truth"--with me spirit moves on the face of -the waters.... Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A -heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first -principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active -as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. -For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call -interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table -d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between -meals, coffee should be given up--coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is -beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, -but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the -whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own -standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate -limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which -to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to -drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as -possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to -the accompaniment of free bodily motion--nor in one in which even the -muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in -the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is -the real sin against the Holy Spirit. - - - -2. - - -To the question of nutrition, that of locality and climate is next of -kin. Nobody is so constituted as to be able to live everywhere and -anywhere; and he who has great duties to perform, which lay claim -to all his strength, has, in this respect, a very limited choice. -The influence of climate upon the bodily functions, affecting their -acceleration or retardation, extends so far, that a blunder in the -choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from -his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that -he never even comes face to face with it. Animal vigour never acquires -enough strength in him in order to reach that pitch of artistic freedom -which makes his own soul whisper to him: I, alone, can do that.... Ever -so slight a tendency to laziness in the intestines, once it has become -a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something -"German" out of a genius; the climate of Germany, alone, is enough to -discourage the strongest and most heroically disposed intestines. The -tempo of the body's functions is closely bound up with the agility or -the clumsiness of the spirit's feet; spirit itself is indeed only a -form of these organic functions. Let anybody make a list of the places -in which men of great intellect have been found, and are still found; -where wit, subtlety, and malice constitute happiness; where genius -is almost necessarily at home: all of them rejoice in exceptionally -dry air. Paris, Provence, Florence, Jerusalem, Athens--these names -prove something, namely: that genius is conditioned by dry air, by a -pure sky--that is to say, by rapid organic functions, by the constant -and ever-present possibility of procuring for one's self great and -even enormous quantities of strength. I have a certain case in mind -in which a man of remarkable intellect and independent spirit became -a narrow, craven specialist and a grumpy old crank, simply owing to -a lack of subtlety in his instinct for climate. And I myself might -have been an example of the same thing, if illness had not compelled -me to reason, and to reflect upon reason realistically. Now that I -have learnt through long practice to read the effects of climatic and -meteorological influences, from my own body, as though from a very -delicate and reliable instrument, and that I am able to calculate the -change in degrees of atmospheric moisture by means of physiological -observations upon myself, even on so short a journey as that from -Turin to Milan; I think with horror of the ghastly fact that my -whole life, until the last ten years,--the most perilous years,--has -always been spent in the wrong, and what to me ought to have been -the most forbidden, places. Naumburg, Pforta, Thuringia in general, -Leipzig, Bâle, Venice--so many ill-starred places for a constitution -like mine. If I cannot recall one single happy reminiscence of my -childhood and youth, it is nonsense to suppose that so-called "moral" -causes could account for this--as, for instance, the incontestable -fact that I lacked companions that could have satisfied me; for this -fact is the same to-day as it ever was, and it does not prevent me -from being cheerful and brave. But it was ignorance in physiological -matters--that confounded "Idealism"--that was the real curse of my -life. This was the superfluous and foolish element in my existence; -something from which nothing could spring, and for which there can be -no settlement and no compensation. As the outcome of this "Idealism" -I regard all the blunders, the great aberrations of instinct, and -the "modest specialisations" which drew me aside from the task of my -life; as, for instance, the fact that I became a philologist--why -not at least a medical man or anything else which might have opened -my eyes? My days at Bâle, the whole of my intellectual routine, -including my daily time-table, was an absolutely senseless abuse of -extraordinary powers, without the slightest compensation for the -strength that I spent, without even a thought of what I was squandering -and how its place might be filled. I lacked all subtlety in egoism, -all the fostering care of an imperative instinct; I was in a state -in which one is ready to regard one's self as anybody's equal, a -state of "disinterestedness," a forgetting of one's distance from -others--something, in short, for which I can never forgive myself. -When I had well-nigh reached the end of my tether, simply because I -had almost reached my end, I began to reflect upon the fundamental -absurdity of my life--"Idealism." It was _illness_ that first brought -me to reason. - - - -3 - - -After the choice of nutrition, the choice of climate and locality, the -third matter concerning which one must not on any account make a -blunder, is the choice of the manner in which one _recuperates one's -strength._ Here, again, according to the extent to which a spirit is -_sui generis,_ the limits of that which he can allow himself--in other -words, the limits of that which is beneficial to him--become more and -more confined. As far as I in particular am concerned, _reading_ in -general belongs to my means of recuperation; consequently it belongs -to that which rids me of myself, to that which enables me to wander -in strange sciences and strange souls--to that, in fact, about which -I am no longer in earnest. Indeed, it is while reading that I recover -from _my_ earnestness. During the time that I am deeply absorbed in -my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur -to me to allow any one to speak or even to think in my presence. -For that is what reading would mean.... Has any one ever actually -noticed, that, during the period of profound tension to which the -state of pregnancy condemns not only the mind, but also, at bottom, -the whole organism, accident and every kind of external stimulus acts -too acutely and strikes too deep? Accident and external stimuli must, -as far as possible, be avoided: a sort of walling-of-one's-self-in is -one of the primary instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy. -Shall I allow a strange thought to steal secretly over the wall? -For that is what reading would mean.... The periods of work and -fruit-fulness are followed by periods of recuperation: come hither, -ye delightful, intellectual, intelligent books! Shall I read German -books?... I must go back six months to catch myself with a book in -my hand. What was it? An excellent study by Victor Brochard upon the -Greek sceptics, in which my Laertiana[1] was used to advantage. The -sceptics!--the only _honourable_ types among that double-faced and -sometimes quintuple-faced throng, the philosophers!.... Otherwise I -almost always take refuge in the same books: altogether their number -is small; they are books which are precisely my proper fare. It is -not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library -makes me ill. Neither is it my nature to love much or many kinds of -things. Suspicion or even hostility towards new books is much more -akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration," _largeur de cœur,_ -and other forms of "neighbour-love." ... It is to a small number of -old French authors, that I always return again and again; I believe -only in French culture, and regard everything else in Europe which -calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take -the German kind into consideration.... The few instances of higher -culture with which I have met in Germany were all French in their -origin. The most striking example of this was Madame Cosima Wagner, -by far the most decisive voice in matters of taste that I have ever -heard. If I do not read, but literally love Pascal? as the most -instinctive sacrifice to Christianity, killing himself inch by inch, -first bodily, then spiritually, according to the terrible consistency -of this most appalling form of inhuman cruelty; if I have something -of Montaigne's mischievousness in my soul, and--who knows?--perhaps -also in my body; if my artist's taste endeavours to defend the names -of Molière, Corneille, and Racine, and not without bitterness, against -such a wild genius as Shakespeare--all this does not prevent me from -regarding even the latter-day Frenchmen also as charming companions. -I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of -more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could -be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day. Let me -mention a few at random--for their number is by no means small--Paul -Bourget, Pierre Loti, Gyp, Meilhac, Anatole France, Jules Lemaitre; -or, to point to one of strong race, a genuine Latin, of whom I am -particularly fond, Guy de Maupassant. Between ourselves, I prefer this -generation even to its masters, all of whom were corrupted by German -philosophy (Taine, for instance, by Hegel, whom he has to thank for -his misunderstanding of great men and great periods). Wherever Germany -extends her sway, she _ruins_ culture. It was the war which first saved -the spirit of France.... Stendhal is one of the happiest accidents of -my life--for everything that marks an epoch in it has been brought -to me by accident and never by means of a recommendation. He is quite -priceless, with his psychologist's eye, quick at forestalling and -anticipating; with his grasp of facts, which is reminiscent of the same -art in the greatest of all masters of facts (_ex ungue Napoleonem_); -and, last but not least, as an honest atheist--a specimen which is -both rare and difficult to discover in France--all honour to Prosper -Mérimée!... Maybe that I am even envious of Stendhal? He robbed -me of the best atheistic joke, which I of all people could have -perpetrated: "God's only excuse is that He does not exist" ... I myself -have said somewhere--What has been the greatest objection to Life -hitherto?--God.... - - - -4 - - -It was Heinrich Heine who gave me the most perfect idea of what a -lyrical poet could be. In vain do I search through all the kingdoms of -antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and -passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which -perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me,--I estimate the value of -men, of races, according to the extent to which they are unable to -conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him. And with -what mastery he wields his native tongue! One day it will be said of -Heine and me that we were by far the greatest artists of the German -language that have ever existed, and that we left all the efforts that -mere Germans made in this language an incalculable distance behind -us. I must be profoundly related to Byron's _Manfred:_ of all the -dark abysses in this work I found the counterparts in my own soul--at -the age of thirteen I was ripe for this book. Words fail me, I have -only a look, for those who dare to utter the name of _Faust_ in the -presence of _Manfred._ The Germans are _incapable_ of conceiving -anything sublime: for a proof of this, look at Schumann! Out of anger -for this mawkish Saxon, I once deliberately composed a counter-overture -to _Manfred,_ of which Hans von Bülow declared he had never seen the -like before on paper: such compositions amounted to a violation of -Euterpe. When I cast about me for my highest formula of Shakespeare, -I find invariably but this one: that he conceived the type of Cæsar. -Such things a man cannot guess--he either is the thing, or he is not. -The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. -This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he -can no longer endure his own work.... After casting a glance between -the pages of my _Zarathustra,_ I pace my room to and fro for half -an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears. -I know of no more heartrending reading than Shakespeare: how a man -must have suffered to be so much in need of playing the clown! Is -Hamlet _understood_? It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one -mad.... But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be -an abyss, a philosopher.... We all fear the truth.... And, to make a -confession; I feel instinctively certain and convinced that Lord Bacon -is the originator, the self-torturer, of this most sinister kind of -literature: what do I care about the miserable gabble of American -muddlers and blockheads? But the power for the greatest realism in -vision is not only compatible with the greatest realism in deeds, -with the monstrous in deeds, with crime--_it actually presupposes the -latter._ ... We do not know half enough about Lord Bacon--the first -realist in all the highest acceptation of this word--to be sure of -everything he did, everything he willed, and everything he experienced -in his inmost soul.... Let the critics go to hell! Suppose I had -christened my _Zarathustra_ with a name not my own,--let us say with -Richard Wagner's name,--the acumen of two thousand years would not have -sufficed to guess that the author of _Human, all-too-Human_ was the -visionary of _Zarathustra._ - - - -5 - - -As I am speaking here of the recreations of my life, I feel I must -express a word or two of gratitude for that which has refreshed me by -far the most heartily and most profoundly. This, without the slightest -doubt, was my intimate relationship with Richard Wagner. All my other -relationships with men I treat quite lightly; but I would not have the -days I spent at Tribschen--those days of confidence, of cheerfulness, -of sublime flashes, and of profound moments--blotted from my life -at any price. I know not what Wagner may have been for others; but -no cloud ever darkened _our_ sky. And this brings me back again to -France,--I have no arguments against Wagnerites, and _hoc genus omne_ -who believe that they do honour to Wagner by believing him to be -like themselves; for such people I have only a contemptuous curl of -my lip. With a nature like mine, which is so strange to everything -Teutonic, that even the presence of a German retards my digestion, my -first meeting with Wagner was the first moment in my life in which I -breathed freely: I felt him, I honoured him, as a foreigner, as the -opposite and the incarnate contradiction of all "German virtues." We -who as children breathed the marshy atmosphere of the fifties, are -necessarily pessimists in regard to the concept "German"; we cannot -be anything else than revolutionaries--we can assent to no state of -affairs which allows the canting bigot to be at the top. I care not -a jot whether this canting bigot acts in different colours to-day, -whether he dresses in scarlet or dons the uniform of a hussar.[2] Very -well, then! Wagner was a revolutionary--he fled from the Germans.... -As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris; that subtlety -of all the five senses which Wagner's art presupposes, those fingers -that can detect slight gradations, psychological morbidity--all these -things can be found only in Paris. Nowhere else can you meet with -this passion for questions of form, this earnestness in matters of -_mise-en-scène,_ which is the Parisian earnestness _par excellence._ -In Germany no one has any idea of the tremendous ambition that fills -the heart of a Parisian artist. The German is a good fellow. Wagner was -by no means a good fellow.... But I have already said quite enough -on the subject of Wagner's real nature (see _Beyond Good and Evil,_ -Aphorism 269), and about those to whom he is most closely related. -He is one of the late French romanticists, that high-soaring and -heaven-aspiring band of artists, like Delacroix and Berlioz, who in -their inmost nacres are sick and incurable, and who are all fanatics -of _expression,_ and virtuosos through and through.... Who, in sooth, -was the first intelligent follower of Wagner? Charles Baudelaire, the -very man who first understood Delacroix--that typical decadent, in whom -a whole generation of artists saw their reflection; he was perhaps the -last of them too.... What is it that I have never forgiven Wagner? -The fact that he condescended to the Germans--that he became a German -Imperialist.... Wherever Germany spreads, she _ruins_ culture. - - - -6 - - -Taking everything into consideration, I could never have survived my -youth without Wagnerian music. For I was condemned to the society -of Germans. If a man wish to get rid of a feeling of insufferable -oppression, he has to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner. -Wagner is the counter-poison to everything essentially German--the fact -that he is a poison too, I do not deny. From the moment that _Tristan_ -was arranged for the piano--all honour to you, Herr von Bülow!--I was -a Wagnerite. Wagner's previous works seemed beneath me--they were too -commonplace, too "German." ... But to this day I am still seeking for a -work which would be a match to _Tristan_ in dangerous fascination, and -possess the same gruesome and dulcet quality of infinity; I seek among -all the arts in vain. All the quaint features of Leonardo da Vinci's -work lose their charm at the sound of the first bar in _Tristan._ -This work is without question Wagner's _non plus ultra_; after its -creation, the composition of the _Mastersingers_ and of the _Ring_ was -a relaxation to him. To become more healthy--this in a nature like -Wagner's amounts to going backwards. The curiosity of the psychologist -is so great in me, that I regard it as quite a special privilege -to have lived at the right time, and to have lived precisely among -Germans, in order to be ripe for this work. The world must indeed be -empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for this "infernal -voluptuousness": it is allowable, it is even imperative, to employ a -mystic formula for this purpose. I suppose I know better than any one -the prodigious feats of which Wagner was capable, the fifty worlds of -strange ecstasies to which no one else had wings to soar; and as I am -alive to-day and strong enough to turn even the most suspicious and -most dangerous things to my own advantage, and thus to grow stronger, -I declare Wagner to have been the greatest benefactor of my life. The -bond which unites us is the fact that we have suffered greater agony, -even at each other's hands, than most men are able to bear nowadays, -and this will always keep our names associated in the minds of men. -For, just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among Germans, so, in -truth, am I, and ever will be. Ye lack two centuries of psychological -and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But ye can never -recover the time lost. - - - -7 - - -To the most exceptional of my readers I should like to say just one -word about what I really exact from music. It must be cheerful and yet -profound, like an October afternoon. It must be original, exuberant, -and tender, and like a dainty, soft woman in roguishness and grace ... I -shall never admit that a German _can_ understand what music is. Those -musicians who are called German, the greatest and most famous foremost, -are all foreigners, either Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen--or Jews; -or else, like Heinrich Schütz, Bach, and Händel, they are Germans of -a strong race which is now extinct. For my own part, I have still -enough of the Pole left in me to let all other music go, if only I -can keep Chopin. For three reasons I would except Wagner's _Siegfried -Idyll,_ and perhaps also one or two things of Liszt, who excelled all -other musicians in the noble tone of his orchestration; and finally -everything that has been produced beyond the Alps_--this side_ of the -Alps.[3] I could not possibly dispense with Rossini, and still less -with my Southern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro, Pietro -Gasti. And when I say beyond the Alps, all I really mean is Venice. -If I try to find a new word for music, I can never find any other -than Venice. I know not how to draw any distinction between tears -and music. I do not know how to think either of joy, or of the south, -without a shudder of fear. - -On the bridge I stood -Lately, in gloomy night. -Came a distant song: -In golden drops it rolled -Over the glittering rim away. -Music, gondolas, lights-- -Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom.... - -A stringed instrument, my soul, -Sang, imperceptibly moved, -A gondola song by stealth, -Gleaming for gaudy blessedness. ---Hearkened any thereto? - - - -8 - - -In all these things--in the choice of food, place, climate, and -recreation--the instinct of self-preservation is dominant, and this -instinct manifests itself with least ambiguity when it acts as an -instinct of defence. To close one's eyes to much, to seal one's ears to -much, to keep certain things at a distance--this is the first principle -of prudence, the first proof of the fact that a man is not an accident -but a necessity. The popular word for this instinct of defence is -_taste._ A man's imperative command is not only to say "no" in cases -where "yes" would be a sign of "disinterestedness," but also to say -"no" _as seldom as possible._ One must part with all that which compels -one to repeat "no," with ever greater frequency. The rationale of this -principle is that all discharges of defensive forces, however slight -they may be, involve enormous and absolutely superfluous losses when -they become regular and habitual. Our greatest expenditure of strength -is made up of those small and most frequent discharges of it. The act -of keeping things off, of holding them at a distance, amounts to a -discharge of strength,--do not deceive yourselves on this point!--and -an expenditure of energy directed at purely negative ends. Simply by -being compelled to keep constantly on his guard, a man may grow so weak -as to be unable any longer to defend himself. Suppose I were to step -out of my house, and, instead of the quiet and aristocratic city of -Turin, I were to find a German provincial town, my instinct would have -to brace itself together in order to repel all that which would pour in -upon it from this crushed-down and cowardly world. Or suppose I were -to find a large German city--that structure of vice in which nothing -grows, but where every single thing, whether good or bad, is squeezed -in from outside. In such circumstances should I not be compelled to -become a hedgehog? But to have prickles amounts to a squandering of -strength; they even constitute a twofold luxury, when, if we only chose -to do so, we could dispense with them and open our hands instead.... - -Another form of prudence and self-defence consists in trying to -react as seldom as possible, and to keep one's self aloof from those -circumstances and conditions wherein one would be condemned, as it -were, to suspend one's "liberty" and one's initiative, and become a -mere reacting medium. As an example of this I point to the intercourse -with books. The scholar who, in sooth, does little else than handle -books--with the philologist of average attainments their number may -amount to two hundred a day--ultimately forgets entirely and completely -the capacity of thinking for himself. When he has not a book between -his fingers he cannot think. When he thinks, he responds to a stimulus -(a thought he has read),--finally all he does is to react. The scholar -exhausts his whole strength in saying either "yes" or "no" to matter -which has already been thought out, or in criticising it--he is no -longer capable of thought on his own account.... In him the instinct -of self-defence has decayed, otherwise he would defend himself against -books. The scholar is a decadent. With my own eyes I have seen gifted, -richly endowed, and free-spirited natures already "read to ruins" at -thirty, and mere wax vestas that have to be rubbed before they can give -off any sparks--or "thoughts." To set to early in the morning, at the -break of day, in all the fulness and dawn of one's strength, and to -read a book--this I call positively vicious! - - - -9 - - -At this point I can no longer evade a direct answer to the question, -_how one becomes what one is._ And in giving it, I shall have to -touch upon that masterpiece in the art of self-preservation, which is -_selfishness._ ... Granting that one's life-task--the determination and -the fate of one's life-task--greatly exceeds the average measure of -such things, nothing more dangerous could be conceived than to come -face to face with one's self by the side of this life-task. The fact -that one becomes what one is, presupposes that one has not the remotest -suspicion of what one is. From this standpoint even the blunders of -one's life have their own meaning and value, the temporary deviations -and aberrations, the moments of hesitation and of modesty, the -earnestness wasted upon duties which lie outside the actual life-task. -In these matters great wisdom, perhaps even the highest wisdom, comes -into activity: in these circumstances, in which _nosce teipsum_ would -be the sure road to ruin, forgetting one's self, misunderstanding -one's self, belittling one's self, narrowing one's self, and making -one's self mediocre, amount to reason itself. Expressed morally, to -love one's neighbour and to live for others and for other things -_may_ be the means of protection employed to maintain the hardest -kind of egoism. This is the exceptional case in which I, contrary -to my principle and conviction, take the side of the altruistic -instincts; for here they are concerned in subserving selfishness -and self-discipline. The whole surface of consciousness--for -consciousness _is_ a surface--must be kept free from any one of the -great imperatives. Beware even of every striking word, of every -striking attitude! They are all so many risks which the instinct runs -of "understanding itself" too soon. Meanwhile the organising "idea," -which is destined to become master, grows and continues to grow into -the depths,--it begins to command, it leads you slowly back from your -deviations and aberrations, it prepares individual qualities and -capacities, which one day will make themselves felt as indispensable -to the whole of your task,--step by step it cultivates all the -serviceable faculties, before it ever whispers a word concerning the -dominant task, the "goal," the "object," and the "meaning" of it all. -Looked at from this standpoint my life is simply amazing. For the task -of _transvaluing values,_ more capacities were needful perhaps than -could well be found side by side in one individual; and above all, -antagonistic capacities which had to be free from the mutual strife -and destruction which they involve. An order of rank among capacities; -distance; the art of separating without creating hostility; to refrain -from confounding things; to keep from reconciling things; to possess -enormous multifariousness and yet to be the reverse of chaos--all -this was the first condition, the long secret work, and the artistic -mastery of my instinct. Its superior guardianship manifested itself -with such exceeding strength, that not once did I ever dream of what -was growing within me--until suddenly all my capacities were ripe, and -one day burst forth in all the perfection of their highest bloom. I -cannot remember ever having exerted myself, I can point to no trace of -_struggle_ in my life; I am the reverse of a heroic nature. To "will" -something, to "strive" after something, to have an "aim" or a "desire" -in my mind--I know none of these things from experience. Even at this -moment I look out upon my future--a _broad_ future!--as upon a calm -sea: no sigh of longing makes a ripple on its surface. I have not the -slightest wish that anything should be otherwise than it is: I myself -would not be otherwise.... But in this matter I have always been the -same. I have never had a desire. A man who, after his four-and-fortieth -year, can say that he has never bothered himself about _honours, -women,_ or _money_!--not that they did not come his way.... It was -thus that I became one day a University Professor--I had never had -the remotest idea of such a thing; for I was scarcely four-and-twenty -years of age. In the same way, two years previously, I had one day -become a philologist, in the sense that my _first_ philological work, -my start in every way, was expressly obtained by my master Ritschl for -publication in his _Rheinisches Museum._[4] (Ritschl--and I say it -in all reverence--was the only genial scholar that I have ever met. -He possessed that pleasant kind of depravity which distinguishes us -Thuringians, and which makes even a German sympathetic--even in the -pursuit of truth we prefer to avail ourselves of roundabout ways. In -saying this I do not mean to underestimate in any way my Thuringian -brother, the intelligent Leopold von Ranke....) - - - -10 - - -You may be wondering why I should actually have related all these -trivial and, according to traditional accounts, insignificant details -to you; such action can but tell against me, more particularly if I -am fated to figure in great causes. To this I reply that these trivial -matters--diet, locality, climate, and one's mode of recreation, the -whole casuistry of; self-love--are inconceivably more important than, -all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem! It is precisely -in this quarter that we must begin to learn afresh. All those things -which mankind has valued with such earnestness heretofore are not even -real; they are mere creations of fancy, or, more strictly speaking, -_lies_ born of the evil instincts of diseased and, in the deepest -sense, noxious natures--all the concepts, "God," "soul," "virtue," -"sin," "Beyond," "truth," "eternal life." ... But the greatness of -human nature, its "divinity," was sought for in them.... All questions -of politics, of social order, of education, have been falsified, root -and branch, owing to the fact that the most noxious men have been -taken for great men, and that people were taught to despise the small -things, or rather the fundamental things, of life. If I now choose to -compare myself with those creatures who have hitherto been honoured as -the first among men, the difference becomes obvious. I do not reckon -the so-called "first" men even as human beings--for me they are the -excrements of mankind, the products of disease and of the instinct -of revenge: they are so many monsters laden with rottenness, so many -hopeless incurables, who avenge themselves on life.... I wish to be -the opposite of these people: it is my privilege to have the very -sharpest discernment for every sign of healthy instincts. There is no -such thing as a morbid trait in me; even in times of serious illness -I have never grown morbid, and you might seek in vain for a trace of -fanaticism in my nature. No one can point to any moment of my life -in which I have assumed either an arrogant or a pathetic attitude. -Pathetic attitudes are not in keeping with greatness; he who needs -attitudes is false.... Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy--in -fact easiest--to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest -duties from me. Whoever could have seen me during the seventy days of -this autumn, when, without interruption, I did a host of things of -the highest rank--things that no man can do nowadays--with a sense of -responsibility for all the ages yet to come, would have noticed no sign -of tension in my condition, but rather a state of overflowing freshness -and good cheer. Never have I eaten with more pleasant sensations, -never has my sleep been better. I know of no other manner of dealing -with great tasks, than as _play_: this, as a sign of greatness, is -an essential prerequisite. The slightest constraint, a sombre mien, -any hard accent in the voice--all these things are objections to a -man, but how much more to his work!... One must not have nerves.... -Even to _suffer_ from solitude is an objection--the only thing I have -always suffered from is "multitude."[5] At an absurdly tender age, in -fact when I was seven years old, I already knew that no human speech -would ever reach me: did any one ever see me sad on that account? At -present I still possess the same affability towards everybody, I am -even full of consideration for the lowest: in all this there is not -an atom of haughtiness or of secret contempt. He whom I despise soon -guesses that he is despised by me: the very fact of my existence is -enough to rouse indignation in all those who have polluted blood in -their veins. My formula for greatness in man is! _amor fati_: the fact -that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or -behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, -and on no account concealed,--all idealism is falsehood in the face of -necessity,--but it must also be _loved...._ - - -[Footnote 1: Nietzsche, as is well known, devoted much time when a -student at Leipzig to the study of three Greek philosophers, Theognis, -Diogenes Laertius, and Democritus. This study first bore fruit in the -case of a paper, _Zur Geschichte der Theognideischen Spruchsammlung_, -which was subsequently published by the most influential journal of -classical philology in Germany. Later, however, it enabled Nietzsche to -enter for the prize offered by the University of Leipzig for an essay, -_De fontibus Diogenis Laertii._ He was successful in gaining the prize, -and the treatise was afterwards published in the _Rheinisches Museum,_ -and is still quoted as an authority. It is to this essay, written when -he was twenty-three years of age, that he here refers.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: The favourite uniform of the German Emperor, William -II.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: In the latter years of his life, Nietzsche practically -made Italy his home.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: See note on page 37.] - -[Footnote 5: The German words are, _Einsamkeit_ and _Vielsamkeit._ The -latter was coined by Nietzsche. The English word "multitude" should, -therefore, be understood as signifying multifarious instincts and -gifts, which in Nietzsche strove for ascendancy and caused him more -suffering than any solitude. Complexity of this sort, held in check -by a dominant instinct, as in Nietzsche's case, is of course the only -possible basis of an artistic nature.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS - - - -1 - - -I am one thing, my creations are another. Here, before I speak of the -books themselves, I shall touch upon the question of the understanding -and misunderstanding with which they have met. I shall proceed to -do this in as perfunctory a manner as the occasion demands; for the -time has by no means come for this question. My time has not yet -come either; some are born posthumously. One s day institutions will -be needed in which men will live and teach, as I understand living -and teaching; maybe, also, that by that time, chairs will be founded -and endowed for the interpretation of _Zarathustra. _ But I should -regard it as a complete contradiction of myself, if I expected to -find ears and eyes for my truths to-day: the fact that no one listens -to me, that no one knows how to receive at my hands to-day, is not -only comprehensible, it seems to me quite the proper thing. I do not -wish to be mistaken for another--and to this end I must not mistake -myself. To repeat what I have already said, I can point to but few -instances of ill-will in my life: and as for literary ill-will, I -could mention scarcely a single example of it. On the other hand, I -have met with far too much _pure foolery_!... It seems to me that to -take up one of my books is one of the rarest honours that a man can -pay himself--even supposing that he put his shoes from off his feet -beforehand, not to mention boots.... When on one occasion Dr. Heinrich -von Stein honestly complained that he could not understand a word of -my _Zarathustra,_ I said to him that this was just as it should be: to -have understood six sentences in that book--that is to say, to have -lived them--raises a man to a higher level among mortals than "modern" -men can attain. With this feeling of distance how could I even wish to -be read by the "moderns" whom I know! My triumph is just the opposite -of what Schopenhauer's was--I say "_Non_ legor, _non_ legar."--Not -that I should like to underestimate the pleasure I have derived from -the innocence with which my works have frequently been contradicted. -As late as last summer, at a time when I was attempting, perhaps by -means of my weighty, all-too-weighty literature, to throw the rest of -literature off its balance, a certain professor of Berlin University -kindly gave me to understand that I ought really to make use of a -different form: no one could read such stuff as I wrote.--Finally, it -was not Germany, but Switzerland that presented me with the two most -extreme cases. An essay on _Beyond Good and Evil,_ by Dr. V. Widmann in -the paper called the _Bund,_ under the heading "Nietzsche's Dangerous -Book," and a general account of all my works, from the pen of Herr -Karl Spitteler, also in the _Bund,_ constitute a maximum in my life--I -shall not say of what.... The latter treated my _Zarathustra,_ for -instance as "_advanced exercises in style_," and expressed the wish -that later on I might try and attend to the question of substance as -well; Dr. Widmann assured me of his respect for the courage I showed -in endeavouring to abolish all decent feeling. Thanks to a little -trick of destiny, every sentence in these criticisms seemed, with -a consistency that I could but admire, to be an inverted truth. In -fact it was most remarkable that all one had to do was to "transvalue -all values," in order to hit the nail on the head with regard to me, -instead of striking my head with the nail.... I am more particularly -anxious therefore to discover an explanation. After all, no one can -draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man -has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access. To -take an extreme case, suppose a book contains simply incidents which -lie quite outside the range of general or even rare experience--suppose -it to be the _first_ language to express a whole series of experiences. -In this case nothing it contains will really be heard at all, and, -thanks to an acoustic delusion, people will believe that where nothing -is heard there is nothing to hear.... This, at least, has been my -usual experience, and proves, if you will, the originality of my -experience. He who thought he had understood something in my work, had -as a rule adjusted something in it to his own image--not infrequently -the very opposite of myself, an "idealist," for instance. He who -understood nothing in my work, would deny that I was worth considering -at all.--The word "Superman," which designates a type of man that -would be one of nature's rarest and luckiest strokes, as opposed to -"modern" men, to "good" men, to Christians and other Nihilists,--a -word which in the mouth of Zarathustra, the annihilator of morality, -acquires a very profound meaning,--is understood almost everywhere, and -with perfect innocence, in the light of those values to which a flat -contradiction was made manifest in the figure of Zarathustra--that is -to say, as an "ideal" type, a higher kind of man, half "saint" and half -"genius." ... Other learned cattle have suspected me of Darwinism on -account of this word: even the "hero cult" of that great unconscious -and involuntary swindler, Carlyle,--a cult which I repudiated with -such roguish malice,--was recognised in my doctrine. Once, when I -whispered to a man that he would do better I to seek for the Superman -in a Cæsar Borgia than in a Parsifal, he could not believe his ears. -The fact that I am quite free from curiosity in regard to criticisms of -my books, more particularly when they appear in newspapers, will have -to be forgiven me. My friends and my publishers know this, and never -speak to me of such things. In one particular case, I once saw all the -sins that had been committed against a single book--it was _Beyond Good -and Evil;_ I could tell you a nice story about it. Is it possible that -the _National-Zeitung_--a Prussian paper (this comment is for the sake -of my foreign readers--for my own part, I beg to state, I read only _Le -Journal des Débats_)--really and seriously regarded the book as a "sign -of the times," or a genuine and typical example of Tory philosophy,[1] -for which the _Kreuz-Zeitung_ had not sufficient courage?... - - - -2 - - -This was said for the benefit of Germans: for everywhere else I have -my readers--all of them exceptionally intelligent men, characters that -have won their spurs and that have been reared in high offices and -superior duties; I have even real geniuses among my readers. In Vienna, -in St Petersburg, in Stockholm, in Copenhagen, in Paris, and New -York--I have been discovered everywhere: I have not yet been discovered -in Europe's flatland--Germany.... And, to make a confession, I rejoice -much more heartily over those who do not read me, over those who have -neither heard of my name nor of the word philosophy. But whithersoever -I go, here in Turin, for instance, every face brightens and softens -at the sight of me. A thing that has flattered me more than anything -else hitherto, is the fact that old market-women cannot rest until -they have picked out the sweetest of their grapes for me. To this -extent must a man be a philosopher.... It is not in vain that the -Poles are considered as the French among the Slavs. A charming Russian -lady will not be mistaken for a single moment concerning my origin. -I am not successful at being pompous, the most I can do is to appear -embarrassed.... I can think in German, I can feel in German--I can do -most things; but this is beyond my powers.... My old master Ritschl -went so far as to declare that I planned even my philological treatises -after the manner of a Parisian novelist--that I made them absurdly -thrilling. In Paris itself people are surprised at "_toutes mes audaces -et finesses_";--the words are Monsieur Taine's;--I fear that even in -the highest forms of the dithyramb, that salt will be found pervading -my work which never becomes insipid, which never becomes "German"--and -that is, wit.... I can do nought else. God help me! Amen.--We all know, -some of us even from experience, what a "long-ears" is. Well then, I -venture to assert that I have the smallest ears that have ever been -seen. This fact is not without interest to women--it seems to me they -feel that I understand them better!... I am essentially the anti-ass, -and on this account alone a monster in the world's history--in Greek, -and not only in Greek, I am the _Antichrist._ - - - -3 - - -I am to a great extent aware of my privileges as a writer: in one -or two cases it has even been brought home to me how very much the -habitual > reading of my works "spoils" a man's taste. Other books -simply cannot be endured after mine, and least of all philosophical -ones. It is an incomparable distinction to cross the threshold of -this noble and subtle world--in order to do so one must certainly -not be a German; it is, in short, a distinction which one must have -deserved. He, however, who is related to me through loftiness of -will, experiences genuine raptures of understanding in my books: -for I swoop down from heights into which no bird has ever soared; I -know abysses into which no foot has ever slipped. People have told -me that it is impossible to lay down a book of mine--that I disturb -even the night's rest.... There is no prouder or at the same time more -subtle kind of books: they sometimes attain to the highest pinnacle -of earthly endeavour, cynicism; to capture their thoughts a man must -have the tenderest fingers as well as the most intrepid fists. Any -kind of spiritual decrepitude utterly excludes all intercourse with -them--even any kind of dyspepsia: a man must have no nerves, but he -must have a cheerful belly. Not only the poverty of a man's soul and -its stuffy air excludes all intercourse with them, but also, and to a -much greater degree, cowardice, uncleanliness, and secret intestinal -revengefulness; a word from my lips suffices to make the colour of -all evil instincts rush into a face. Among my acquaintances I have -a number of experimental subjects, in whom I see depicted all the -different, and instructively different, reactions which follow upon -a perusal of my works. Those who will have nothing to do with the -contents of my books, as for instance my so-called friends, assume an -"impersonal" tone concerning them: they wish me luck, and congratulate -me for having produced another work; they also declare that my writings -show progress, because they exhale a more cheerful spirit.... The -thoroughly vicious people, the "beautiful souls," the false from top to -toe, do not know in the least what to do with my books--consequently, -with the beautiful consistency of all beautiful souls, they regard -my work as beneath them. The cattle among my acquaintances, the mere -Germans, leave me to understand, if you please, that they are not -always of my opinion, though here and there they agree with me.... I -have heard this said even about _Zarathustra._ "Feminism," whether in -mankind or in man, is likewise a barrier to my writings; with it, no -one could ever enter into this labyrinth of fearless knowledge. To -this end, a man must never have spared himself, he must have been hard -in his habits, in order to be good-humoured and merry among a host of -inexorable truths. When I try to picture the character of a perfect -reader, I always imagine a monster of courage and curiosity, as well as -of suppleness, cunning, and prudence--in short, a born adventurer and -explorer. After all, I could not describe better than _Zarathustra_ has -done unto whom I really address myself: unto whom alone would he reveal -his riddle? - -"Unto you, daring explorers and experimenters, and unto all who have -ever embarked beneath cunning sails upon terrible seas; - -"Unto you who revel in riddles and in twilight, whose souls are lured -by flutes unto every treacherous abyss: - -"For ye care not to grope your way along a thread with craven fingers; -and where ye are able to _guess,_ ye hate to _argue_?" - - - -4 - - -I will now pass just one or two general remarks about my _art of -style._ To communicate a state an inner tension of pathos by means -of signs, including the tempo of these signs,--that is the meaning of -every style; and in view of the fact that the multiplicity of inner -states in me is enormous, I am capable of many kinds of style--in -short, the most multifarious art of style that any man has ever had at -his disposal. Any style is _good_ which genuinely communicates an inner -condition, which does not blunder over the signs, over the tempo of the -signs, or over _moods_--all the laws of phrasing are the outcome of -representing moods artistically. Good style, in itself, is a piece of -sheer foolery, mere idealism, like "beauty in itself," for instance, -or "goodness in itself," or "the thing-in-itself." All this takes for -granted, of course, that there exist ears that can hear, and such men -as are capable and worthy of a like pathos, that those are not wanting -unto whom one may communicate one's self. Meanwhile my Zarathustra, -for instance, is still in quest of such people--alas! he will have to -seek a long while yet! A man must be worthy of listening to him.... -And, until that time, there will be no one who will understand the art -that has been squandered in this book. No one has ever existed who has -had more novel, more strange, and purposely created art forms to fling -to the winds. The fact that such things were possible in the German -language still awaited proof; formerly, I myself would have denied -most emphatically that it was possible. Before my time people did not -know what could be done with the German language--what could be done -with language in general. The art of grand rhythm, of grand style in -periods, for expressing the tremendous fluctuations of sublime and -superhuman passion, was first discovered by me: with the dithyramb -entitled "The Seven Seals," which constitutes the last discourse of -the third part of _Zarathustra,_ I soared miles above all that which -heretofore has been called poetry. - - - -5 - - -The fact that the voice which speaks in my works is that of a -psychologist who has not his peer, is perhaps the first conclusion -at which a good reader will arrive--a reader such as I deserve, and -one who reads me just as the good old philologists used to read their -Horace. Those propositions about which all the world is fundamentally -agreed--not to speak of fashionable philosophy, of moralists and -other empty-headed and cabbage-brained people--are to me but ingenuous -blunders: for instance, the belief that "altruistic" and "egoistic"; -are opposites, while all the time the "ego" itself is merely a "supreme -swindle," an "ideal." ... There are no such things as egoistic or -altruistic actions: both concepts are psychological nonsense. Or -the proposition that "man pursues happiness"; or the proposition -that "happiness is the reward of virtue." ... Or the proposition -that "pleasure and pain are opposites." ... Morality, the Circe of -mankind, has falsified everything psychological, root and branch--it -has demoralised everything, even to the terribly nonsensical point -of calling love "unselfish." A man must first be firmly poised, he -must stand securely on his two legs, otherwise he cannot love at -all. This indeed the girls know only too well: they don't care two -pins about unselfish and merely objective men.... May I venture to -suggest, incidentally, that I know women? This knowledge is part of my -Dionysian patrimony. Who knows? maybe I am the first psychologist of -the eternally feminine. Women all like me.... But that's an old story: -save, of course, the abortions among them, the emancipated ones, those -who lack the where-withal to have children. Thank goodness I am not -willing to let myself be torn to pieces! the perfect woman tears you -to pieces when she loves you: I know these amiable Mænads.... Oh! what -a dangerous, creeping, subterranean little beast of prey she is! And -so agreeable withal! ... A little woman, pursuing her vengeance, would -force open even the iron gates of Fate itself. Woman is incalculably -more wicked than man, she is also cleverer. Goodness in a woman is -already a sign of _degeneration._ All cases of "beautiful souls" in -women may be traced to a faulty physiological condition--but I go no -further, lest I should become medicynical. The struggle for equal -rights is even a symptom of disease; every doctor knows this. The more -womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail against rights -in general: the natural order of things, the eternal war between the -sexes, assigns to her by far the foremost rank. Have people had ears -to hear my definition of love? It is the only definition worthy of a -philosopher. Love, in its means, is war; in its foundation, it is the -mortal hatred of the sexes. Have you heard my reply to the question -how a woman can be cured, "saved" in fact?--Give her a child! A woman -needs children, man is always only a means, thus spake Zarathustra. -"The emancipation of women,"--this is the instinctive hatred of -physiologically botched--that is to say, barren--women for those of -their sisters who are well constituted: the fight against "man" is -always only a means, a pretext, a piece of strategy. By trying to rise -to "Woman _per se_," to "Higher Woman," to the "Ideal Woman," all they -wish to do is to lower the general level of women's rank: and there are -no more certain means to this end than university education, trousers, -and the rights of voting cattle. Truth to tell, the emancipated are -the anarchists in the "eternally feminine" world, the physiological -mishaps, the most deep-rooted instinct of whom is revenge. A whole -species of the most malicious "idealism"--which, by the bye, also -manifests itself in men, in Henrik Ibsen for instance, that typical -old maid--whose object is to poison the clean conscience, the natural -spirit, of sexual love.... And in order to leave no doubt in your minds -in regard to my opinion, which, on this matter, is as honest as it -is severe, I will reveal to you one more clause out of my moral code -against vice--with the word "vice" I combat every kind of! opposition -to Nature, or, if you prefer fine words, idealism. The clause reads: -"Preaching of chastity is a public incitement to unnatural practices. -All depreciation of the sexual life, all the sullying of it by means -of the concept 'impure,' is the essential crime against Life--is the -essential crime against the Holy Spirit of Life." - -In order to give you some idea of myself as a psychologist, let me -take this curious piece of psychological analysis out of the book -_Beyond Good and Evil,_ in which it appears. I forbid, by the bye, any -guessing as to whom I am describing in this passage. "The genius of -the heart, as that great anchorite possesses it, the divine tempter -and born Pied Piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to sink into -the inmost depths of every soul, who neither utters a word nor casts a -glance, in which some seductive motive or trick does not lie: a part -of whose masterliness is that he understands the art of seeming--not -what he is, but that which will place a fresh constraint upon his -followers to press ever more closely upon him, to follow him ever more -enthusiastically and whole-heartedly.... The genius of the heart, -which makes all loud and self-conceited things hold their tongues and -lend their ears, which polishes all rough souls and makes them taste a -new longing--to lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be -reflected in them.... The genius of the heart which teaches the clumsy -and too hasty hand to hesitate and grasp more tenderly; which scents -the hidden and forgotten treasure, the pearl of goodness and sweet -spirituality, beneath thick black ice, and is a divining rod for every -grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in heaps of mud and sand.... -The genius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away -richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, not as though favoured and crushed -by the good things of others; but richer in himself, fresher to -himself than before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing -wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more fragile, more -bruised; but full of hopes which as yet lack names, full of a new will -and striving, full of a new unwillingness and counter-striving." ... - - -[Footnote 1: _Junker-Philosophie._ The landed proprietors constitute -the dominating class in Prussia, and it is from this class that all -officers and higher officials are drawn. The _Kreuz-Zeitung_ is the -organ of the Junker party.--TR.] - - - - -"THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY" - - - -1 - - -In order to be fair to the _Birth of Tragedy_ (1872) it is necessary -to forget a few things. It created a sensation and even fascinated by -means of its mistakes--by means of its application to Wagnerism, as -if the latter were the sign of an ascending tendency. On that account -alone, this treatise was an event in Wagner's life: thenceforward -great hopes surrounded the name of Wagner. Even to this day, people -remind me, sometimes in the middle of _Parsifal,_ that it rests on -my conscience if the opinion, that this movement is of great value -to culture, at length became prevalent I have often seen the book -quoted as "The Second Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music": -people had ears only for new formulæ for Wagner's art, his object -and his mission--and in this way the real hidden value of the book -was overlooked. "Hellenism and Pessimism"--this would have been a -less equivocal title, seeing that the book contains the first attempt -at showing how the Greeks succeeded in disposing: of pessimism--in -what manner they overcame it. ... Tragedy itself is the proof of -the fact that the Greeks were not pessimists: Schopenhauer blundered -here as he blundered in everything else.--Regarded impartially, -_The Birth of Tragedy_ is a book quite strange to its age: no one -would dream that it was begun in the thunder of the battle of Wörth. -I thought out these problems on cold September nights beneath the -walls of Metz, in the midst of my duties as nurse to the wounded; it -would be easier to think that it was written fifty years earlier. Its -attitude towards politics is one of indifference,--"un-German,"[1] -as people would say to-day,--it smells offensively of Hegel; only in -one or two formulæ is it infected with the bitter odour of corpses -which is peculiar to Schopenhauer. An idea--the antagonism of the two -concepts Dionysian and Apollonian--is translated into metaphysics; -history itself is depicted as the development of this idea; in tragedy -this antithesis has become unity; from this standpoint things which -theretofore had never been face to face are suddenly confronted, and -understood and illuminated by each other.... Opera and revolution, -for instance.... The two decisive innovations in the book are, first, -the comprehension of the Dionysian phenomenon among the Greeks--it -provides the first psychological analysis of this phenomenon, and -sees in it the single root of all Greek art; and, secondly, the -comprehension of Socraticism--Socrates being presented for the first -time as the instrument of Greek dissolution, as a typical decadent. -"Reason" _versus_ Instinct. "Reason" at any cost, as a dangerous, -life-undermining force. The whole book is profoundly and politely -silent concerning Christianity: the latter is neither Apollonian nor -Dionysian; it denies all æsthetic values, which are the only values -that _The Birth of Tragedy_ recognises. Christianity is most profoundly -nihilistic, whereas in the Dionysian symbol, the most extreme limits of -a yea-saying attitude to life are attained. In one part of the book the -Christian priesthood is referred to as a "perfidious order of goblins," -as "subterraneans." - -This start of mine was remarkable beyond measure. As a confirmation of -my inmost personal experience I had discovered the only example of this -fact that history possesses,--with this I was the first to understand -the amazing Dionysian phenomenon. At the same time, by recognising -Socrates as a decadent, I proved most conclusively that the certainty -of my psychological grasp of things ran very little risk at the hands -of any sort of moral idiosyncrasy: to regard morality itself as a -symptom of degeneration is an innovation, a unique event of the first -order in the history of knowledge. How high I had soared above the -pitifully foolish gabble about Optimism and Pessimism with my two new -doctrines! I was the first to see the actual contrast: the degenerate -instinct which turns upon life with a subterranean lust of vengeance -(Christianity, Schopenhauer's philosophy, and in some respects too -even Plato's philosophy--in short, the whole of idealism in its typical -forms), as opposed to a formula of the highest yea-saying to life, -born of an abundance and a superabundance of life--a I yea-saying free -from all reserve, applying even to suffering, and guilt, and all that -is questionable and strange in existence.... This last, most joyous, -most exuberant and exultant yea to life, is not only the highest, -but also the profoundest conception, and one which is most strictly -confirmed and supported by truth and science. Nothing that exists must -be suppressed, nothing can be dispensed with. Those aspects of life -which Christians and other Nihilists reject, belong to an incalculably -higher order in the hierarchy of values, than that which the instinct -of degeneration calls good, and _may_ call good. In order to understand -this, a certain courage is necessary, and, as a prerequisite of this, -a certain superfluity of strength: for a man can approach only as near -to truth as he has the courage to advance--that is to say, everything -depends strictly upon the measure of his strength. Knowledge, and -the affirmation of reality, are just as necessary to the strong man -as cowardice, the flight from reality--in fact, the "ideal"--are -necessary to the weak inspired by weakness.... These people are not -at liberty to "know,"--decadents stand in need of lies,--it is one of -their self-preservative measures. He who not only understands the word -"Dionysian," but understands _himself_ in that term, does not require -any refutation of Plato, or of Christianity, or of Schopenhauer--for -his nose _scents decomposition._ - - - -3 - - -The extent to which I had by means of these doctrines discovered the -idea of "tragedy," the ultimate explanation of what the psychology of -tragedy is, I discussed finally in _The Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. -5, part 10).... "The saying of yea to life, and even to its weirdest -and most difficult problems: the will to life rejoicing at its own -infinite vitality in the sacrifice of its highest types--that is what I -called Dionysian, that is what I meant as the bridge to the psychology -of the tragic poet. Not to cast out terror and pity, or to purge one's -self of dangerous passion by discharging it with vehemence,--this was -Aristotle's[2] misunderstanding of it,--but to be far beyond terror -and pity and to be the eternal lust of Becoming itself--that lust -which also involves the joy of destruction." ... In this sense I have -the right to regard myself as the first _tragic philosopher_--that is -to say, the most extreme antithesis and antipodes of a pessimistic -philosopher. Before my time no such thing existed as this translation -of the Dionysian phenomenon into philosophic emotion: tragic wisdom was -lacking; in vain have I sought for signs of it even among the great -Greeks in philosophy--those belonging to the two centuries before -Socrates. I still remained a little doubtful about Heraclitus, in whose -presence, alone, I felt warmer and more at ease than anywhere else. -The yea-saying to the impermanence and annihilation of things, which -is the decisive feature of a Dionysian philosophy; the yea-saying to -contradiction and war, the postulation of Becoming, together with the -radical rejection even of the concept _Being_-- in all these things, at -all events, I must recognise him who has come nearest to me in thought -hither to. The doctrine of the "Eternal Recurrence"--that is to say, -of the absolute and eternal repetition of all things in periodical -cycles--this doctrine of Zarathustra's might, it is true, have been -taught before. In any case, the Stoics, who derived nearly all their -fundamental ideas from Heraclitus, show traces of it. - -A tremendous hope finds expression in this work. After all, I have -absolutely no reason to renounce the hope for a Dionysian future of -music. Let us look a century ahead, and let us suppose that my attempt -to destroy two millenniums of hostility to Nature and of the violation -of humanity be crowned with success That new party of life-advocates, -which will undertake the greatest of all tasks, the elevation and -perfection of mankind, as well as the relentless destruction of all -degenerate and parasitical elements, will make that _superabundance -of life_ on earth once more possible, out of which the Dionysian -state will perforce arise again. I promise the advent of a tragic -age: the highest art in the saying of yea to life, "tragedy," will be -born again when mankind has the knowledge of the hardest, but most -necessary of wars, behind it, without, however, suffering from that -knowledge.... A psychologist might add that what I heard in Wagnerian -music in my youth and early manhood had nothing whatsoever to do with -Wagner; that when I described Dionysian music, I described merely -what _I_ personally had heard--that I was compelled instinctively to -translate and transfigure everything into the new spirit which filled -my breast. A proof of this, and as strong a proof as you could have, -is my essay, _Wagner in Bayreuth_: in all its decisive psychological -passages I am the only person concerned--without any hesitation you may -read my name or the word "Zarathustra" wherever the text contains the -name of Wagner. The whole panorama of the _dithyrambic_ artist is the -representation of the already existing author of _Zarathustra,_ and -it is drawn with an abysmal depth which does not even once come into -contact with the real Wagner. Wagner himself had a notion of the truth; -he did not recognise himself in the essay.--In this way, "the idea of -Bayreuth" was changed into something which to those who are acquainted -with my _Zarathustra_ will be no riddle--that is to say, into the -Great Noon when the highest of the elect will consecrate themselves -for the greatest of all duties--who knows? the vision of a feast which -I may live to see.... The pathos of the first few pages is universal -history; the look which is discussed on page 105[3] of the book, is the -actual look of _Zarathustra;_ Wagner, Bayreuth, the whole of this petty -German wretchedness, is a cloud upon which an infinite Fata Morgana -of the future is reflected. Even from the psychological standpoint, -all the decisive traits in my character are introduced into Wagner's -nature--the juxtaposition of the most brilliant and most fatal forces, -a Will to Power such as no man has ever possessed--inexorable bravery -in matters spiritual, an unlimited power of learning unaccompanied by -depressed powers for action. Everything in this essay is a prophecy: -the proximity of the resurrection of the Greek spirit, the need of men -who will be counter-Alexanders, who will once more tie the Gordian knot -of Greek culture, after it has been cut. Listen to the world-historic -accent with which the concept "sense for the tragic" is introduced -on page 180: there are little else but world-historic accents in -this essay. This is the strangest kind of "objectivity" that ever -existed: my absolute certainty in regard to what I _am,_ projected -itself into any chance reality--truth about myself was voiced from out -appalling depths. On pages 174 and 175 the style of _Zarathustra_ is -described and foretold with incisive certainty, and no more magnificent -expression will ever be found than that on pages 144-147 for the event -for which _Zarathustra_ stands--that prodigious act of the purification -and consecration of mankind. - - -[Footnote 1: Those Germans who, like Nietzsche or Goethe, recognised -that politics constituted a danger to culture, and who appreciated the -literature of maturer cultures, such as that of France, are called -_un-deutsch_ (un-German) by Imperialistic Germans.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 2: Aristotle's _Poetics_, c. vi.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 3: This number and those which follow refer to _Thoughts out -of Season,_ Part I. in this edition of Nietzsche's Works.--TR.] - - - - -"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON" - - - -1 - - -The four essays composing the _Thoughts out of Season_ are thoroughly -warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight -in drawing the sword--and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously -supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, -upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt -Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public -opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to -suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of -German culture--and still less the triumph of this culture; over -that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which -is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of -pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised -piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of -the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The -object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity -as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the -"historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first -time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the -third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher -concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; -and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are -presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign -contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," -"Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"--these two types -were Schopenhauer and Wagner, _or,_ in a word, Nietzsche.... - - - -2 - - -Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The -stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger -on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation--I had told it that its -victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something -very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not -only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous -as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug -self-content--in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, -called _The Old and the New Faith_ (the term "Philistine of Culture" -passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my -book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians -I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird -of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as -grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they -contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was -assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious _Grentzboten_; and it cost me -some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action -against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for -very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, -Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had -been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that -time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he -liked to refer to me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von -Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could -obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von -T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my -book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor -Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made -him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a -sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, -of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical -advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review -which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most -bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of -my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last -_humane_ German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in -the _Augsburg Gazette,_ and it can be read to-day, couched in rather -more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was -referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign -of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival -of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. -Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of -the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in -discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the -best polemical work in the German language,--the best performance in -the art of polemics, which for Germans is so dangerous and so strongly -to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even -greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of -language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists[1] -and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for -the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his -admiration for my courage--that "greatest courage of all which places -the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects -of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has -ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany -I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the -privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, -least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise -is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put -one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's -entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my -opponent!--the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, -quite a novel kind of free thought found its expression in this way: -up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my -blood than the whole of that European and American species known as -_litres penseurs._ Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" -that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than -with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, -after their own fashion--that is to say, in their own image; against -that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, -if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an -"ideal." ... I am the first _Immoralist_. - - - -3 - - -I should not like to say that the last two essays in the _Thoughts -out of Season,_ associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner -respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these -two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of -course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the -second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I -already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a -theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws -its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do -something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented -educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and -self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness -and to world-historic duties, yearned to find expression. Roughly -speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined -types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes -opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, -in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression -at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly -sagacity, on page 183 of _Schopenhauer as Educator._ Plato made use -of Socrates in the same way--that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. -Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of -which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they -refer simply to me. The essay _Wagner in Bayreuth_ is a vision of my -own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, -is written down in _Schopenhauer as Educator._ But, above all, the -_vow_ I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold--at a height from -which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!--oh, how -far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land--I did not -deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger--_and_ -success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future -which must not remain only a promise!--In this book every word has -been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not -lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with -blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its -wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being -a philosopher,--that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence -of which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the -philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a -Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of -philosophy,--concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable -information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as -Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in -it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, -and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere -scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is -not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my -profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were -merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists -in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become -one thing--in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of -my fate to be a scholar for a while. - - -[Footnote 1: The Purists constitute a definite body in Germany, which -is called the _Deutscher Sprach-Verein._ Their object is to banish -every foreign word from the language, and they carry this process of -ostracism even into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at -rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical. Strange -to say, their principal organ, and their other publications, are by -no means free either from solecisms or faults of style, and it is -doubtless to this curious anomaly that Nietzsche here refers.--TR.] - - - - -"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN" - - - -1 - - -_Human all-too-Human,_ with its two sequels, is the memorial of a -crisis. It is called a book for free spirits: almost every sentence in -it is the expression of a triumph--by means of it I purged myself of -everything in me which was foreign to my nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title of the book means: "Where ye see ideal things I -see--human, alas! all-too-human things!" ... I know men better. The -word "free spirit" in this book must not be understood as anything -else than a spirit that has become free, that has once more taken -possession of itself. My tone, the pitch of my voice, has completely -changed; the book will be thought clever, cool, and at times both -hard and scornful. A certain spirituality, of noble taste, seems to -be ever struggling to dominate a passionate torrent at its feet. In -this respect there is some sense in the fact that it was the hundredth -anniversary of Voltaire's death that served, so to speak, as an excuse -for the publication of the book as early as 1878. For Voltaire, as the -opposite of every one who wrote after him, was above all a grandee of -the intellect; precisely what I am also. The name of Voltaire on one -of my writings--that was verily a step forward--in my direction.... -Looking into this book a little more closely, you perceive a pitiless -spirit who knows all the secret hiding-places in which ideals are wont -to skulk--where they find their dungeons, and, as it were, their last -refuge. With a torch in my hand, the light of which is not by any -means a flickering one, I illuminate this nether world with beams that -cut like blades. It is war, but war without powder and smoke, without -warlike attitudes, without pathos and contorted limbs--all these things -would still be "idealism." One error after the other is quietly laid -upon ice; the ideal is not refuted,--it freezes. Here, for instance, -"genius" freezes; round the corner the "saint" freezes; under a thick -icicle the "hero" freezes; and in the end "faith" itself freezes. -So-called "conviction" and also "pity" are considerably cooled--and -almost everywhere the "thing in itself" is freezing to death. - - - -2 - - -This book was begun during the first musical festival at Bayreuth; a -feeling of profound strangeness towards everything that surrounded -me there, is one of its first conditions. He who has any notion of -the visions which even at that time had flitted across my path, will -be able to guess what I felt when one day I came to my senses in -Bayreuth. It was just as if I had been dreaming. Where on earth was I? -I recognised nothing that I saw; I scarcely recognised Wagner. It was -in vain that I called up reminiscences. Tribschen--remote island of -bliss: not the shadow of a resemblance! The incomparable days devoted -to the laying of the first stone, the small group of the initiated -who celebrated them, and who were far from lacking fingers for the -handling of delicate things: not the shadow of a resemblance! _What -had happened?_--Wagner had been translated into German! The Wagnerite -had become master of Wagner!_--German_ art! the German master! German -beer!... We who know only too well the kind of refined artists and -cosmopolitanism in taste, to which alone Wagner's art can appeal, were -beside ourselves at the sight of Wagner bedecked with German virtues. -I think I know the Wagnerite, I have experienced three generations -of them, from Brendel of blessed memory, who confounded Wagner with -Hegel, to the "idealists" of the _Bayreuth Gazette,_ who confound -Wagner with themselves,--I have been the recipient of every kind of -confession about Wagner, from "beautiful souls." My kingdom for just -one intelligent word I--In very truth, a blood-curdling company! Nohl, -Pohl, and _Kohl_[1] and others of their kidney to infinity! There -was not a single abortion that was lacking among them--no, not even -the anti-Semite.--Poor Wagner! Into whose hands had he fallen? If -only he had gone into a herd of swine! But among Germans! Some day, -for the edification of posterity, one ought really to have a genuine -Bayreuthian stuffed, or, better still, preserved in spirit,--for -it is precisely spirit that is lacking in this quarter,--with this -inscription at the foot of the jar: "A sample of the spirit whereon -the 'German Empire' was founded." ... But enough! In the middle of -the festivities I suddenly packed my trunk and left the place for a -few weeks, despite the fact that a charming Parisian lady sought to -comfort me; I excused myself to Wagner simply by means of a fatalistic -telegram. In a little spot called Klingenbrunn, deeply buried in the -recesses of the Bohmerwald, I carried my melancholy and my contempt of -Germans about with me like an illness--and, from time to time, under -the general title of "The Plough-share," I wrote a sentence or two down -in my note-book, nothing but severe psychological stuff, which it is -possible may have found its way into _Human, all-too-Human._ - - - -3 - - -That which had taken place in me, then, was not only a breach with -Wagner--I was suffering from a general aberration of my instincts, -of which a mere isolated blunder, whether it were Wagner or my -professorship at Bâle, was nothing more than a symptom. I was seized -with a fit of impatience with myself; I saw that it was high time that -I should turn my thoughts upon my own lot. In a trice I realised, with -appalling clearness, how much time had already been squandered--how -futile and how senseless my whole existence as a philologist appeared -by the side of my life-task. I was ashamed of this false modesty.... -Ten years were behind me, during which, to tell the truth, the -nourishment of my spirit had been at a standstill, during which I had -added not a single useful fragment to my knowledge, and had forgotten -countless things in the pursuit of a hotch-potch of dry-as-dust -scholarship. To crawl with meticulous care and short-sighted eyes -through old Greek metricians--that is what I had come to!... Moved to -pity I saw myself quite thin, quite emaciated: realities were only too -plainly absent from my stock of knowledge, and what the "idealities" -were worth the devil alone knew! A positively burning thirst overcame -me: and from that time forward I have done literally nothing else than -study physiology, medicine, and natural science--I even returned to -the actual study of history only when my life-task compelled me to. It -was at that time, too, that I first divined the relation between an -instinctively repulsive occupation, a so-called vocation, which is the -last thing to which one is "called" and that need of lulling a feeling -of emptiness and hunger, by means of an art which is a narcotic--by -means of Wagner's art, for instance. After looking carefully about -me, I have discovered that a large number of young men are all in the -same state of distress: one kind of unnatural practice perforce leads -to another. In Germany, or rather, to avoid all ambiguity, in the -Empire,[2] only too many are condemned to determine their choice too -soon, and then to pine away beneath a burden that they can no longer -throw off.... Such creatures crave for Wagner as for an opiate,--they -are thus able to forget themselves, to be rid of themselves for a -moment.... What am I saying!--for five or six hours. - - - -4 - - -At this time my instincts turned resolutely against any further -yielding or following on my part, and any further misunderstanding -of myself. Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, -illness, poverty--anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified -"selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my -ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to -laziness--the so-called "sense of duty." At this juncture there came to -my help, in a way that I cannot sufficiently admire, and precisely at -the right time, that evil heritage which I derive from my father's side -of the family, and which, at bottom, is no more than a predisposition -to die young. Illness slowly liberated me from the toils, it spared me -any sort of sudden breach, any sort of violent and offensive step. At -that time I lost not a particle of the good will of others, but rather -added to my store. Illness likewise gave me the right completely to -reverse my mode of life; it not only allowed, it actually commanded, -me to forget; it bestowed upon me the necessity of lying still, of -having leisure, of waiting, and of exercising patience.... But all -this means thinking!... The state of my eyes alone put an end to all -book-wormishness, or, in plain English--philology: I was thus delivered -from books; for years I ceased from reading, and this was the greatest -boon I ever conferred upon myself! That nethermost self, which was, -as it were, entombed, and which had grown dumb because it had been -forced to listen perpetually to other selves (for that is what reading -means!), slowly awakened; at first it was shy and doubtful, but at -last it _spoke again_ Never have I rejoiced more over my condition -than during the sickest and most painful moments of my life. You have -only to examine _The Dawn of Day,_ or, perhaps, _The Wanderer and -his Shadow,_[3] in order to understand what this "return to myself" -actually meant: in itself it was the highest kind of recovery!... My -cure was simply the result of it. - - - -5 - - -_Human, all-too-Human,_ this monument of a course of vigorous -self-discipline, by means of which I put an abrupt end to all the -"Superior Bunkum," "Idealism," "Beautiful Feelings," and other -effeminacies that had percolated into my being, was written principally -in Sorrento; it was finished and given definite shape during a winter -at Bâle, under conditions far less favourable than those in Sorrento. -Truth to tell, it was Peter Gast, at that time a student at the -University of Bâle, and a devoted friend of mine, who was responsible -for the book. With my head wrapped in bandages, and extremely painful, -I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along--to be -accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author. -When the completed book ultimately reached me,--to the great surprise -of the serious invalid I then was,--I sent, among others, two copies -to Bayreuth. Thanks to a miraculous flash of intelligence on the part -of chance, there reached me precisely at the same time a splendid copy -of the _Parsifal_ text, with the following inscription from Wagner's -pen: "To his dear friend Friedrich Nietzsche, from Richard Wagner, -Ecclesiastical Councillor." At this crossing of the two books I seemed -to hear an ominous note. Did it not sound as if two swords had crossed? -At all events we both felt this was so, for each of us remained silent. -At about this time the first Bayreuth Pamphlets appeared: and I then -understood the move on my part for which it was high time. Incredible! -Wagner had become pious. - - - -6 - - -My attitude to myself at that time (1876), and the unearthly certitude -with which I grasped my life-task and all its world-historic -consequences, is well revealed throughout the book, but more -particularly in one very significant passage, despite the fact that, -with my instinctive cunning, I once more circumvented the use of -the little word "I,"--not however, this time, in order to shed -world-historic glory on the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but on -that of another of my friends, the excellent Dr. Paul Rée--fortunately -much too acute a creature to be deceived--others were less subtle. -Among my readers I have a number of hopeless people, the typical -German professor for instance, who can always be recognised from the -fact that, judging from the passage in question, he feels compelled to -regard the whole book as a sort of superior Realism. As a matter of -fact it contradicts five or six of my friend's utterances: only read -the introduction to _The Genealogy of Morals_ on this question.--The -passage above referred to reads: "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_" (read Nietzsche, the first -Immoralist), "has attained by means of his incisive and decisive -analysis of human actions? 'The moral man,' he says is no nearer to the -intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the physical man, for there -is no intelligible world.' This theory, hardened and sharpened under -the hammer-blow of historical knowledge" (read _The Transvaluation -of all Values_), "may some time or other, perhaps in some future -period,--1890!--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."[4] - - -[Footnote 1: Nohl and Pohl were both writers on music; Kohl, however, -which literally means cabbage, is a slang expression, denoting superior -nonsense.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Needless to say, Nietzsche distinguishes between -Bismarckian Germany and that other Germany--Austria, Switzerland, and -the Baltic Provinces--where the German language is also spoken.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: _Human, all-too-Human,_ Part II. in this edition.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: _Human, all-too-Human,_ vol. i. Aph. 37.] - - - - -"THE DAWN OF DAY: - -THOUGHTS ABOUT MORALITY AS A PREJUDICE" - - - -1 - - -With this book I open my campaign against morality. Not that it is at -all redolent of powder--you will find quite other and much nicer smells -in it, provided that you have any keenness in your nostrils. There -is nothing either of light or of heavy artillery in its composition, -and if its general end be a negative one, its means are not so--means -out of which the end follows like a logical conclusion, _not_ like a -cannon-shot. And if the reader takes leave of this book with a feeling -of timid caution in regard to everything which has hitherto been -honoured and even worshipped under the name of morality, it does not -alter the fact that there is not one negative word, not one attack, -and not one single piece of malice in the whole work--on the contrary, -it lies in the sunshine, smooth and happy, like a marine animal, -basking in the sun between two rocks. For, after all, I was this marine -animal: almost every sentence in the book was thought out, or rather -_caught,_ among that medley of rocks in the neighbourhood of Genoa, -where I lived quite alone, and exchanged secrets with the ocean. Even -to this day, when by chance I happen to turn over the leaves of this -book, almost every sentence seems to me like a hook by means of which I -draw something incomparable out of the depths; its whole skin quivers -with delicate shudders of recollection. This book is conspicuous for no -little art in gently catching things which whisk rapidly and silently -away, moments which I call godlike lizards--not with the cruelty of -that young Greek god who simply transfixed the poor little beast; -but nevertheless with something pointed--with a pen. "There are so -many dawns which have not yet shed their light"--this Indian maxim is -written over the doorway of this book. Where does its author seek that -new morning, that delicate red, as yet undiscovered, with which another -day--ah! a whole series of days, a whole world of new days!--will -begin? In the _Transvaluation of all Values,_ in an emancipation from -all moral values, in a saying of yea, and in an attitude of trust, to -all that which hitherto has been forbidden, despised, and damned. This -yea-saying book projects its light, its love, its tenderness, over all -evil things, it restores to them their soul, their clear conscience, -and their superior right and privilege to exist on earth. Morality is -not assailed, it simply ceases to be considered. This book closes with -the word "or?"--it is the only book which closes with an "or?". - - - -2 - - -My life-task is to prepare for humanity one supreme moment in which it -can come to its senses, a Great Noon in which it will turn its gaze -backwards and forwards, in which it will step from under the yoke -of accident and of priests, and for the first time set the question -of the Why and Wherefore of humanity as a whole--this life-task -naturally follows out of the conviction that mankind does _not_ get -on the right road of its own accord, that it is by no means divinely -ruled, but rather that it is precisely under the cover of its most -holy valuations that the instinct of negation, of corruption, and of -degeneration has held such a seductive sway. The question concerning -the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest -importance to me because it determines the future of mankind. The -demand made upon us to believe that everything is really in the best -hands, that a certain book, the Bible, gives us the definite and -comforting assurance that there is a Providence that wisely rules the -fate of man,--when translated back into reality amounts simply to this, -namely, the will to stifle the truth which maintains the reverse of -all this, which is that hitherto man has been in the _worst possible_ -hands, and that he has been governed by the physiologically botched, -the men of cunning and burning revengefulness, and the so-called -"saints"--those slanderers of the world and traducers of humanity. -The definite proof of the fact that the priest (including the priest -in disguise, the philosopher) has become master, not only within a -certain limited religious community, but everywhere, and that the -morality of decadence, the will to nonentity, has become morality -_per se,_ is to be found in this: that altruism is now an absolute -value, and egoism is regarded with hostility everywhere. He who -disagrees with me on this point, I regard as infected. But all the -world disagrees with me. To a physiologist a like antagonism between -values admits of no doubt. If the most insignificant organ within the -body neglects, however slightly, to assert with absolute certainty its -self-preservative powers, its recuperative claims, and its egoism, the -whole system degenerates. The physiologist insists upon the removal of -degenerated parts, he denies all fellow-feeling for such parts, and -has not the smallest feeling of pity for them. But the desire of the -priest is precisely the degeneration of the whole of mankind; hence his -preservation of that which is degenerate--this is what his dominion -costs humanity. What meaning have those lying concepts, those handmaids -of morality, "Soul," "Spirit," "Free will," "God," if their aim is not -the physiological ruin of mankind? When earnestness is diverted from -the instincts that aim at self-preservation and an increase of bodily -energy, _i.e._ at an _increase of life_; when anæmia is raised to an -ideal and the contempt of the body is construed as "the salvation of -the soul," what is all this if it is not a recipe for decadence? Loss -of ballast, resistance offered to natural instincts, selflessness, -in fact--this is what has hitherto been known as morality. With _The -Dawn of Day_ I first engaged in a struggle against the morality of -self-renunciation. - - - - -"JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA" - - - -1 - - -_Dawn of Day_ is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The -same applies once more and in the highest degree to _La Gaya Scienza:_ -in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go -gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most -wonderful month of January which I have ever lived--the whole book is a -gift--sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has -here become joyful. - - "Thou who with cleaving fiery lances - The stream of my soul from its ice dost free, - Till with a rush and a roar it advances - To enter with glorious hoping the sea: - Brighter to see and purer ever, - Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,-- - So it praises thy wondrous endeavour, - January, thou beauteous saint!"[1] - -Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when -he has realised the diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's -words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth -book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third -book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs -of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in -Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "_Gaya -Scienza,_" of that union of _singer, knight, and free spirit,_ which -distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from -all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"--an -exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances -freely upon the corpse of morality,--is a perfect Provençalism. - - -[Footnote 1: Translated for _Joyful Wisdom_ by Paul V. Cohn.--TR.] - - - - -"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA: A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE" - - - -1 - - -I now wish to relate the history of _Zarathustra._ The fundamental -idea of the work, the _Eternal Recurrence,_ the highest formula of -a Yea-saying to life that can ever be attained, was first conceived -in the month of August 1881. I made a note of the idea on a sheet of -paper, with the postscript: "Six thousand feet beyond man and time." -That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the -Lake of Silvaplana, and I halted not far from Surlei, beside a huge -rock that towered aloft like a pyramid. It was then that the thought -struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months before -this inspiration I had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden -and decisive change in my tastes--more particularly in music. The -whole of _Zarathustra_ might perhaps be classified under the rubric -music. At all events, the essential condition of its production was -a second birth within me of the art of hearing. In Recoaro, a small -mountain resort near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and -my friend and maestro, Peter Gast--who was also one who had been born -again, discovered that the phœnix music hovered over us, in lighter -and brighter plumage than it had ever worn before. If, therefore, I -now calculate from that day forward the sudden production of the book, -under the most unlikely circumstances, in February 1883,--the last -part, out of which I quoted a few lines in my preface, was written -precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost -in Venice,--I come to the conclusion that the period of gestation -covered eighteen months. This period of exactly eighteen months, -might suggest, at least to Buddhists, that I am in reality a female -elephant The interval was devoted to the _Gaya Scienza,_ which contains -hundreds of indications of the proximity of something unparalleled; -for, after all, it shows the beginning of _Zarathustra,_ since it -presents _Zarathustra's_ fundamental thought in the last aphorism -but one of the fourth book. To this interval also belongs that _Hymn -to Life_ (for a mixed choir and orchestra), the score of which was -published in Leipzig two years ago by E. W. Fritsch, and which gave -perhaps no slight indication of my spiritual state during this year, -in which the essentially yea-saying pathos, which I call the tragic -pathos, completely filled me heart and limb. One day people will sing -it to my memory. The text, let it be well understood, as there is -some misunderstanding abroad on this point, is not by me; it was the -astounding inspiration of a young Russian lady, Miss Lou von Salome, -with whom I was then on friendly terms. He who is in any way able -to make some sense of the last words of the poem, will divine why I -preferred and admired it: there is greatness in them. Pain is not -regarded as an objection to existence: "And if thou hast no bliss now -left to crown me--Lead on! Thou hast thy Sorrow still." - -Maybe that my music is also great in this passage. (The last note of -the oboe, by the bye, is C sharp, not C. The latter is a misprint.) -During the following winter, I was living on that charmingly peaceful -Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, which cuts inland between Chiavari -and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold -and exceptionally rainy; and the small _albergo_ in which I lived -was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if -the sea was rough. These circumstances were surely the very reverse -of favourable; and yet, in spite of it all, and as if in proof of my -belief that everything decisive comes to life in defiance of every -obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these -unfavourable circumstances that my _Zarathustra_ originated. In the -morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious -road to Zoagli, which rises up through a forest of pines and gives -one a view far out to sea. In the afternoon, or as often as my health -allowed, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond -Porto Fino. This spot affected me all the more deeply because it was -so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I -chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small forgotten -world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that -all _Zarathustra_ came to me, above all, Zarathustra himself as a -type--I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that _he waylaid -me_. - - - -2 - - -In order to understand this type, you must first be quite clear -concerning its fundamental physiological condition: this condition -is what I call _great healthiness._ In regard to this idea I cannot -make my meaning more plain or more personal than I have done already -in one of the last aphorisms (No. 382) of the fifth book of the _Gaya -Scienza_: "We new, nameless, and unfathomable creatures," so reads -the passage, "we firstlings of a future still unproved--we who have a -new end in view also require new means to that end, that is to say, -a new healthiness, a stronger, keener, tougher, bolder, and merrier -healthiness than any that has existed heretofore. He who longs to -feel in his own soul the whole range of values and aims that have -prevailed on earth until his day, and to sail round all the coasts -of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea'; who, from the adventures of his -own inmost experience, would fain know how it feels to be a conqueror -and discoverer of the ideal;--as also how it is with the artist, the -saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the man of piety and the -godlike anchorite of yore;--such a man requires one thing above all -for his purpose, and that is, _great healthiness_--such healthiness as -he not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, -because he is continually sacrificing it again, and is compelled to -sacrifice it! And now, therefore, after having been long on the way, -we Argonauts of the ideal, whose pluck is greater than prudence would -allow, and who are often shipwrecked and bruised, but, as I have said, -healthier than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, and for -ever recovering our health--it would seem as if we had before us, as -a reward for all our toils, a country still undiscovered, the horizon -of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to every country and every -refuge of the ideal that man has ever known, a world so overflowing -with beauty, strangeness, doubt, terror, and divinity, that both our -curiosity and our lust of possession are frantic with eagerness. Alas! -how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our -conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with _the man -of the present day_? This is bad indeed; but, that we should regard -his worthiest aims and hopes with ill-concealed amusement, or perhaps -give them no thought at all, is inevitable. Another ideal now leads -us on, a wonderful, seductive ideal, full of danger, the pursuit of -which we should be loath to urge upon any one, because we are not so -ready to acknowledge any one's _right to it:_ the ideal of a spirit who -plays ingenuously (that is to say, involuntarily, and as the outcome -of superabundant energy and power) with everything that, hitherto, -has been called holy, good, inviolable, and divine; to whom even the -loftiest thing that the people have with reason made their measure of -value would be no better than a danger, a decay, and an abasement, or -at least a relaxation and temporary forgetfulness of self: the ideal -of a humanly superhuman well-being and goodwill, which often enough -will seem inhuman--as when, for instance, it stands beside all past -earnestness on earth, and all past solemnities in hearing, speech, -tone, look, morality, and duty, as their most lifelike and unconscious -parody--but with which, nevertheless, _great earnestness_ perhaps alone -begins, the first note of interrogation is affixed, the fate of the -soul changes, the hour hand moves, and tragedy begins." - - - -3 - - -Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion -of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? -If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of -superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible completely to -set aside the idea that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece, or -medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation, in the sense -that something which profoundly convulses and upsets one becomes -suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and -accuracy--describes the simple fact. One hears--one does not seek; one -takes--one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like -lightning, it comes with necessity, without faltering--I have never had -any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy so great that the immense -strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, during which -one's steps now involuntarily rush and anon involuntarily lag. There -is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct -consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations -descending to one's very toes;--there is a depth of happiness in which -the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, -but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an -overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which -embraces a whole world of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing -rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort -of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens -quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, -of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntary nature of -the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all -perception of what is imagery and metaphor; everything seems to present -itself as the readiest, the truest, and simplest means of expression. -It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's own phrases, as if all -things came to one, and offered themselves as similes. ("Here do all -things come caressingly to thy discourse and flatter thee, for they -would fain ride upon thy back. On every simile thou ridest here unto -every truth. Here fly open unto thee all the speech and word shrines -of the world, here would all existence become speech, here would -all Becoming learn of thee how to speak.") This is my experience of -inspiration. I do not doubt but that I should have to go back thousands -of years before I could find another who could say to me: "It is mine -also!" - - - -4 - - -For a few weeks afterwards I lay an invalid in Genoa. Then followed -a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live--and -this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to -the poet-author of _Zarathustra,_ and for the choice of which I was -not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. -I wanted to go to Aquila--the opposite of Rome in every respect, and -actually founded in a spirit of hostility towards that city, just as -I also shall found a city some day, as a memento of an atheist and -genuine enemy of the Church, a person very closely related to me, the -great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it -all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be -satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in -vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, -to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the -Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for -a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from -which one obtained a general view of Rome, and could hear the fountains -plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed--"The -Night-Song." About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad -melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the affords, "dead through -immortality," ... In the summer, finding myself once more in the sacred -place where the first thought of _Zarathustra_ flashed like a light -across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither -for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day -longer. In the ensuing winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which -then for the first time poured its light into my life, I found the -third _Zarathustra_--and came to the end of my task: the whole having -occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the -country round about Nice are hallowed for me by moments that I can -never forget. That decisive chapter, entitled "Old and New Tables," -was composed during the arduous ascent from the station to Eza--that -wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. During those moments when my -creative energy flowed most plentifully, my muscular activity was -always greatest. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of -"soul." I might often have been seen dancing in those days, and I could -then walk for seven or eight hours on end over the hills without a -suggestion of fatigue. I slept well and laughed a good deal--I was -perfectly robust and patient. - - - -5 - - -With the exception of these periods of industry lasting ten days, the -years I spent during the production of _Zarathustra,_ and thereafter, -were for me years of unparalleled distress. A man pays dearly for -being immortal: to this end he must die many times over during his -life. There is such a thing as what I call the rancour of greatness: -everything great, whether a work or a deed, once it is completed, turns -immediately against its author. The very fact that he is its author -makes him weak at this time. He can no longer endure his deed. He can -no longer look it full in the face. To have something at one's back -which one could never have willed, something to which the knot of human -destiny is attached--and to be forced thenceforward to bear it on one's -shoulders! Why, it almost crushes one! The rancour of greatness! A -somewhat different experience is the uncanny silence that reigns about -one. Solitude has seven skins which nothing can penetrate. One goes -among men; one greets friends: but these things are only new deserts, -the looks of those one meets no longer bear a greeting. At the best -one encounters a sort of revolt. This feeling of revolt, I suffered, -in varying degrees of intensity, at the hands of almost every one who -came near me; it would seem that nothing inflicts a deeper wound than -suddenly to make one's distance felt. Those noble natures are scarce -who know not how to live unless they can revere. A third thing is -the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of -helplessness in the presence of all small things. This seems to me a -necessary outcome of the appalling expenditure of all defensive forces, -which is the first condition of every _creative_ act, of every act -which proceeds from the most intimate, most secret, and most concealed -recesses of a man's being. The small defensive forces are thus, as it -were, suspended, and no fresh energy reaches them. I even think it -probable that one does not digest so well, that one is less willing -to move, and that one is much too open to sensations of coldness and -suspicion; for, in a large number of cases, suspicion is merely a -blunder in etiology. On one occasion when I felt like this I became -conscious of the proximity of a herd of cows, some time before I could -possibly have seen it with my eyes, simply owing to a return in me of -milder and more humane sentiments: _they_ communicated warmth to me.... - - - -6 - - -This work stands alone. Do not let us mention the poets in the -same breath; nothing perhaps has ever been produced out of such a -superabundance of strength. My concept "Dionysian" here became the -_highest_ deed; compared with it everything that other men have done -seems poor and limited. The fact that a Goethe or a Shakespeare would -not for an instant have known how to take breath in this atmosphere of -passion and of the heights; the fact that by the side of Zarathustra, -Dante is no more than a believer, and not one who first _creates_ the -truth--that is to say, not a world-ruling spirit, a _Fate_; the fact -that the poets of the Veda were priests and not even fit to unfasten -Zarathustra's sandal--all this is the least of things, and gives no -idea of the distance, of the azure solitude, in which this work dwells. -Zarathustra has an eternal right to say: "I draw around me circles and -holy boundaries. Ever fewer are they that mount with me to ever loftier -heights. I build me a mountain range of ever holier mountains." If all -the spirit and goodness of every great soul were collected together, -the whole could not create a single one of Zarathustra's discourses. -The ladder upon which he rises and descends is of boundless length; -he has seen further, he has willed further, and _gone_ further than -any other man. There is contradiction in every word that he utters, -this most yea-saying of all spirits. Through him all contradictions -are bound up into a new unity. The loftiest and the basest powers of -human nature, the sweetest, the lightest, and the most terrible, rush -forth from out one spring with everlasting certainty. Until his coming -no one knew what was height, or depth, and still less what was truth. -There is not a single passage in this revelation of truth which had -already been anticipated and divined by even the greatest among men. -Before Zarathustra there was no wisdom, no probing of the soul, no art -of speech: in his book, the most familiar and most vulgar thing utters -unheard-of words. The sentence quivers with passion. Eloquence has -become music. Forks of lightning are hurled towards futures of which -no one has ever dreamed before. The most powerful use of parables that -has yet existed is poor beside it, and mere child's-play compared with -this return of language to the nature of imagery. See how Zarathustra -goes down from the mountain and speaks the kindest words to every -one! See with what delicate fingers he touches his very adversaries, -the priests, and how he suffers with them from themselves! Here, at -every moment, man is overcome, and the concept "Superman" becomes the -greatest reality,--out of sight, almost far away beneath him, lies -all that which heretofore has been called great in man. The halcyonic -brightness, the light feet, the presence of wickedness and exuberance -throughout, and all that is the essence of the type Zarathustra, was -never dreamt of before as a prerequisite of greatness. In precisely -these limits of space and in this accessibility to opposites -Zarathustra feels himself the _highest of all living things_: and when -you hear how he defines this highest, you will give up trying to find -his equal. - -"The soul which hath the longest ladder and can step down deepest, - -"The vastest soul that can run and stray and rove furthest in its own -domain, - -"The most necessary soul, that out of desire flingeth itself to chance, - -"The stable soul that plungeth into Becoming, the possessing soul that -must needs taste of willing and longing, - -"The soul that flyeth from itself, and over-taketh itself in the widest -circle, - -"The wisest soul that folly exhorteth most sweetly, - -"The most self-loving soul, in whom all things have their rise, their -ebb and flow." - -But this is the very idea of Dionysus. Another consideration leads -to this idea. The psychological problem presented by the type of -Zarathustra is, how can he, who in an unprecedented manner says -no, and _acts_ no, in regard to all that which has been affirmed -hitherto, remain nevertheless a yea-saying spirit? how can he who -bears the heaviest destiny on his shoulders and whose very life-task -is a fatality, yet be the brightest and the most transcendental -of spirits--for Zarathustra is a dancer? how can he who has the -hardest and most terrible grasp of reality, and who has thought the -most "abysmal thoughts," nevertheless avoid conceiving these things -as objections to existence, or even as objections to the eternal -recurrence of existence?--how is it that on the contrary he finds -reasons for _being himself_ the eternal affirmation of all things, "the -tremendous and unlimited saying of Yea and Amen"?... "Into every abyss -do I bear the benediction of my yea to Life." ... But this, once more, -is precisely the idea of Dionysus. - - - -7 - - -What language will such a spirit speak, when he speaks unto his soul? -The language of the _dithyramb._ I am the inventor of the dithyramb. -Hearken unto the manner in which Zarathustra speaks to his soul _Before -Sunrise_ (iii. 48). Before my time such emerald joys and divine -tenderness had found no tongue. Even the profoundest melancholy of -such a Dionysus takes shape as a dithyramb. As an example of this I -take "The Night-Song,"--the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his -superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is -condemned never to love. - -"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring. - -"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover. - -"Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise -its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the -language of love. - -"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I -am begirt with light. - -"Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I -then suck at the breasts of light! - -"And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on -high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light. - -"But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the -flames I send forth. - -"I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft -have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking. - -"Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate -is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing. - -"Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover -the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the -end of the feast! - -"They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there -'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be -bridged. - -"An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to -them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I -have given:--thus do I thirst for wickedness. - -"To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the -waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:--thus do I thirst for -wickedness. - -"For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my -loneliness give birth. - -"My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue -grow weary of itself. - -"He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing -groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom. - -"Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's -shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden -hands. - -"Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my -heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons! - -"Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do -they speak with their light--to me alone are they silent. - -"Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it -runneth its course. - -"Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward -suns,--thus doth every sun go its way. - -"Like a tempest do the suns fly over their course: for such is their -way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness. - -"Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, -that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk -and comfort from the udders of light. - -"Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice! - -"Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst! - -"It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after -darkness! And loneliness! - -"It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,--for -speech do I long. - -"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring. - -"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover." - - - -8 - - -Such things have never been written, never been felt, never been -_suffered:_ only a God, only Dionysus suffers in this way. The reply -to such a dithyramb on the sun's solitude in light would be Ariadne. -... Who knows, but I, who Ariadne is! To all such riddles no one -heretofore had ever found an answer; I doubt even whether any one had -ever seen a riddle here. One day Zarathustra severely determines his -life-task--and it is also mine. Let no one misunderstand its meaning. -It's a yea-saying to the point of justifying, to the point of redeeming -even all that is past. - -"I walk among men as among fragments of the future: of that future -which I see. - -"And all my creativeness and effort is but this, that I may be able to -think and recast all these fragments and riddles and dismal accidents -into one piece. - -"And how could I bear to be a man, if man were not also a poet, a -riddle reader, and a redeemer of chance! - -"To redeem all the past, and to transform every 'it was' into 'thus -would I have it'--that alone would be my salvation!" - -In another passage he defines as strictly as possible what to him alone -"man" can be,--not a subject for love nor yet for pity--Zarathustra -became master even of his loathing of man: man is to him a thing -unshaped, raw material, an ugly stone that needs the sculptor's chisel. - -"No longer to will, no longer to value, no longer to create! Oh, that -this great weariness may never be mine! - -"Even in the lust of knowledge, I feel only the joy of my will to beget -and to grow; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because -my procreative will is in it. - -"Away from God and gods did this will lure me: what would there be to -create if there were gods? - -"But to man doth it ever drive me anew, my burning, creative will. -Thus driveth it the hammer to the stone. - -"Alas, ye men, within the stone there sleepeth an image for me, the -image of all my dreams! Alas, that it should have to sleep in the -hardest and ugliest stone! - -"_Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison._ From the stone -the fragments fly: what's that to me? - -"I will finish it: for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightest -thing on earth once came unto me! - -"The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Alas, my -brethren! What are the--gods to me now?" - -Let me call attention to one last point of view. The line in italics is -my pretext for this remark. A Dionysian life-task needs the hardness of -the hammer, and one of its first essentials is without doubt the _joy -even of destruction._ The command, "Harden yourselves!" and the deep -conviction that _all creators are hard,_ is the really distinctive sign -of a Dionysian nature. - - - - -BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL: - - -"THE PRELUDE TO A PHILOSOPHY OF THE FUTURE" - - - -1 - - -My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly -as possible. Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was -accomplished, there came the turn of the negative portion, both in -word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed -hitherto, the great war,--the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal -outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had slowly to -look about me for my peers, for those who, _out of strength,_ would -proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time -onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much -about fishing as most people? If nothing was _caught,_ it was not I who -was at fault _There were no fish to come and bite._ - - - -2 - - -In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of -_modernity,_ embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, -together with certain indications as to a type which would be the -reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble -and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a _school -for gentlemen_--the term _gentleman_ being understood here in a -much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. -All those things of which the age is proud,--as, for instance, -far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the -historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its -lying-in-the-dust before _petits faits,_ and the rage for science,--are -shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are -regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows -upon _Zarathustra,_ you may possibly guess to what system of diet it -owes its life. The eye which, owing to tremendous constraint, has -become accustomed to see at a great distance,--_Zarathustra_ is even -more far-sighted than the Tsar,--is here forced to focus sharply that -which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about -him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this -book, the reader will find the same _voluntary_ turning away from those -instincts which made a _Zarathustra_ a possible feat. Refinement in -form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or -less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness -and cruelty,--the whole book does not contain one single good-natured -word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind -of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness -as is to be found in _Zarathustra_? From a theological standpoint--now -pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a -theologian--it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, -coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of -knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had -made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of -idleness, on that seventh day. - - - - -"THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS: A POLEMIC" - - -The three essays which constitute this genealogy are, as regards -expression, aspiration, and the art of the unexpected, perhaps the -most curious things that have ever been written. Dionysus, as you know, -is also the god of darkness. In each case the beginning is calculated -to mystify; it is cool, scientific, even ironical, intentionally -thrust to the fore, intentionally reticent. Gradually less calmness -prevails; here and there a flash of lightning defines the horizon; -exceedingly unpleasant truths break upon your ears from out remote -distances with a dull, rumbling sound,--until very soon a fierce tempo -is attained in which everything presses forward at a terrible degree -of tension. At the end, in each case, amid fearful thunderclaps, a new -truth shines out between thick clouds. The truth of the first essays -the psychology of Christianity: the birth of Christianity out of the -spirit of resentment, not, as is supposed, out of the "Spirit,"--in -all its essentials, a counter-movement, the great insurrection against -the dominion of noble values. The second essay contains the psychology -of conscience: this is not, as you may believe, "the voice of God in -man"; it is the instinct of cruelty, which turns inwards once it is -unable to discharge itself outwardly. Cruelty is here exposed, for the -first time, as one of the oldest and most indispensable elements in the -foundation of culture. The third essay replies to the question as to -the origin of the formidable power of the ascetic ideal, of the priest -ideal, despite the fact that this ideal is essentially detrimental, -that it is a will to nonentity and to decadence. Reply: it flourished -not because God was active behind the priests, as is generally -believed, but because it was a _faute de mieux_--from the fact that -hitherto it has been the only ideal and has had no competitors. "For -man prefers to aspire to nonentity than not to aspire at all." But -above all, until the time of _Zarathustra_ there was no such thing -as a counter-ideal. You have understood my meaning. Three decisive -overtures on the part of a psychologist to a _Transvaluation of all -Values._--This book contains the first psychology of the priest. - - - - -"THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS: - -HOW TO PHILOSOPHISE WITH THE HAMMER" - - - -1 - - -This work--which covers scarcely one hundred and fifty pages, with its -cheerful and fateful tone, like a laughing demon, and the production -of which occupied so few days that I hesitate to give their number--is -altogether an exception among books: there is no work more rich in -substance, more independent, more upsetting--more wicked. If any one -should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how everything, before my -time, was standing on its head, he should begin reading me in this -book. That which is called "Idols" on the title page is simply the -old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain English, _The -Twilight of the Idols_ means that the old truth is on its last legs. - - - -2 - - -There is no reality, no "ideality," which has not been touched in -this book (touched! what a cautious euphemism!). Not only the eternal -idols, but also the youngest--that is to say, the most senile: modern -ideas, for instance. A strong wind blows between the trees and in -all directions fall the fruit--the truths. There is the waste of an -all-too-rich autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush -some to death, there are too many of them. Those things that you can -grasp, however, are quite unquestionable; they are irrevocable decrees. -I alone have the criterion of "truths" in my possession. I alone _can_ -decide. It would seem as if a second consciousness had grown up in me, -as if the "life-will" in me had thrown a light upon the downward path -along which it has been running throughout the ages. The _downward -path_--hitherto this had been called the road to "Truth." All obscure -impulse--"darkness and dismay"--is at an end, the "_good man_" was -precisely he who was least aware of the proper way.[1] And, speaking -in all earnestness, no one before me knew the proper way, the way -upwards: only after my time could men once more find hope, life-tasks, -and roads mapped out that lead to culture--_I am the joyful harbinger -of this culture._ ... On this account alone I am also a fatality. - - - -3 - - -Immediately after the completion of the above-named work, and without -letting even one day go by, I tackled the formidable task of the -_Transvaluation_ with a supreme feeling of pride which nothing could -equal; and, certain at each moment of my immortality, I cut sign after -sign upon tablets of brass with the sureness of Fate. The Preface -came into being on 3rd September 1888. When, after having written it -down, I went out into the open that morning, I was greeted by the most -beautiful day I had ever seen in the Upper Engadine--clear, glowing -with colour, and presenting all the contrasts and all the intermediary -gradations between ice and the south. I left Sils-Maria only on the -20th of September. I had been forced to delay my departure owing to -floods, and I was very soon, and for some days, the only visitor in -this wonderful spot, on which my gratitude bestows the gift of an -immortal name. After a journey that was full of incidents, and not -without danger to life,--as for instance at Como, which was flooded -when I reached it in the dead of night,--I got to Turin on the -afternoon of the 21 st. Turin is the only suitable place for me, and -it shall be my home henceforward. I took the same lodgings as I had -occupied in the spring, 6111 Via Carlo Alberto, opposite the mighty -Palazzo Carignano, in which Vittorio Emanuele was born; and I had a -view of the Piazza Carlo Alberto and above it across to the hills. -Without hesitating, or allowing myself to be disturbed for a single -moment, I returned to my work, only the last quarter of which had still -to be written. On the 30th September, tremendous triumph; the seventh -day; the leisure of a god on the banks of the Po.[2] On the same day, -I wrote the Preface to _The Twilight of the Idols,_ the correction of -the proofs of which provided me with recreation during the month of -September. Never in my life have I experienced such an autumn; nor -had I ever imagined that such things were possible on earth--a Claude -Lorrain extended to infinity, each day equal to the last in its wild -perfection. - - -[Footnote 1: A witty reference to Goethe's well-known passage in the -Prologue to _Faust_:-- - -"A good man, though in darkness and dismay, -May still be conscious of the proper way." - -The words are spoken by the Lord.--TR. ] - -[Footnote 2: There is a wonderful promenade along the banks of the Po, -for which Turin is famous, and of which Nietzsche was particularly -fond.--TR.] - - - - -"THE CASE OF WAGNER: A MUSICIAN'S PROBLEM" - - - -1 - - -In order to do justice to this essay a man ought to suffer from the -fate of music as from an open wound.--From what do I suffer when I -suffer from the fate of music? From the fact that music has lost -its world-transfiguring, yea-saying character--that it is decadent -music and no longer the flute of Dionysus. Supposing, however, that -the fate of music be as dear to man as his own life, because joy and -suffering are alike bound up with it; then he will find this pamphlet -comparatively mild and full of consideration. To be cheerful in -such circumstances, and laugh good-naturedly with others at one's -self,--_ridendodicere severum_[1] when the _verum dicere_ would -justify every sort of hardness,--is humanity itself. Who doubts that -I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to point my -_heavy_ guns at Wagner?--Everything decisive in this question I kept -to myself--I have loved Wagner.--After all, an attack upon a more than -usually subtle "unknown person" whom another would not have divined -so easily, lies in the meaning and path of my life-task. Oh, I have -still quite a number of other "unknown persons" to unmask besides a -Cagliostro of Music! Above all, I have to direct an attack against -the German people, who, in matters of the spirit, grow every day -more indolent, poorer in instincts, and more _honest_ who, with an -appetite for which they are to be envied, continue to diet themselves -on contradictions, and gulp down "Faith" in company with science, -Christian love together with anti-Semitism, and the will to power (to -the "Empire"), dished up with the gospel of the humble, without showing -the slightest signs of indigestion. Fancy this absence of party-feeling -in the presence of opposites! Fancy this gastric neutrality and -"disinterestedness"! Behold this sense of justice in the German palate, -which can grant equal rights to all,--which finds everything tasteful! -Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans are idealists. When I was last -in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant Wagner and the -_Trumpeter of Sakkingen_[2] equal rights; while I myself witnessed -the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most -genuine and most German of musicians,--using German here in the old -sense of the word,--a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the -master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of -which was to cultivate and spread artful (_listige_[3]) Church music. -Without a shadow of doubt the Germans are idealists. - - - -2 - - -But here nothing shall stop me from being rude, and from telling the -Germans one or two unpleasant home truths: who else would do it if I -did not? I refer to their laxity in matters historical. Not only have -the Germans entirely lost the _breadth of vision_ which enables one -to grasp the course of culture and the values of culture; not only -are they one and all political (or Church) puppets; but they have -also actually _put a ban upon_ this very breadth of vision. A man -must first and foremost be "German," he must belong to "_the_ race"; -then only can he pass judgment upon all values and lack of values -in history--then only can he establish them.... To be German is in -itself an argument, "Germany, Germany above all,"[4] is a principle; -the Germans stand for the "moral order of the universe" in history; -compared with the Roman Empire, they are the up-holders of freedom; -compared with the eighteenth century, they are the restorers of -morality, of the "Categorical Imperative." There is such a thing as -the writing of history according to the lights of Imperial Germany; -there is, I fear, anti-Semitic history--there is also history written -with an eye to the Court, and Herr von Treitschke is not ashamed -of himself. Quite recently an idiotic opinion _in historicis,_ an -observation of Vischer the Swabian æsthete, since happily deceased, -made the round of the German newspapers as a "truth" to which every -German _must assent_ The observation was this: "The Renaissance _and_ -the Reformation only together constitute a whole--the æsthetic -rebirth, and the moral rebirth." When I listen to such things, I lose -all patience, and I feel inclined, I even feel it my duty, to tell the -Germans, for once in a way, all that they have on their conscience. -_Every great crime against culture for the last four centuries lies -on their conscience...._ And always for the same reason, always owing -to their bottomless cowardice in the face of reality, which is also -cowardice in the face of truth; always owing to the love of falsehood -which has become almost instinctive in them--in short, "idealism." -It was the Germans who caused Europe to lose the fruits, the whole -meaning of her last period of greatness--the period of the Renaissance. -At a moment when a higher order of values, values that were noble, -that said yea to life, and that guaranteed a future, had succeeded -in triumphing over the opposite values, the values of degeneration, -in the very seat of Christianity itself,--and _even in the hearts of -those sitting there,_--Luther, that cursed monk, not only restored the -Church, but, what was a thousand times worse, restored Christianity, -and at a time too when it lay defeated. Christianity, the _Denial of -the Will to Live,_ exalted to a religion! Luther was an impossible -monk who, thanks to his own "impossibility," attacked the Church, -and in so doing restored it! Catholics would be perfectly justified -in celebrating feasts in honour of Luther, and in producing festival -plays[5] in his honour. Luther and the "rebirth of morality"! May all -psychology go to the devil! Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans -are idealists. On two occasions when, at the cost of enormous courage -and self-control, an upright, unequivocal, and perfectly scientific -attitude of mind had been attained, the Germans were able to discover -back stairs leading down to the old "ideal" again, compromises between -truth and the "ideal," and, in short, formulæ for the right to reject -science and to perpetrate falsehoods. Leibniz and Kant--these two -great breaks upon the intellectual honesty of Europe! Finally, at a -moment when there appeared on the bridge that spanned two centuries -of decadence, a superior force of genius and will which was strong -enough to consolidate Europe and to convert it into a political and -economic unit, with the object of ruling the world, the Germans, with -their Wars of Independence, robbed Europe of the significance--the -marvellous significance, of Napoleon's life. And in so doing they laid -on their conscience everything that followed, everything that exists -to-day,--this sickliness and want of reason which is most opposed to -culture, and which is called Nationalism,--this _névrose nationale_ -from which Europe is suffering acutely; this eternal subdivision of -Europe into petty states, with politics on a municipal scale: they have -robbed Europe itself of its significance, of its reason,--and have -stuffed it into a cul-de-sac. Is there any one except me who knows the -way out of this cul-de-sac? Does anyone except me know of an aspiration -which would be great enough to bind the people of Europe once more -together? - - - -3 - - -And after all, why should I not express my suspicions? In my case, -too, the Germans will attempt to make a great fate give birth merely -to a mouse. Up to the present they have compromised themselves with -me; I doubt whether the future will improve them. Alas! how happy I -should be to prove a false prophet in this matter! My natural readers -and listeners are already Russians, Scandinavians, and Frenchmen--will -they always be the same? In the history of knowledge, Germans are -represented only by doubtful names, they have been able to produce only -"_unconscious_" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, -Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or -Leibniz; they were all mere _Schleiermachers_).[6] The Germans must -not have the honour of seeing the first upright intellect in their -history of intellects, that intellect in which truth ultimately got the -better of the fraud of four thousand years, reckoned as one with the -German intellect. "German intellect" is my foul air: I breathe with -difficulty in the neighbourhood of this psychological uncleanliness -that has now become instinctive--an uncleanliness which in every -word and expression betrays a German. They have never undergone a -seventeenth century of hard self-examination, as the French have,--a -La Rochefoucauld, a Descartes, are a thousand times more upright -than the very first among Germans,--the latter have not yet had any -psychologists. But psychology is almost the standard of measurement -for the cleanliness or uncleanliness of a race.... For if a man is -not even clean, how can he be deep? The Germans are like women, you -can scarcely ever I fathom their depths--they haven't any, and that's -the end of it. Thus they cannot even be called shallow. That which is -called "deep" in Germany, is precisely this instinctive uncleanliness -towards one's self, of which I have just spoken: people refuse to be -clear in regard to their own natures. Might I be allowed, perhaps, to -suggest the word "German" as an international epithet denoting this -psychological depravity?--At the moment of writing, for instance, the -German Emperor is declaring it to be his Christian duty to liberate -the slaves in Africa; among us Europeans, then, this would be called -simply "German." ... Have the Germans ever produced even a book that -had depth? They are lacking in the mere idea of what constitutes a -book. I have known scholars who thought that Kant was deep. At the -Court of Prussia I fear that Herr von Treitschke is regarded as deep. -And when I happen to praise Stendhal as a deep psychologist, I have -often been compelled, in the company of German University Professors, -to spell his name aloud. - - - -4 - - -And why should I not proceed to the end? I am fond of clearing the -air. It is even part of my ambition to be considered as essentially a -despiser of Germans. I expressed my suspicions of the German character -even at the age of six-and-twenty (see _Thoughts out of Season,_ -vol. ii. pp. 164, 165),--to my mind the Germans are impossible. -When I try to think of the kind of man who is opposed to me in all -my instincts, my mental image takes the form of a German. The first -thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a -feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order -everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for -this is what constitutes a gentleman. Otherwise he belongs hopelessly -to that open-hearted, open-minded--alas! and always very good-natured -species, _la canaille_! But the Germans are _canaille_--alas! they are -so good-natured! A man lowers himself by frequenting the society of -Germans: the German places every one on an equal footing. With the -exception of my intercourse with one or two artists, and above all -with Richard Wagner, I cannot say that I have spent one pleasant hour -with Germans. Suppose, for one moment, that the profoundest spirit -of all ages were to appear among Germans, then one of the saviours -of the Capitol would be sure to arise and declare that his own ugly -soul was just as great. I can no longer abide this race with which -a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances--woe -to me! I am a nuance--and which has not _esprit_ in its feet, and -cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, -they simply have legs. The Germans have not the faintest idea of how -vulgar they are--but this in itself is the acme of vulgarity,--they are -not even ashamed of being merely Germans. They will have their say in -everything, they regard themselves as fit to decide all questions; I -even fear that they have decided about me. My whole life is essentially -a proof of this remark. In vain have I sought among them for a sign of -tact and delicacy towards myself. Among Jews I did indeed find it, but -not among Germans. I am so constituted as to be gentle and kindly to -every one,--I have the right not to draw distinctions,--but this does -not prevent my eyes from being open. I except no one, and least of all -my friends,--I only trust that this has not prejudiced my reputation -for humanity among them? There are five or six things which I have -always made points of honour. Albeit, the truth remains that for many -years I have considered almost every letter that has reached me as a -piece of cynicism. There is more cynicism in an attitude of goodwill -towards me than in any sort of hatred. I tell every friend to his face -that he has never thought it worth his while to _study_ any one of my -writings: from the slightest hints I gather that they do not even know -what lies hidden in my books. And with regard even to my _Zarathustra,_ -which of my friends would have seen more in it than a piece of -unwarrantable, though fortunately harmless, arrogance? Ten years have -elapsed, and no one has yet felt it a duty to his conscience to defend -my name against the absurd silence beneath which it has been entombed. -It was a foreigner, a Dane, who first showed sufficient keenness of -instinct and of courage to do this, and who protested indignantly -against my so-called friends. At what German University to-day would -such lectures on my philosophy be possible, as those which Dr. Brandes -delivered last spring in Copenhagen, thus proving once more his right -to the title psychologist? For my part, these things have never caused -me any pain; that which is _necessary_ does not offend me. _Amor fati_ -is the core of my nature. This, however, does not alter the fact that -I love irony and even world-historic irony. And thus, about two years -before hurling the destructive thunderbolt of the _Transvaluation,_ -which will send the whole of civilisation into convulsions, I sent -my _Case of Wagner_ out into the world. The Germans were given the -chance of blundering and immortalising their stupidity once more on my -account, and they still have just enough time to do it in. And have -they fallen in with my plans? Admirably! my dear Germans. Allow me to -congratulate you. - - - -[Footnote 1: The motto of _The Case of Wagner._--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: An opera by Nessler which was all the rage in Germany -twenty years ago.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: Unfortunately it is impossible to render this play on the -words in English.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: The German National Song (_Deutschland, Deutschland über -alles_).--TR.] - -[Footnote 5: Ever since the year 1617 such plays have been produced by -the Protestants of Germany.--TR.] - -[Footnote 6: _Schleiermacher_ literally means a weaver or maker of -veils.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I AM A FATALITY - - - -1 - - -I know my destiny. There will come a day when my name will recall -the memory of something formidable--a crisis the like of which has -never been known on earth, the memory of the most profound clash -of consciences, and the passing of a sentence upon all that which -theretofore had been believed, exacted, and hallowed. I am not a -man, I am dynamite. And with it all there is nought of the founder -of a religion in me. Religions are matters for the mob; after coming -in contact with a religious man, I always feel that I must wash my -hands.... I require no "believers," it is my opinion that I am too -full of malice to believe even in myself; I never address myself to -masses. I am horribly frightened that one day I shall be pronounced -"holy." You will understand why I publish this book beforehand--it is -to prevent people from wronging me. I refuse to be a saint; I would -rather be a clown. Maybe I am a clown. And I am notwithstanding, or -rather not _not_withstanding, the mouthpiece of truth; for nothing -more blown-out with falsehood has ever existed, than a saint. But -my truth is terrible: for hitherto _lies_ have been called truth. -_The Transvaluation of all Values,_ this is my formula for mankind's -greatest step towards coming to its senses--a step which in me became -flesh and genius. My destiny ordained that I should be the first decent -human being, and that I should feel myself opposed to the falsehood -of millenniums. I was the first to discover truth, and for the simple -reason that I was the first who became conscious of falsehood as -falsehood--that is to say, I smelt it as such. My genius resides in -my nostrils. I contradict as no one has contradicted hitherto, and am -nevertheless the reverse of a negative spirit. I am the harbinger of -joy, the like of which has never existed before; I have discovered -tasks of such lofty greatness that, until my time, no one had any idea -of such things. Mankind can begin to have fresh hopes, only now that I -have lived. Thus, I am necessarily a man of Fate. For when Truth enters -the lists against the falsehood of ages, shocks are bound to ensue, -and a spell of earthquakes, followed by the transposition of hills and -valleys, such as the world has never yet imagined even in its dreams. -The concept "politics" then becomes elevated entirely to the sphere -of spiritual warfare. All the mighty realms of the ancient order of -society are blown into space--for they are all based on falsehood: -there will be wars, the like of which have never been seen on earth -before. Only from my time and after me will politics on a large scale -exist on earth. - - - -2 - - -If you should require a formula for a destiny of this kind that has -taken human form, you will find it in my _Zarathustra_. - -"And he who would be a creator in good and evil--verily, he must first -be a destroyer, and break values into pieces. - -"Thus the greatest evil belongeth unto the greatest good: but this is -the creative good." - -I am by far the most terrible man that has ever existed; but this does -not alter the fact that I shall become the most beneficent. I know the -joy of _annihilation_ to a degree which is commensurate with my power -to annihilate. In both cases I obey my Dionysian nature, which knows -not how to separate the negative deed from the saying of yea. I am the -first immoralist, and in this sense I am essentially the annihilator. - - - -3 - - -People have never asked me as they should have done, what the name -of Zarathustra precisely meant in my mouth, in the mouth of the -first immoralist; for that which distinguishes this Persian from all -others in the past is the very fact that he was the exact reverse -of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle -between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. -The translation of morality into the realm of metaphysics, as force, -cause, end-in-itself, is his work. But the very question suggests -its own answer. Zarathustra created this most portentous of all -errors,--morality; therefore he must be the first to expose it. Not -only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject -than any other thinker,--all history is indeed the experimental -refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things,--but -because of the more important fact that Zarathustra was the most -truthful of thinkers. In his teaching alone is truthfulness upheld as -the highest virtue--that is to say, as the reverse of the cowardice -of the "idealist" who takes to his heels at the sight of reality. -Zarathustra has more pluck in his body than all other thinkers put -together. To tell the truth and to aim straight: that is the first -Persian virtue. Have I made myself clear? ... The overcoming of -morality by itself, through truthfulness, the moralist's overcoming of -himself in his opposite--in me--that is what the name Zarathustra means -in my mouth. - - - -4 - - -In reality two negations are involved in my title Immoralist. I first -of all deny the type of man that has hitherto been regarded as the -highest--the _good,_ the _kind,_ and the _charitable_; and I also -deny that kind of morality which has become recognised and paramount -as morality-in-itself--I speak of the morality of decadence, or, to -use a still cruder term, Christian morality. I would agree to the -second of the two negations being regarded as the more decisive, for, -reckoned as a whole, the overestimation of goodness and kindness seems -to me already a consequence of decadence, a symptom of weakness, and -incompatible with any ascending and yea-saying life. Negation and -annihilation are inseparable from a yea-saying attitude towards life. -Let me halt for a moment at the question of the psychology of the -good man. In order to appraise the value of a certain type of man, the -cost of his maintenance must be calculated,--and the conditions of his -existence must be known. The condition of the existence of the _good_ -is falsehood: or, otherwise expressed, the refusal at any price to -see how reality is actually constituted. The refusal to see that this -reality is not so constituted as always to be stimulating beneficent -instincts, and still less, so as to suffer at all moments the intrusion -of ignorant and good-natured hands. To consider distress of all kinds -as an objection, as something which must be done away with, is the -greatest nonsense on earth; generally speaking, it is nonsense of the -most disastrous sort, fatal in its stupidity--almost as mad as the will -to abolish bad weather, out of pity for the poor, so to speak. In the -great economy of the whole universe, the terrors of reality (in the -passions, in the desires, in the will to power) are incalculably more -necessary than that form of petty happiness which is called "goodness"; -it is even needful to practise leniency in order so much as to allow -the latter a place at all, seeing that it is based upon a falsification -of the instincts. I shall have an excellent opportunity of showing the -incalculably calamitous consequences to the whole of history, of the -credo of optimism, this monstrous offspring of the _homines optimi._ -Zarathustra,[1] the first who recognised that the optimist is just as -degenerate as the pessimist, though perhaps more detrimental, says: -"_Good men never speak the truth. False shores and false harbours -were ye taught by the good. In the lies of the good were ye born and -bred. Through the good everything hath become false and crooked from -the roots._" Fortunately the world is not built merely upon those -instincts which would secure to the good-natured herd animal his paltry -happiness. To desire everybody to become a "good man," "a gregarious -animal," "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul," or--as Herbert -Spencer wished--a creature of altruism, would mean robbing existence of -its greatest character, castrating man, and reducing humanity to a sort -of wretched Chinadom. _And this some have tried to do! It is precisely -this that men called morality._ In this sense Zarathustra calls "the -good," now "the last men," and anon "the beginning of the end"; and -above all, he considers them as _the most detrimental kind of men,_ -because they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and at the -cost of the Future. - -"The good--they cannot create; they are ever the beginning of the end. - -"They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables; they sacrifice -_unto themselves_ the future; they crucify the whole future of humanity! - -"The good--they are ever the beginning of the end. - -"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world may do, _the harm of the -good is the most calamitous of all harm._" - - - -5 - - -Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good man, is perforce the -friend of the evil man. When a degenerate kind of man has succeeded -to the highest rank among the human species, his position must have -been gained at the cost of the reverse type--at the cost of the strong -man who is certain of life. When the gregarious animal stands in -the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be -degraded to the rank of the evil. If falsehood insists at all costs on -claiming the word "truth" for its own particular standpoint, the really -truthful man must be sought out among the despised. Zarathustra allows -of no doubt here; he says that it was precisely the knowledge of the -good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute horror of men. And -it was out of this feeling of repulsion that he grew the wings which -allowed him to soar into remote futures. He does not conceal the fact -that his type of man is one which is relatively superhuman--especially -as opposed to the "good" man, and that the good and the just would -regard his superman as the _devil._ - -"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this is the doubt that ye -wake in my breast, and this is my secret laughter: methinks ye would -call my Superman--the devil! So strange are ye in your souls to all -that is great, that the Superman would be terrible in your eyes for his -goodness." - -It is from this passage, and from no other, that you must set out to -understand the goal to which Zarathustra aspires--the kind of man that -he conceives sees reality _as it is;_ he is strong enough for this--he -is not estranged or far removed from it, he is that reality himself, in -his own nature can be found all the terrible and questionable character -of reality: _only thus can man have greatness._ - - - -6 - - -But I have chosen the title of Immoral is t as a surname and as a badge -of honour in yet another sense; I am very proud to possess this name -which distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No one hitherto -has felt Christian morality beneath him; to that end there were needed -height, a remoteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological depth, not -believed to be possible hitherto. Up to the present Christian morality -has been the Circe of all thinkers--they stood at her service. What -man, before my time, had descended into the underground caverns from -out of which the poisonous fumes of this ideal--of this slandering -of the world--burst forth? What man had even dared to suppose that -they were underground caverns? Was a single one of the philosophers -who preceded me a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a -psychologist--that is to say, a "superior swindler," an "Idealist"? -Before my time there was no psychology. To be the first in this new -realm may amount to a curse; at all events, it is a fatality: _for one -is also the first to despise._ My danger is the loathing of mankind. - - - -7 - - -Have you understood me? That which defines me, that which makes me -stand apart from the whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that -I _unmasked_ Christian morality. For this reason I was in need of a -word which conveyed the idea of a challenge to everybody. Not to have -awakened to these discoveries before, struck me as being the sign -of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has on its conscience, -as self-deception become instinctive, as the fundamental will to -be blind to every phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in -fact, as an almost criminal fraud _in psychologicis._ Blindness in -regard to Christianity is the essence of criminality--for it is the -crime _against_ life. Ages and peoples, the first as well as the -last, philosophers and old women, with the exception of five or six -moments in history (and of myself, the seventh), are all alike in -this. Hitherto the Christian has been _the_ "moral being," a peerless -oddity, and, _as_ "a moral being," he was more absurd, more vain, more -thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage to himself, than the greatest -despiser of humanity could have deemed possible. Christian morality -is the most malignant form of all false too the actual Circe of -humanity: that which has corrupted mankind. It is not error as error -which infuriates me at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the -millenniums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of decency, and -of bravery in spiritual things, which betrays itself in the triumph of -Christianity; it is rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly -ghastly fact that _anti-nature_ itself received the highest honours as -morality and as law, and remained suspended over man as the Categorical -Imperative. Fancy blundering in this way, _not_ as an individual, -_not_ as a people, but as a whole species! as _humanity_! To teach the -contempt of all the principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the -existence of a "soul," of a "spirit," in order to be able to defy the -body; to spread the feeling that there is something impure in the very -first prerequisite of life--in sex; to seek the principle of evil in -the profound need of growth and expansion--that is to say, in severe -self-love (the term itself is slanderous); and conversely to see a -higher moral value--but what am I talking about?--I mean the _moral -value per se,_ in the typical signs of decline, in the antagonism of -the instincts, in "selflessness," in the loss of ballast, in "the -suppression of the personal element," and in "love of one's neighbour" -(neighbouritis!). What! is humanity itself in a state of degeneration? -Has it always been in this state? One thing is certain, that ye are -taught only the values of decadence as the highest values. The morality -of self-renunciation is essentially the morality of degeneration; the -fact, "I am going to the dogs," is translated into the imperative," -Ye shall all go to the dogs"--and not only into the imperative. This -morality of self-renunciation, which is the only kind of morality that -has been taught hitherto, betrays the will to nonentity--it denies life -to the very roots. There still remains the possibility that it is not -mankind that is in a state of degeneration, but only that parasitical -kind of man--the priest, who, by means of morality and lies, has -climbed up to his position of determinator of values, who divined in -Christian morality his road to power. And, to tell the truth, this -is my opinion. The teachers and I leaders of mankind--including the -theologians--have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their) -transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards; life; hence -morality. _The definition of morality;_ Morality is the idiosyncrasy of -decadents, actuated by a desire _to avenge themselves with success upon -life._ I attach great value to this definition. - - - -8 - - -Have you understood me? I have not uttered a single word which I had -not already said five years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra. -The unmasking of Christian morality is an event which unequalled in -history, it is a real catastrophe. The man who throws light upon it -is a _force majeure,_ a fatality; he breaks the history of man into -two. Time is reckoned up before him and after him. The lightning -flash of truth struck precisely that which theretofore had stood -highest: he who understands what was destroyed by that flash should -look to see whether he still holds anything in his hands. Everything -which until then was called truth, has been revealed as the most -detrimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form of life; the -holy pretext, which was the "improvement" of man, has been recognised -as a ruse for draining life of its energy and of its blood. Morality -conceived as _Vampirism_.... The man who unmasks morality has also -unmasked the worthlessness of the values in which men either believe -or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be revered in the most -venerable man--even in the types of men that have been pronounced -holy; all he can see in them is the most fatal kind of abortions, -fatal, _because they fascinate._ The concept "God" was invented as -the opposite of the concept life--everything detrimental, poisonous, -and slanderous, and all deadly hostility to life, wad bound together -in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts "beyond" and "true world" -were invented in order to depreciate the only world that exists--in -order that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left to earthly -reality. The concepts "soul," "spirit," and last of all the concept -"immortal soul," were invented in order to throw contempt on the body, -in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to cultivate an attitude -of appalling levity towards all things in life which deserve to be -treated seriously, _i.e._ the questions of nutrition and habitation, -of intellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanliness, and -weather. Instead of health, we find the "salvation of the soul"--that -is to say, a _folie circulate_ fluctuating between convulsions and -penitence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept "sin," together -with the torture instrument appertaining to it, which is the concept -"free will," was invented in order to confuse and muddle our instincts, -and to render the mistrust of them man's second nature! In the concepts -"disinterestedness" and "self-denial," the actual signs of decadence -are to be found. The allurement of that which is detrimental, the -inability to discover one's own advantage and self-destruction, are -made into absolute qualities, into the "duty," the "holiness," and -the "divinity" of man. Finally--to keep the worst to the last--by the -notion of the _good_ man, all that is favoured which is weak, ill, -botched, and sick-in-itself, which _ought to be wiped out._ The law -of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of opposition to the -proud, well-constituted man, to him who says yea to life, to him who -is certain of the future, and who guarantees the future--this man is -henceforth called the _evil_ one. And all this was believed in as -_morality!--Ecrasez l'infâme!_ - - - -9 - - -Have you understood me? _Dionysus_ versus _Christ._ - - -[Footnote 1: Needless to say this is Nietzsche, and no longer the -Persian.--TR.] - - - - -EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY - - -The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in -the Editorial Note to _The Joyful Wisdom,_ in which he declared -his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has -nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. -This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an -injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an -author, as it were, in his _négligé,_ or, in plain English, "in his -shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and -rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage -of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not -readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, -contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small -notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress -everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, -more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. -He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the _Songs -and Epigrams,_ nearly all of which are to be found translated here, -and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half -have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs appear in this -volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated -in the Fourth Part of _Zarathustra._ These Dionysus Dithyrambs were -prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final -manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual -composition, however, belongs to an earlier date. - -All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. -Paul Victor Cohn. - - - - -SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. - - -SONGS - - - - TO MELANCHOLY[1] - - - O Melancholy, be not wroth with me - That I this pen should point to praise thee only, - And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee, - Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely. - Thus oft thou saw'st me,--yesterday, at least,-- - Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming, - While, visioning the carrion of his feast, - The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming. - - Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I, - So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning! - Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy - Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening. - What though they did not soar unto thine height, - or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices, - For _that_ they sank the deeper so they might - Within themselves light Destiny's abysses. - - Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free, - Bent hideous like a savage at his altar, - There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee, - A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter. - - So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span, - The thunder of the avalanche's paces, - Thou spakest to me--nor wast false like man, - Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces. - - Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark, - Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me, - To point me out the vulture's airy are - And laughing avalanches, to repel me. - Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill, - The torment to win life in all its changes; - Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill, - Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges. - - All this am I--shuddering I feel it all-- - O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower, - The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall, - The moaning storm--all symbols of thy power,-- - Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed, - With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting, - I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud - For Life, for Life, for Life--forever thirsting! - - O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask, - That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven. - He trembles who beholds thine awful mask; - He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given. - Song upon trembling song by starts and fits - I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding, - The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits, - O goddess, goddess--leave me to my scolding! - - - - - AFTER A NIGHT STORM[2] - - - To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly, - Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane. - Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly - Roars the swollen brook unto the plain. - - Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring, - 'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll, - 'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing-- - Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl. - - Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking - Raptures of thy voice--and howls of pain. - Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking - With the mace of thunder hurled amain. - - Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes - Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam, - Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes, - And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am! - - The immortal Amazon they call me; - All things weak and womanish I shun; - Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me; - Victress I and tigress all in one! - - Where I tread there corpses fall before me; - From mine eyes the furious torches fly, - And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me! - Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp--or die!" - - - - - HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP - - - (_Two Fragments_) - - - 1 - - Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song - That we sing in friendship's honour! - Where the eye of friendship glances, - Filled with all the joy of friendship - Come thou nigh to aid me, - Rosy dawn in thy gaze and - In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal. - - - 2 - - Morning's past: the sun of noonday - Scorches with hot ray our heads. - Let us sit beneath the arbour - Singing songs in praise of friendship. - Friendship was our life's red dawning, - And its sunset red shall be. - - - - - THE WANDERER[3] - - - All through the night a wanderer walks - Sturdy of stride, - With winding vale and sloping height - E'er at his side. - Fair is the night: - On, on he strides, nor slackens speed, - And knows not where his path will lead. - - A bird's song in the night is heard, - "Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird, - How dost thou grip my sense and feet - And pourest heart-vexation sweet - Into mine ear--I must remain, - To hearken fain: - Why lure me with inviting strain?" - - The good bird speaks, staying his song: - "I lure not thee,--no, thou art wrong-- - With these my trills - I lure my mate from off the hills-- - Nor heed thy plight. - To me alone the night's not fair. - What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare, - On, onward ever, resting ne'er. - - Why stand'st thou now? - What has my piping done to thee, - Thou roaming wight?" - The good bird pondered, silent quite, - "Why doth my piping change his plight? - Why stands he now, - That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?" - - - - - TO THE GLACIER - - - At noontide hour, when first, - Into the mountains Summer treads, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, - Then too he speaks, - Yet we can only see his speech. - - His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath - On fevered couch. - The glacier and the fir tree and the spring - Answer his call - --Yet we their answer only see. - For faster from the rock leaps down - The torrent stream, as though to greet, - And stands, like a white column trembling, - All yearning there. - And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree - Than e'er before. - And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone - A sudden light breaks forth-- - Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign. - - Even the dead man's eye - Surely once more grows light, - When, sorrowful, his child - Gives him embrace and kiss: - Surely once more the flame of light - Wells out, and glowing into life - The dead eye speaks: "My child! - Ah child, you know I love you true!" - - So all things glow and speak--the glacier speaks, - The brook, the fir, - Speak with their glance the selfsame words: - We love you true, - Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true! - - And he, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, - Woe-worn, gives kisses - More ardent ever, - And will not go: - But like to veils he blows his words - From out his lips, - His cruel words: - "My greeting's parting, - My coming going, - In youth I die." - - All round they hearken - And scarcely breathe - (No songster sings), - And shuddering run - Like gleaming ray - Over the mountain; - All round they ponder,-- - Nor speak-- - - Twas at the noon, - At noontide hour, when first - Into the mountains Summer treads, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary. - - - - - AUTUMN[4] - - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away!-- - The sun creeps 'gainst the hill - And climbs and climbs - And rests at every step. - - How faded grew the world! - On weary, slackened strings the wind - Playeth his tune. - Fair Hope fled far-- - He waileth after. - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away! - O fruit of the tree, - Thou tremblest, fallest? - What secret whispered unto thee - The Night, - That icy shudders deck thy cheek, - Thy cheek of purple hue? - - Silent art thou, nor dost reply-- - Who speaketh still?-- - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away!-- - "I am not fair,"-- - So speaks the lone star-flower,-- - "Yet men I love - And comfort men-- - Many flowers shall they behold, - And stoop to me, - And break me, ah!-- - So that within their eyes shall gleam - Remembrance swift, - _Remembrance of far fairer things than I_:-- - I see it--see it--and I perish so." - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away! - - - - - CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO[5] - - - Maiden, in gentle wise - You stroke your lamb's soft fleece, - Yet flashing from your eyes - Both light and flame ne'er cease. - Creature of merry jest - And favourite near and far, - Pious with kindness blest, - Amorosissima! - - What broke so soon the chain, - What does your heart deplore? - And who, pray, would not fain, - If you loved him, adore?-- - You're mute, but from your eye, - The tear-drop is not far, - You're mute: you'll yearn and die, - Amorosissima? - - - - - THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6] - - - "Little Angel" call they me!-- - Now a ship, but once a girl, - Ah, and still too much a girl! - My steering-wheel, so bright to see, - But for sake of love doth whirl. - - "Little Angel" call they me, - With hundred flags to ornament, - A captain smart, on glory bent, - Steers me, puffed with vanity - (He himself's an ornament). - - "Little Angel" call they me, - And where'er a little flame - Gleams for me, I, like a lamb, - Go my journey eagerly - (I was always such a lamb!). - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Think you I can bark and whine - Like a dog, this mouth of mine - Throwing smoke and flame full free? - Ah, a devil's mouth is mine. - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Once I spoke a bitter word, - That my lover, when he heard, - Fast and far away did flee: - Yes, I killed him with that word! - - "Little Angel" call they me: - Hardly heard, I sprang so glib - From the cliff and broke a rib: - From my frame my soul went free, - Yes, escaped me through that rib. - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Then my soul, like cat in flight - Straight did on this ship alight - Swiftly bounding--one, two, three! - Yes, its claws are swift to smite. - - "Little Angel" call they me!-- - Now a ship, but once a girl, - Ah, and still too much a girl! - My steering-wheel, so bright to see, - For sake of love alone doth whirl. - - - - - MAIDEN'S SONG - - - Yesterday with seventeen years - Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair, - I am grey-haired, it appears, - Now in all things--save my hair. - - Yesterday, I had a thought, - Was't a thought?--you laugh and scorn! - Did you ever have a thought? - Rather was a feeling born. - - Dare a woman think? This screed - Wisdom long ago begot: - "Follow woman must, not lead; - If she thinks, she follows not." - - Wisdom speaks--I credit naught: - Rather hops and stings like flea: - "Woman seldom harbours thought; - If she thinks, no good is she!" - - To this wisdom, old, renowned, - Bow I in deep reverence: - Now my wisdom I'll expound - In its very quintessence. - - A voice spoke in me yesterday - As ever--listen if you can: - "Woman is more beauteous aye, - But more interesting--man!" - - - - - "PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"[7] - - - Cave where the dead ones rest, - O marble falsehood, thee - I love: for easy jest - My soul thou settest free. - - To-day, to-day alone, - My soul to tears is stirred, - At thee, the pictured stone, - At thee, the graven word. - - This picture (none need wis) - I kissed the other day. - When there's so much to kiss - Why did I kiss the--clay? - - Who knows the reason why? - "A tombstone fool!" you laugh: - I kissed--I'll not deny-- - E'en the long epitaph. - - - - - TO FRIENDSHIP - - - Hail to thee, Friendship! - My hope consummate, - My first red daybreak! - Alas, so endless - Oft path and night seemed, - And life's long road - Aimless and hateful! - Now life I'd double - In thine eyes seeing - Dawn-glory, triumph, - Most gracious goddess! - - - - - PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING - - - O'er man and beast I grew so high, - And speak--but none will give reply. - - Too lone and tall my crest did soar: - I wait: what am I waiting for? - - The clouds are grown too nigh of late, - 'Tis the first lightning I await. - - - - - TREE IN AUTUMN - - - Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken - While I in blissful blindness stood? - Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken-- - Vanished my golden dreaming mood. - - Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy, - Knock first! Where have your manners fled? - I threw--and fear has made me speedy-- - Dishes of ripe fruit--at your head. - - - - - AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS) - - - (_After a Gipsy Proverb_) - - - Here the gallows, there the cord, - And the hangman's ruddy beard. - Round, the venom-glancing horde:-- - Nothing new to me's appeared. - Many times I've seen the sight, - Now laughing in your face I cry, - "Hanging me is useless quite: - Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!" - - Beggars all! Ye envy me - Winning what ye never won! - True, I suffer agony, - But for you--your life is done. - Many times I've faced death's plight, - Yet steam and light and breath am I. - Hanging me is useless quite: - Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die! - - - - - THE NEW COLUMBUS[8] - - - "Dearest," said Columbus, "never - Trust a Genoese again. - At the blue he gazes ever, - Distance doth his soul enchain. - - Strangeness is to me too dear-- - Genoa has sunk and passed-- - Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! - Sea before me: land--at last? - - Firmly let us plant our feet, - Ne'er can we give up this game-- - From the distance what doth greet? - One death, one happiness, one fame. - - - - - IN LONESOMENESS[9] - - - The cawing crows - Townwards on whirring pinions roam; - Soon come the snows-- - Thrice happy now who hath a home! - - Fast-rooted there, - Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long! - Thou fool, why dare - Ere winter come, this world of wrong? - - This world--a gate - To myriad deserts dumb and hoar! - Who lost through fate - What thou hast lost, shall rest no more. - - Now stand'st thou pale, - A frozen pilgrimage thy doom, - Like smoke whose trail - Cold and still colder skies consume. - - Fly, bird, and screech, - Like desert-fowl, thy song apart! - Hide out of reach, - Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart. - - Firmly let us plant our feet, - Ne'er can we give up this game-- - From the distance what doth greet? - One death, one happiness, one fame. - - The cawing crows - Townwards on whirring pinions roam: - Soon come the snows-- - Woe unto him who hath no home! - - _My Answer_ - - The man presumes-- - Good Lord!--to think that I'd return - To those warm rooms - Where snug the German ovens burn - - My friend, you see - 'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-- - Pity for _thee_ - And all that German blockheads are! - - - - - VENICE - - - ON the bridge I stood, - Mellow was the night, - Music came from far-- - Drops of gold outpoured - On the shimmering waves. - Song, gondolas, light, - Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk. - - The chords of my soul, moved - By unseen impulse, throbbed - Secretly into a gondola song, - With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy. - Had I a listener there? - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 2: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 3: This poem was written on the betrothal of one of -Nietzsche's Bâle friends.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 5: Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, -near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl -with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath-- -"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."] - -[Footnote 6: Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired -by a ship that was christened _Angiolina,_ in memory of a -love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.--TR.] - -[Footnote 7: See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same -tombstone.--TR.] - -[Footnote 8: The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great -part of his life at Genoa.--TR.] - -[Footnote 9: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - - - - - -EPIGRAMS - - - - CAUTION: POISON![1] - - - He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading; - - For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing! - - - - - HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY - - - With jesters it is good to jest: - Who likes to tickle, is tickled best. - - - - - THE WORD - - - I dearly love the living word, - That flies to you like a merry bird, - Ready with pleasant nod to greet, - E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet, - Yet it has blood, can pant you deep: - Then to the dove's ear it will creep: - And curl itself, or start for flight-- - Whate'er it does, it brings delight. - - Yet tender doth the word remain, - Soon it is ill, soon well again: - So if its little life you'd spare, - O grasp it lightly and with care, - Nor heavy hand upon it lay, - For e'en a cruel glance would slay! - There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing! - All stark, all formless, and all cold, - Its little body changed and battered, - By death and dying rudely shattered. - - A dead word is a hateful thing, - A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting. - A curse on ugly trades I cry - That doom all little words to die! - - - - - THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW - - - _A Book_ - - - You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back? - Is e'en for chamois here no track? - - So here I wait and firmly clasp - What eye and hand will let me grasp! - - Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath, - And under me--world, man, and death! - - - - - JOYFUL WISDOM - - - This is no book--for such, who looks? - Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books! - What's dead and gone they make their prey, - Yet in my book lives fresh To-day. - - This is no book--for such, who looks? - Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks? - This is a promise, an act of will, - A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill; - A wind from sea, an anchor light, - A whirr of wheels, a steering right. - The cannon roars, white smokes its flame, - The sea--the monster--laughs and scents its game. - - - - - DEDICATION[2] - - - He who has much to tell, keeps much - Silent and unavowed. - He who with lightning-flash would touch - Must long remain a cloud! - - - - - THE NEW TESTAMENT[3] - - - Is this your Book of Sacred Lore, - For blessing, cursing, and such uses?-- - Come, come now: at the very door - God some one else's wife seduces? - - - - - THE "TRUE GERMAN" - - - "O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes, - To you I'm true, I wis." - He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff - Went to Cosmopolis. - - - - - TO THE DARWINIANS[4] - - - A fool this honest Britisher - Was not ... But a Philosopher! - As _that_ you really rate him? - Set Darwin up by Goethe's side? - But majesty you thus deride-- - _Genii majestatem_! - - - - - To HAFIZ - - - (_Toast Question of a Water-Drinker_) - - - What you have builded, yonder inn, - O'ertops all houses high: - The posset you have brewed therein - The world will ne'er drink dry. - The bird that once appeared on earth - As phœnix, is your, guest. - The mouse that gave a mountain birth - Is you yourself confessed! - You're all and naught, you're inn and wine, - You're phœnix, mountain, mouse. - Back to yourself to come you pine - Or fly from out your house. - Downward from every height you've sunk, - And in the depths still shine: - The drunkenness of all the drunk, - Why do you ask for--wine? - - - - - TO SPINOZA - - - Of "All in One" a fervent devotee - _Amore Dei,_ of reasoned piety, - Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!-- - Yet underneath this love there sate - A torch of vengeance, burning secretly - The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate. - Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee? - - - - - ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER - - - That which he taught, has had its day, - That which he lived, shall live for aye: - Look at the man! No bondsman he! - Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee! - - - - - TO RICHARD WAGNER - - - O You who chafe at every fetter's link, - A restless spirit, never free: - Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered, - Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured, - Till from each cup of balm you poison drink, - Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink, - You too, you too, among the overpowered! - - For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped, - Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread, - With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread, - And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped. - But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head, - For I escaped! - - - - - MUSIC OF THE SOUTH[5] - - - All that my eagle e'er saw clear, - I see and feel in heart to-day - (Although my hope was wan and gray) - Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear, - A balm to touch, a balm to hear, - As down from heaven it winged its way. - - So now for lands of southern fire - To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport! - Thither now turn the ship's desire-- - No ship e'er sped to fairer port. - - - - - A RIDDLE - - - A riddle here--can you the answer scent? - "When man discovers, woman must invent."---- - - - - - TO FALSE FRIENDS - - - You stole, your eye's not clear to-day. - You only stole a thought, sir? nay, - Why be so rudely modest, pray? - Here, take another handful--stay, - Take all I have, you swine--you may - Eat till your filth is purged away. - - - - - FRIEND YORICK - - - Be of good cheer, - Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain, - As now it does, I fear, - Is it not "God"? And though in error lain, - 'Tis but your own dear child, - Your flesh and blood, - That tortures you and gives you pain, - Your little rogue and do-no-good, - See if the rod will change its mood! - - In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear - Philosophy--and let me now - Whisper one word as medicine, - My own prescription, in your ear, - My remedy against such spleen-- - "Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween," - - - - - RESOLUTION - - - I should be wise to suit my mood, - Not at the beck of other men: - God made as stupid as he could - The world--well, let me praise him then. - - And if I make not straight my track, - But, far as may be, wind and bend, - That's how the sage begins his tack, - And that is how the fool will--end. - - * * * * * - - The world stands never still, - Night loves the glowing day-- - Sweet sounds to ear "I will!" - And sweeter still "I may!" - - - - - THE HALCYONIAN[6] - - - Addressing me most bashfully, - A woman to-day said this: - "What would you be like in ecstasy, - If sober you feel such bliss?" - - - - - FINALE[6] - - - Laughter is a serious art. - I would do it better daily. - Did I well to-day or no? - Came the spark right from the heart? - Little use though head wag gaily, - If the heart contain no glow. - - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 2: On the title-page of a copy of _Joyful Wisdom,_ dedicated -to Herr August Bungal.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 4: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 5: Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful -friend, and a musician whose "Southern" music Nietzsche -admired.--TR.] - -[Footnote 6: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - - - - -DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS - - -(1888) - - -These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to -himself so as to endure his last solitude. - - - - OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST - - - Ten years passed by-- - Not a drop reached me, - No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love - --A rainless land.... - Now entreat I my wisdom - Not to become stingy in this drought; - Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew, - Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness! - - I once bade the clouds - Depart from my mountains; - Once I said to them, - "More light, ye dark ones!" - To-day I entice them to come: - Make me dark with your udders: - --I would milk you, - Ye cows of the heights! - Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love - I pour over the land. - - Away, away, ye truths - That look so gloomy! - I will not have on my mountains - Bitter, impatient truths. - May truth approach me to-day - Gilded by smiles, - Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,-- - A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree. - - To-day I stretch my hands - Toward the tresses of chance, - Wise enough to lead, - To outwit chance like a child. - To-day I will be hospitable - 'Gainst the unwelcome, - 'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly.... - --Zarathustra is no hedgehog. - - My soul, - Insatiable with its tongue, - Has already tasted of all things good and evil, - And has dived into all depths. - But ever, like the cork, - It swims to the surface again, - And floats like oil upon brown seas: - Because of this soul men call me fortunate. - - Who are my father and mother? - Is not my father Prince Plenty? - And my mother Silent Laughter? - Did not the union of these two - Beget me, the enigmatic beast-- - Me, the monster of light-- - Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom? - - Sick to-day from tenderness, - A dewy wind, - Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains-- - Sweet and stewing - In his own juice, - Beneath his own summit, - Beneath his ice, - Weary and happy, - A Creator on his seventh day. - - --Silence! - A truth passes over me - Like a cloud,-- - With invisible lightnings it strikes me, - On broad, slow stairs, - Its happiness climbs to me: - Come, come, beloved truth! - - --Silence! - 'Tis _my_ truth! - From timid eyes, - From velvet shudders, - Her glance meets mine, - Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance. - She has guessed the reason of my happiness, - She has guessed me--ha! what is she thinking? - A purple dragon - Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance. - - --Silence! My truth is speaking!-- - - "Woe to thee, Zarathustra! - Thou lookest like one - That hath swallowed gold: - They will slit up thy belly yet! - - Thou art too rich, - Thou corrupter of many! - Thou makest too many jealous, - Too many poor.... - Even on me thy light casts a shadow-- - I feel chill: go away, thou rich one - Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun - - - - - BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY - - - Who would here descend, - How soon - Is he swallowed up by the depths! - But thou, Zarathustra, - Still lovest the abysses, - Lovest them as doth the fir tree! - - The fir flings its roots - Where the rock itself gazes - Shuddering at the depths,-- - The fir pauses before the abysses - Where all around - Would fain descend: - Amid the impatience - Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents - It waits so patient, stern and silent, - Lonely.... - - Lonely! - Who would venture - Here to be guest-- - To be thy guest? - - A bird of prey, perchance - Joyous at others' misfortune, - Will cling persistent - To the hair of the steadfast watcher, - With frenzied laughter, - A vulture's laughter.... - - Wherefore so steadfast? - --Mocks he so cruel: - He must have wings, who loves the abyss, - He must not stay on the cliff, - As thou who hangest there!-- - - O Zarathustra, - Cruellest Nimrod! - Of late still a hunter of God, - A spider's web to capture virtue, - An arrow of evil! - Now - Hunted by thyself, - Thine own prey - Caught in the grip of thine own soul. - - Now - Lonely to me and thee, - Twofold in thine own knowledge, - Mid a hundred mirrors - False to thyself, - Mid a hundred memories - Uncertain, - Weary at every wound, - Shivering at every frost, - Throttled in thine own noose, - Self-knower! - Self-hangman! - - Why didst bind thyself - With the noose of thy wisdom? - Why luredst thyself - Into the old serpent's paradise? - Why stolest into - Thyself, thyself?... - - A sick man now, - Sick of serpent's poison, - A captive now - Who hast drawn the hardest lot: - In thine own shaft - Bowed as thou workest, - In thine own cavern - Digging at thyself, - Helpless quite, - Stiff, - A cold corse - Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens, - Overburdened by thyself, - A knower! - A self-knower! - The wise Zarathustra!... - - Thou soughtest the heaviest burden, - So foundest thou thyself, - And canst not shake thyself off.... - - Watching, - Chewing, - One that stands upright no more! - Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave, - Deformed spirit! - - And of late still so proud - On all the stilts of thy pride! - Of late still the godless hermit, - The hermit with one comrade--the devil, - The scarlet prince of every devilment!... - - Now-- - Between two nothings - Huddled up, - A question-mark, - A weary riddle, - A riddle for vultures.... - They will "solve" thee, - They hunger already for thy "solution," - They flutter already about their "riddle," - About thee, the doomed one! - O Zarathustra, - Self-knower! - Self-hangman! - - - - - THE SUN SINKS - - - I - - Not much longer thirstest thou, - O burnt-up heart! - Promise is in the air, - From unknown mouths I feel a breath, - --The great coolness comes.... - My sun stood hot above me at noonday: - A greeting to you that are coming, - Ye sudden winds, - Ye cool spirits of afternoon! - - The air is strange and pure. - See how the night - Leers at me with eyes askance, - Like a seducer!... - Be strong, my brave heart, - And ask not "Why?" - - - 2 - - The day of my life! - The sun sinks, - And the calm flood - Already is gilded. - Warm breathes the rock: - Did happiness at noonday - Take its siesta well upon it? - In green light - Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss - - Day of my life! - Eventide's nigh, - Thy eye already - Glows half-broken, - Thy dew already - Pours out its tear-drops, - Already over the white seas - Walks the purple of thy love, - Thy last hesitating holiness.... - - - 3 - - Golden gaiety, come! - Thou, the sweetest foretaste-- - Foretaste of death! - --Went I my way too swiftly? - Now that the foot grows weary, - Thine eye still catches me, - Thy happiness still catches me. - - Around but waves and play. - Whatever was hard - --Sank into blue oblivion. - My boat now stands idle. - Storm and motion--how did it forget them! - Desire and Hope are drowned, - Sea and soul are becalmed. - - Seventh Solitude! - Never felt! - Sweet certainty nearer, - Or warmer the sun's ray. - --Glows not the ice of my summit yet? - Silvery, light, a fish - Now my vessel swims out.... - - - - - THE LAST DESIRE[1] - - - So would I die - As then I saw him die, - The friend, who like a god - Into my darkling youth - Threw lightning's light and fire: - Buoyant yet deep was he, - Yea, in the battle's strife - With the gay dancer's heart. - - Amid the warriors - His was the lightest heart, - Amid the conquerors - His brow was dark with thought-- - He was a fate poised on his destiny: - Unbending, casting thought into the past - And future, such was he. - - Fearful beneath the weight of victory, - Yet chanting, as both victory and death - Came hand and hand to him. - - Commanding even as he lay in death, - And his command that man annihilate. - - So would I die - As then I saw him die, - Victorious and destroying. - - - - - THE BEACON - - - Here, where the island grew amid the seas, - A sacrificial rock high-towering, - Here under darkling heavens, - Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires, - A beacon for ships that have strayed, - A beacon for them that have an answer!... - - These flames with grey-white belly, - In cold distances sparkle their desire, - Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights-- - A snake upreared in impatience: - This signal I set up there before me. - This flame is mine own soul, - Insatiable for new distances, - Speeding upward, upward its silent heat. - - Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men? - Why fled he swift from all continents? - Six solitudes he knows already-- - But even the sea was not lonely enough for him, - On the island he could climb, on the mount he - became flame, - At the seventh solitude - He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head. - - Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars - Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens! - At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod. - Give answer to the flame's impatience, - Let me, the fisher on high mountains, - Catch my seventh, last solitude!---- - - - - - FAME AND ETERNITY[2] - - - I - - Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood - Upon this adverse fate of thine? - Beware, lest from thy doleful mood - A countenance _90_ dark is brewed - That men in seeing thee divine - A hate more bitter than the brine. - * * * * - Speak, why does Zarathustra roam - Upon the towering mountain-height? - Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home - Is shut so long from human sight? - * * * * - See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash, - The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights - Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash - Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights, - Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love, - The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above - And looms with menace of a thundercloud. - * * * * - Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide! - To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud - Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride, - And bastions and ramparts sway and rock, - - The lightning sears the dusky face of night, - And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock - The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth - The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath. - - - 2 - - This fame, which all the wide world loves, - I touch with gloves, - And scorning beat - Beneath my feet. - * * * * - Who hanker after the pay of it? - Who cast themselves in the way of it? - These prostitutes to gold, - These merchant folk. They fold - Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame, - Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim. - * * * * - Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill. - They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep, - And let their greedy paws unhindered creep - Into its depths. So let them take their fill, - For if thou dost not offer them enough, - Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff. - * * * * - They are all virtuous, yea every one. - Virtue and fame are ever in accord - So long as time doth run, - - The tongues that prate of virtue as reward - Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd. - * * * * - Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be - One guilty of all vile and horrid sin! - And when I see fame's importunity - So advertise her shameless harlotry, - Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin - One place alone, the lowest, would I win. - * * * * - This fame, which all the wide world loves, - I touch with gloves, - And scorning beat - Beneath my feet. - - - 3 - - Hush! I see vastness!--and of vasty things - Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine - Them with his words? Then take the might which brings - The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine! - * * * * - I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea. - O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars! - And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars-- - A shining constellation falls towards me. - - - 4 - - O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being! - O carved tablets of Eternity! - And dost thou truly bend thy way to me? - Thy loveliness, to all--obscurity, - What? Fear'st not to unveil before _my_ seeing? - * * * * - O shield of Destiny! - O carven tablets of Eternity! - Yea, verily, thou knowest--what mankind doth hate, - What I alone do love: thou art inviolate - To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate! - 'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity, - Canst kindle everlasting love in me! - * * * * - O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate! - That no desire can reach to invocate, - That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay, - Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea: - For I love thee, Eternity! - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.] - -[Footnote 2: Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.] - - - - -FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS - -(1882-88) - - -SPEECHES, PARABLES, AND SIMILES - - - 3 - - My home's in the highlands, - For the highlands I yearn not, - I raise not mine eyes aloft: - I am one that looks downward, - One that must bless,--All - blessers look downward. - - - 11 - - Thus I began, - I unlearned all self-pity! - - - 13 - - Not in shattering idols, - But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee, - Consisted thy valour. - - - 14 - - See, there stand - Those heavy cats of granite, - Those old, old Values. - Woe is me! How overthrow them? - * * * * - Scratching cats, - With paws that are fettered, - There they sit - And their glance is poison. - - - 17 - - A lightning-flash became my wisdom: - With sword of adamant it clove me every - darkness! - - - 19 - - A thought that still - Flows hot, like lava: - But all streams of lava - Build a fortress around them, - And every thought finally - Oppresses itself with laws. - - - 20 - - Such is my will: - And since 'tis my will, - All goes as I wish-- - That was my final wisdom: - I willed what I must, - And thus I forced every "must,"-- - Since then has been for me no "must." - - - 23 - - Deceit - Is war's whole art - The fox's skin - Is my secret shirt of mail - - - 25 - - We of the new underworld - Grub for new treasures. - Godless it seemed to the ancients - To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures - And once more this godlessness revives, - Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder? - - - 28 - - Looking for love and finding masks, - Finding accursed masks and having to break them! - - - 29 - - Do I love you? - Yes, as the rider loves his steed, - That carryeth him to his goal. - - - 30 - - His pity is cruel, - His loving hand-clasp bruises, - Give not a giant your hand! - - - 31 - - Ye fear me? - Ye fear the taut-strung bow? - Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow? - - - 33 - - I am naught but a word-maker. - What matter words? - What matter I? - - - 34 - - Ah, my friends, - Whither has flown all that is called "good"? - Whither all good people? - Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods? - I call all good, - Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain. - - - 35 - - Not through his sins and greatest follies. - Through his perfection I suffered, - As I suffered most from men.[1] - - - 36 - - "Man is evil." - So spake the wisest - For my consolement. - - - 37 - - And only when I to myself am a burden - Do ye fall heavy upon me! - - - 38 - - Too soon, already - I laugh again: - For a foe 'tis easy - To make me amends. - - - 39 - - Gentle am I towards man and chance; - Gentle with all men, and even with grasses: - A spot of sunshine on winter curtains, - Moist with tenderness, - A thawing wind to snow-bound souls: - * * * * - Proud-minded towards trifling - Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger, - 'Tis aye my pleasure - To be bamboozled: - Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste. - - - 40 - - A strange breath breathes and spits at me, - Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded? - - - 41 - - Little people, - Confiding, open-hearted, - But low-built portals, - Where only the low of stature can enter. - * * * * - How can I get through the city-gate - Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs? - - - 42 - - My wisdom was like to the sun, - I longed to give them light, - But I only deceived them. - The sun of my wisdom - Blinded the eyes - Of these poor bats.... - - - 43 - - Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever - a seer did: - Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever - journeyed. - - - 44 - - Back! on my heels too closely ye follow! - Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush - you! - - - 45 - - "He goes to hell who goes thy ways!" - So be it I to my hell - I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims. - - - 46 - - Your God, you tell me, - Is a God of love? - The sting of conscience - A sting from God? - A sting of love? - - - 48 - - They chew gravel, - They lie on their bellies - Before little round things, - They adore all that falleth not down-- - These last servants of God - Believers (in reality)! - - - 50 - - They made their God out of nothing, - What wonder if now he is naught? - - - 51 - - Ye loftier men! There have once been - More thoughtful times, more reflective, - Than is our to-day and to-morrow. - - - 52 - Our time is like a sick woman-- - Let her but shriek, rave, scold, - And break the tables and dishes! - - - 54 - - Ye mount? - Is it true that ye mount, - Ye loftier men? - - Are ye not, pray, - Like to a ball - Sped to the heights - By the lowest that's in you? - Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers? - - - 55 - - All that you thought - You had to despise, - Where you only renounced! - - - 56 - - All men repeat the refrain! - No, no, and thrice say No! - What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven? - We would not enter the kingdom of heaven, - The kingdom of earth shall be ours? - - - 57 - - The will redeemeth, - He that has nothing to do - In a Nothing finds food for trouble. - - - 58 - - You cannot endure it more, - Your tyrannous destiny, - Love it--you're given no choice! - - - 59 - - These alone free us from woes - (Choose now I) - Sudden death - Or long-drawn-out love. - - - 60 - - Of death we are sure, - So why not be merry? - - - 61 - - The worst of pleas - I have hidden from you--that life grew tedious! - Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste! - - - 62 - - Lonely days, - Ye must walk on valorous feet! - - - 63 - - Loneliness - Plants naught, it ripens.... - And even then you must have the sun for your - friend. - - - 64 - - Once more must ye plunge in the throng--In - the throng ye grow hard and smooth. - Solitude withers - And lastly destroys.-- - - - 65 - - When on the hermit comes the great fear; - When he runs and runs - And knows not whither; - When the storms roar behind - And the lightning bears witness against him, - And his cavern breeds spectres - And fills him with dread. - - - 67 - - Throw thy pain in the depths, - Man, forget! Man, forget! - Divine is the art of forgetting! - Wouldst fly? - Wouldst feel at home in the heights? - Throw thy heaviest load in the sea! - Here is the sea, hurl thyself in the sea! - Divine is the art of forgetting! - - - 69 - - Look forward, never look back! - We sink to the depths - If we peer ever into the depths. - - - 70 - - Beware, beware - Of warning the reckless! - Thy warning will drive them - To leap into every abyss! - - 71 - - Why hurled he himself from the heights? - What led him astray? - His pity for all that is lowly led him astray, - And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold. - - 72 - - Whither went he? Who knows? - We only know that he sank. - A star went out in the desolate void, - And lone was the void. - - - 73 - - What we have not - But need, - We must take. - And so a good conscience I took. - - - 74 - - Who is there that could bestow right upon thee? - So take thy right! - - - 75 - - O ye waves, - Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me? - Do ye raise me your crests in wrath? - With my rudder I smite - Your folly full square. - This bark ye yourselves - To immortal life will carry along. - - - 77 - - When no new voice was heard, - Ye made from old words - A law: - When life grows stark, there shoots up the law. - - - 78 - - What none can refute - Ye say must be true? - Oh, ye innocents! - - - 79 - - Art thou strong? - Strong as an ass? Strong as God? - Art thou proud? - So proud as to flaunt - Unashamed thy conceit? - - - 80 - - Beware, - And ne'er beat the drum - Of thy destiny I - Go out of the way - From all pom-pom of fame! - * * * * - Be not known too soon! - Be one that has hoarded renown! - - - 81 - - Wilt thou grasp at the thorns? - Thy fingers must pay. - Grasp at a poniard. - - - 85 - - Be a tablet of gold, - They will grave upon thee - In golden script. - - - 86 - - Upright he stands - With more sense of "justice" - In his outermost toe - Than I have in all my head. - A virtue-monster - Mantled in white. - - - 87 - - Already he mimics himself, - Already weary he grows, - Already he seeks the paths he has trod-- - Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden! - - Secretly burnt-- - Not for his faith, - Rather because he had lost the heart - To find new faith. - - - 88 - - Too long he sat in the cage, - That runaway! - Too long he dreaded - A gaoler! - - Timorous now he goeth his ways, - All things make him to stumble-- - The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble. - - - 89 - - Ye chambers smoky and musty, - Ye cages and narrow hearts, - How could your spirit be free? - - - 90 - - Narrow souls! - Huckster-souls! - When money leaps into the box - The soul leaps into it too![2] - - - 92 - - Are ye women, - That ye wish to suffer - From that which ye love? - - - 99 - - They are cold, these men of learning! - Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food, - And their mouths could learn to eat fire! - - - 101 - - Your false love - For the past, - A love for the graves of the dead, - Is a theft from life - That steals all the future. - * * * * - An antiquary - Is a craftsman of dead things, - Who lives among coffins and skeletons. - - - 103 - - Only the poet who can lie - Wilfully, skilfully, - Can tell the truth. - - - 104 - - Our chase after truth, - Is't a chase after happiness? - - - 105 - - Truth - Is a woman, no better, - Cunning in her shame: - Of what she likes best - She will know naught, - And covers her face.... - To what doth she yield - But to violence? - Violence she needs. - Be hard, ye sages! - Ye must compel her, - That shamefaced Truth.... - For her happiness - She needs constraint--She - is a woman, no better. - - - 106 - - We thought evil of each other? - We were too distant, - But now in this tiny hut, - Pinned to one destiny, - How could we still be foes? - We must needs love those - Whom we cannot escape. - - - 107 - - Love thy foe, - Let the robber rob thee: - The woman hears and--does it. - - - 110 - - A proud eye - With silken curtains, - Seldom clear, - Honours him that may see it unveiled. - - - 111 - - Sluggard eyes - That seldom love-- - But when they love, the levin flashes - As from shafts of gold - Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love. - - - 117 - - They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling. - Grasp them, they pinch you; - Leave them alone, and they walk backward. - - - 119 - - Crooked go great rivers and men, - Crooked, but turned to their goal; - That is their highest courage, - They dreaded not crooked paths. - - - 121 - - Wouldst catch them? - Then speak to them - As to stray sheep: - "Your path, your path - You have lost!" - They follow all - That flatter them so: - "What? had we a path?" - Each whispers the other: - "It really seems that we have a path." - - -[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, -several fragments having been omitted.--TR.] - - -[Footnote 1: Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he -considers equivalent to harmlessness.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, -who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money -leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"--TR.] - - - - -HYMN TO LIFE. - -_For Chorus and Orchestra._ -WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. -Trans. BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER. Arr. for Piano BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A. - -[Illustration: score and lyrics] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ecce Homo, by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 *** diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/52190-h.htm b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/52190-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f3e5798..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/52190-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6659 +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 Ecce Homo, 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: #A9A9A9; -} /* page numbers */ - - -.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;} - -.parnum {margin-top: 2em; - text-align: center; -} -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* 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; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 ***</div> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>ECCE HOMO</h1> - -<h4>(<i>NIETZSCHES AUTOBIOGRAPHY</i>)</h4> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI</h4> - - -<h4>POETRY RENDERED BY</h4> - -<h4>PAUL V. COHN — FRANCIS BICKLEY</h4> - -<h4>HERMAN SCHEFFAUER — DR. G. T. WRENCH</h4> - -<h4>HYMN TO LIFE (<i>composed by F. NIETZSCHE</i>)</h4> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;"> -<img src="images/ill_niet.jpg" width="175" 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 Seventeen</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1911</h5> -<hr class="full" /> - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -CONTENTS<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION">TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION</a><br /> -<a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE">WHY I AM SO WISE</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER">WHY I AM SO CLEVER</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS">WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY">THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY</a><br /> -<a href="#THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON">THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON</a><br /> -<a href="#HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_DAWN_OF_DAY">THE DAWN OF DAY</a><br /> -<a href="#JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA">JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA</a><br /> -<a href="#THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE">THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA</a><br /> -<a href="#BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL">BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC">THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS">THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM">THE CASE OF WAGNER</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY">WHY I AM A FATALITY</a><br /> -<a href="#EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY">EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY</a><br /> -POETRY—<br /> -<a href="#SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC">SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.</a><br /> -<a href="#DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a><br /> -<a href="#FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a><br /> -<a href="#HYMN_TO_LIFE">HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE</a> -</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></p> -<h4><a name="TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION" id="TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION">TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION</a></h4> - - -<p><i>Ecce Homo</i> is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true -that the pamphlet <i>Nietzsche contra Wagner</i> was prepared a month -later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as -anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of -aphorisms drawn from such previous works as <i>Joyful Wisdom, Beyond -Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,</i> etc. Coming at the end of a -year in which he had produced the <i>Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the -Idols,</i> and <i>The Antichrist, Ecce Homo</i> is not only a coping-stone -worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting -conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his -character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement -as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end, -Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which, -in the <i>Twilight of the Idols</i> (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that -every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and -intimates when his time seems to have come—that is to say, while he -is still <i>himself</i> while he still knows what he is about, and is able -to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a -manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man -lying on his back, decrepit and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> exhausted, or to the moribund victim -of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole -life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly -and proudly,—sword in hand. War, which he—and he alone among all -the philosophers of Christendom—had praised so whole-heartedly, at -last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him -a victim on the battlefield—the terrible battlefield of thought, on -which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet -been established or even thought of.</p> - -<p>To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed -for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at -least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and -of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is -aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find -in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and -inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a -Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"—however much they may -have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of -certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only -in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation -and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be -preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of -thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only -as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a -like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices -against Nietzsche's lack of the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> virtue they so abundantly possess -or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous -remark: "<i>Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden</i>" (Only nobodies are ever modest).</p> - -<p>It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life. -Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday, -it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but -for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche -left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight -years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December -1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares -the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and -inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public -mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he -existed" ("<i>die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin</i>"). And, true to his -intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of -the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in -which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to -the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task, -and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, <i>Dionysus</i> versus -<i>Christ,</i>—everything comes straight from the shoulder, without -hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without -concealment. Only in one place does he appear to conceal something, and -then he actually leads one to understand that he is doing so. It is in -regard to Wagner, the greatest friend of his life. "Who doubts," he -says, "that I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to -point my heavy guns at Wagner?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>"—But he adds: "Everything decisive in -this question I kept to myself—I have loved Wagner" (p. 122).</p> - -<p>To point, as many have done, to the proximity of all Nietzsche's autumn -work of the year 1888 to his breakdown at the beginning of 1889, and -to argue that in all its main features it foretells the catastrophe -that is imminent, seems a little too plausible, a little too obvious -and simple to require refutation. That Nietzsche really was in a state -which in medicine is known as <i>euphoria</i>—that is to say, that state -of highest well-being and capacity which often precedes a complete -breakdown, cannot, I suppose, be questioned; for his style, his -penetrating vision, and his vigour, reach their zenith in the works -written in this autumn of 1888; but the contention that the matter, the -substance, of these works reveals any signs whatsoever of waning mental -health, or, as a certain French biographer has it, of an inability to -"hold himself and his judgments in check," is best contradicted by -the internal evidence itself. To take just a few examples at random, -examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. of -the present work; consider the reserve and the restraint with which the -idea in Aphorism 7 of that chapter is worked out,—not to speak of the -restraint and self-mastery in the idea itself, namely:—</p> - -<p>"To be one's enemy's equal—this is the first condition of an -honourable duel. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one -commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage -war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack -only things that are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become -triumphant. Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find -no allies, against which I stand alone—against which I compromise -nobody but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> myself.... Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a -personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a -general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent.... -Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal -differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of -disagreeable experiences is lacking."</p> - -<p>And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II., Wagner—the -supposed mortal enemy, the supposed envied rival to Nietzsche—is -treated. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or -who is losing control?</p> - -<p>And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work -and put the question—Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that -we find in these pages? Is it the old countenance with which we are -familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will -the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche -here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed -in <i>Thus spake Zarathustra,</i> five years previously, and is perfectly -conscious of this fidelity (see p. 141); neither can he be even on the -verge of any marked change, because the whole of the third chapter, -in which he reviews his life-work, is simply a reiteration and a -confirmation of his old points of view, which are here made all the -more telling by additional arguments suggested, no doubt, by maturer -thought. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its -cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily -incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the -genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the <i>Thoughts out of -Season</i> (pp. 75-76, 80, 81, 82), a summing up which a most critical -analysis of the essays in question can but verify.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> Romanticism, -idealism, Christianity, are still scorned and despised; another -outlook, a nobler, braver, and more earthly outlook, is still upheld -and revered; the great yea to life, including all that it contains -that is terrible and questionable, is still pronounced in the teeth of -pessimists, nihilists, anarchists, Christians, and other decadents; and -Germany, "Europe's flatland," is still subjected to the most relentless -criticism. If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere -growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most -careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former -opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are -found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so -radically to have perturbed.</p> - -<p>But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this -autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion -of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would -have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own. This -anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, -suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including -Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler -with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and -Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and -help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de -Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,—this was the man -who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device <i>amor fati</i> upon -his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the -unspeakable suffering he had endured.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> - -<p>And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's -sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate -instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile -structure—the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,—his terrible -will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite -problems. We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, -Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, -what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity -in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is -highly organised. Disraeli says in <i>Contarini Fleming</i> (Part iv. chap. -v.):—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"I have sometimes half believed, although the suspicion is -mortifying, that there is only one step between his state -who deeply indulges in imaginative meditation, and insanity; -for I well remember that at this period of my life, when -I indulged in meditation to a degree that would now be -impossible, and I hope unnecessary, my senses sometimes -appeared to be wandering."</p></blockquote> - -<p>And artists are the proper judges of artists,—not Oxford Dons, like -Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something -for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly -av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the -eleventh edition of the <i>Encyclopedia Britannica,</i> and implies the -hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is -madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to -go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this -want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's -doctrine still is.</p> - -<p>Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> went mad so late is -the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work -he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he -actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years -of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were -everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at -his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the -phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors.</p> - -<p>No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with -understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, -to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no -longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since -then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will -prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent -pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with -that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and -"the modest" has always confronted everything truly great.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h4> - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - -<p>As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my -fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made -upon them, it seems to me <i>above</i> all necessary to declare here who -and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well -known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself. But -the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the -smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people -have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made -credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive -at all. I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come -to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I -am <i>not</i> alive.... Under these circumstances, it is a duty—and one -against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the -pride of my instincts, rebel—to say: <i>Listen! for I am such and such a -person. For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - -<p>I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the -contrary, I am the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> opposite in nature to the kind of man that -has been honoured hitherto as virtuous. Between ourselves, it seems -to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I -am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be -even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book! Maybe I have here -succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same -time sympathetic manner—maybe this is the only purpose of the present -work.</p> - -<p>The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to -"improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only -learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols (idols -is the name I give to all ideals) is much more like my business. In -proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been -robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness.... The "true -world" and the "apparent world"—in plain English, the fictitious world -and reality.... Hitherto the <i>lie</i> of the ideal has been the curse of -reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has -become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to -be worshipped which are the exact <i>opposite</i> of the ones which would -ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - -<p>He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious -that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be -built<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The -ice is near, the loneliness is terrible—but how serenely everything -lies in the sunshine! how freely one can breathe! how much, one feels, -lies beneath one! Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is -a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks—the -seeking—out of everything strange and questionable in existence, -everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through -long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I -acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally -desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising -and idealising. The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of -their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain -mind endure; how much truth can it dare?—these questions became for -me ever more and more the actual test of values. Error (the belief in -the ideal) is not blindness; error is cowardice.... Every conquest, -every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness -towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self. I do not refute -ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence.... <i>Nitimur -in vetitum;</i> with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; -for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without -exception, Truth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - -<p>In my lifework, my <i>Zarathustra</i> holds a place apart. With it, I gave -my fellow-men the greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. -This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only -the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,—the -whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath -it,—but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of -truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered -without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness. Here it is -not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness -and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would -not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper -heed to the tones—the halcyonic tones—that fall from the lips of -Zarathustra:—</p> - -<p>"The most silent words are harbingers of the storm; thoughts that come -on dove's feet lead the world.</p> - -<p>"The figs fall from the trees; they are good and sweet, and, when they -fall, their red skins are rent.</p> - -<p>"A north wind am I unto ripe figs.</p> - -<p>"Thus, like figs, do these precepts drop down to you, my friends; now -drink their juice and their sweet pulp.</p> - -<p>"It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and afternoon."</p> - -<p>No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is -demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and -well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out—a slow and gentle gait -is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the -most elect; it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? -one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. I Is not Zarathustra, -because of these things, a <i>seducer?</i> ... But what, indeed, does he -himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just -the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," -and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is -other than they.</p> - -<p>"Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus -would I have it.</p> - -<p>"Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves -against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath -deceived you.</p> - -<p>"The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but -also to hate his friends.</p> - -<p>"The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why -would ye not pluck at my wreath?</p> - -<p>"Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? -Take heed, lest a statue crush you.</p> - -<p>"Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? -Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers?</p> - -<p>"Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all -believers; therefore is all believing worth so little.</p> - -<p>"Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all -denied me will I come back unto you."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%; font-size: 0.8em;">FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a><br /><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<blockquote> -<p>On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the -grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I -looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many -good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth -year to-day; I had the <i>right</i> to bury it—that in it which still -had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the -<i>Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight -of the Idols,</i> my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer—all these -things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. <i>How -could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?</i></p> - - -<p>That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life.</p> -</blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a><br /><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h3><a name="ECCE_HOMO" id="ECCE_HOMO">ECCE HOMO</a></h3> - - -<h4>HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS</h4> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE" id="WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE">WHY I AM SO WISE</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>The happiness of my existence, its unique character perhaps, consists -in its fatefulness: to speak in a riddle, as my own father I am already -dead, as my own mother I still live and grow old. This double origin, -taken as it were from the highest and lowest rungs of the ladder of -life, at once a decadent and a beginning, this, if anything, explains -that neutrality, that freedom from partisanship in regard to the -general problem of existence, which perhaps distinguishes me. To the -first indications of ascending or of descending life my nostrils are -more sensitive than those of any man that has yet lived. In this domain -I am a master to my backbone—I know both sides, for I am both sides. -My father died in his six-and-thirtieth year: he was delicate, lovable, -and morbid, like one who is preordained to pay simply a flying visit—a -gracious reminder of life rather than life itself. In the same year -that his life declined mine also declined: in my six-and-thirtieth year -I reached the lowest point in my vitality,—I still lived, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> my eyes -could distinguish nothing that lay three paces away from me. At that -time—it was the year 1879—I resigned my professorship at Bâle, lived -through the summer like a shadow in St. Moritz, and spent the following -winter, the most sunless of my life, like a shadow in Naumburg. This -was my lowest ebb. During this period I wrote <i>The Wanderer and His -Shadow.</i> Without a doubt I was conversant with shadows then. The winter -that followed, my first winter in Genoa, brought forth that sweetness -and spirituality which is almost inseparable from extreme poverty -of blood and muscle, in the shape of <i>The Dawn of Day,</i> The perfect -lucidity and cheerfulness, the intellectual exuberance even, that this -work reflects, coincides, in my case, not only with the most profound -physiological weakness, but also with an excess of suffering. In the -midst of the agony of a headache which lasted three days, accompanied -by violent nausea, I was possessed of most singular dialectical -clearness, and in absolutely cold blood I then thought out things, for -which, in my more healthy moments, I am not enough of a climber, not -sufficiently subtle, not sufficiently cold. My readers perhaps know -to what extent I consider dialectic a symptom of decadence, as, for -instance, in the most famous of all cases—the case of Socrates. All -the morbid disturbances of the intellect, even that semi-stupor which -accompanies fever, have, unto this day, remained completely unknown to -me; and for my first information concerning their nature and frequency, -I was obliged to have recourse to the learned works which have been -compiled on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> subject. My circulation is slow. No one has ever been -able to detect fever in me. A doctor who treated me for some time as -a nerve patient finally declared: "No! there is nothing wrong with -your nerves, it is simply I who am nervous." It has been absolutely -impossible to ascertain any local degeneration in me, nor any organic -stomach trouble, however much I may have suffered from profound -weakness of the gastric system as the result of general exhaustion. -Even my eye trouble, which sometimes approached so parlously near -to blindness, was only an effect and not a cause; for, whenever my -general vital condition improved, my power of vision also increased. -Having admitted all this, do I need to say that I am experienced in -questions of decadence? I know them inside and out. Even that filigree -art of prehension and comprehension in general, that feeling for -delicate shades of difference, that psychology of "seeing through brick -walls," and whatever else I may be able to do, was first learnt then, -and is the specific gift of that period during which everything in -me was subtilised,—observation itself, together with all the organs -of observation. To look upon healthier concepts and values from the -standpoint of the sick, and conversely to look down upon the secret -work of the instincts of decadence from the standpoint of him who is -laden and self-reliant with the richness of life—this has been my -longest exercise, my principal experience. If in anything at all, it -was in this that I became a master. To-day my hand knows the trick, I -now have the knack of reversing perspectives: the first reason perhaps -why a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> <i>Transvaluation of all Values</i> has been possible to me alone.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of -such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always -instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily -health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those -remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain -details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself -to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in -life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my -refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and -to be doctored—all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts -respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself -in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of -success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is -that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature -cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound -nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to -a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long -period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered -life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even -trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them—out -of my Will to Health and to Life I made my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> philosophy.... For this -should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my -vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: -the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of -poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes -recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such -lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral -block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only -which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits -of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for -injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; -that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively -gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a -selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, -whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural -scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, -the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with -that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in -him—he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting -it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can -digest himself and others; he knows how to forget—he is strong enough -to make everything turn to his own advantage.</p> - -<p>Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just -described is none other than myself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>This double thread of experiences, this means of access to two worlds -that seem so far asunder, finds in every detail its counterpart in my -own nature—I am my own complement: I have a "second" sight, as well -as a first. And perhaps I also have a third sight. By the very nature -of my origin I was allowed an outlook beyond all merely local, merely -national and limited horizons; it required no effort on my part to be -a "good European." On the other hand, I am perhaps more German than -modern Germans—mere Imperial Germans—can hope to be,—I, the last -anti-political German. Be this as it may, my ancestors were Polish -noblemen: it is owing to them that I have so much race instinct in my -blood—who knows? perhaps even the <i>liberum veto</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> When I think of -the number of times in my travels that I have been accosted as a Pole, -even by Poles themselves, and how seldom I have been taken for a German, -it seems to me as if I belonged to those only who have a sprinkling -of German in them. But my mother, Franziska Oehler, is at any rate -something very German; as is also my paternal grandmother, Erdmuthe -Krause. The latter spent the whole of her youth in good old Weimar, -not without coming into contact with Goethe's circle. Her brother, -Krause, the Professor of Theology in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> Königsberg, was called to the -post of General Superintendent at Weimar after Herder's death. It is -not unlikely that her mother, my great grandmother, is mentioned in -young Goethe's diary under the name of "Muthgen." She married twice, -and her second husband was Superintendent Nietzsche of Eilenburg. -In 1813, the year of the great war, when Napoleon with his general -staff entered Eilenburg on the 10th of October, she gave birth to a -son. As a daughter of Saxony she was a great admirer of Napoleon, and -maybe I am so still. My father, born in 1813, died in 1849. Previous -to taking over the pastorship of the parish of Röcken, not far from -Lützen, he lived for some years at the Castle of Altenburg, where he -had charge of the education of the four princesses. His pupils are the -Queen of Hanover, the Grand-Duchess Constantine, the Grand-Duchess of -Oldenburg, and the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg. He was full of -loyal respect for the Prussian King, Frederick William the Fourth, from -whom he obtained his living at Röcken; the events of 1848 saddened him -extremely. As I was born on the 15 th of October, the birthday of the -king above mentioned, I naturally received the Hohenzollern names of -Frederick William. There was at all events one advantage in the choice -of this day: my birthday throughout the whole of my childhood was a day -of public rejoicing. I regard it as a great privilege to have had such -a father: it even seems to me that this embraces all that I can claim -in the matter of privileges—life, the great yea to life, excepted. -What I owe to him above all is this, that I do not need any special -intention, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> merely a little patience, in order involuntarily to -enter a world of higher and more delicate things. There I am at home, -there alone does my inmost passion become free. The fact that I had -to pay for this privilege almost with my life, certainly does not -make it a bad bargain. In order to understand even a little of <i>my -Zarathustra,</i> perhaps a man must be situated and constituted very much -as I am myself—with one foot beyond the realm of the living.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>I have never understood the art of arousing ill-feeling against -myself,—this is also something for which I have to thank my -incomparable father,—even when it seemed to me highly desirable -to do so. However un-Christian it may seem, I do not even bear any -ill-feeling towards myself. Turn my life about as you may, you will -find but seldom—perhaps indeed only once—any trace of some one's -having shown me ill-will. You might perhaps discover, however, too -many traces of <i>goodwill....</i> My experiences even with those on whom -every other man has burnt his fingers, speak without exception in their -favour; I tame every bear, I can make even clowns behave decently. -During the seven years in which I taught Greek to the sixth form of -the College at Bâle, I never had occasion to administer a punishment; -the laziest youths were diligent in my class. The unexpected has -always found me equal to it; I must be unprepared in order to keep my -self-command. Whatever the instrument was, even if it were as out of -tune as the instrument<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> "man" can possibly be,—it was only when I was -ill that I could not succeed in making it express something that was -worth hearing. And how often have I not been told by the "instruments" -themselves, that they had never before heard their voices express such -beautiful things.... This was said to me most delightfully perhaps by -that young fellow Heinrich von Stein, who died at such an unpardonably -early age, and who, after having considerately asked leave to do -so, once appeared in Sils-Maria for a three days' sojourn, telling -everybody there that it was <i>not</i> for the Engadine that he had come. -This excellent person, who with all the impetuous simplicity of a -young Prussian nobleman, had waded deep into the swamp of Wagnerism -(and into that of Dübringism<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> into the bargain!), seemed almost -transformed during these three days by a hurricane of freedom, like one -who has been suddenly raised to his full height and given wings. Again -and again I said to him that this was all owing to the splendid air; -everybody felt the same,—one could not stand 6000 feet above Bayreuth -for nothing,—but he would not believe me.... Be this as it may, if -I have been the victim of many a small or even great offence, it was -not "will," and least of all ill-will that actuated the offenders; but -rather, as I have already suggested, it was goodwill, the cause of no -small amount of mischief in f my life, about which I had to complain. -<i>My</i> experience gave me a right to feel suspicious in regard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> to all -so-called "unselfish" instincts, in regard to the whole of "neighbourly -love" which is ever ready and waiting with deeds or with advice. To -me it seems that these instincts are a sign of weakness, they are an -example of the inability to withstand a stimulus—it is only among -decadents that this <i>pity</i> is called a virtue. What I reproach the -pitiful with is, that they are too ready to forget shame, reverence, -and the delicacy of feeling which knows how to keep at a distance; they -do not remember that this gushing pity stinks of the mob, and that it -is next of kin to bad manners—that pitiful hands may be thrust with -results fatally destructive into a great destiny, into a lonely and -wounded retirement, and into the privileges with which great guilt -endows one. The overcoming of pity I reckon among the noble virtues; -In the "Temptation of Zarathustra" I have imagined a case, in which a -great cry of distress reaches his ears, in which pity swoops down upon -him like a last sin, and would make him break faith with himself. To -remain one's own master in such circumstances, to keep the sublimity -of one's mission pure in such cases,—pure from the many ignoble and -more short-sighted impulses which come into play in so-called unselfish -actions,—this is the rub, the last test perhaps which a Zarathustra -has to undergo—the actual proof of his power.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>In yet another respect I am no more than my father over again, and as -it were the continuation of his life after an all-too-early death. -Like every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> man who has never been able to meet his equal, and unto -whom the concept "retaliation" is just as incomprehensible as the -notion of "equal rights," I have forbidden myself the use of any sort -of measure of security or protection—and also, of course, of defence -and "justification"—in all cases in which I have been made the victim -either of trifling or even <i>very great</i> foolishness. My form of -retaliation consists in this: as soon as possible to set a piece of -cleverness at the heels of an act of stupidity; by this means perhaps -it may still be possible to overtake it. To speak in a parable: I -dispatch a pot of jam in order to get rid of a bitter experience.... -Let anybody only give me offence, I shall "retaliate," he can be quite -sure of that: before long I discover an opportunity of expressing my -thanks to the "offender" (among other things even for the offence)—or -of <i>asking</i> him for something, which can be more courteous even than -giving. It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter, -is more good-natured, more straightforward, than silence. Those—who -keep silent are almost always lacking in subtlety and refinement of -heart; silence is an objection, to swallow a grievance must necessarily -produce a bad temper—it even upsets the stomach. All silent people -are dyspeptic. You perceive that I should not like to see rudeness -undervalued; it is by far the most <i>humane</i> form of contradiction, and, -in the midst of modern effeminacy, it is one of our first virtues; If -one is sufficiently rich for it, it may even be a joy to be wrong. If -a god were to descend to this earth, he would have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> do nothing but -wrong—to take <i>guilt</i> not punishment, on one's shoulders, is the first -proof of divinity.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>Freedom from resentment and the understanding of the nature of -resentment—who knows how very much after all I am indebted to my long -illness for these two things? The problem is not exactly simple: a -man must have experienced both through his strength and through his -weakness, If illness and weakness are to be charged with anything at -all, it is with the fact that when they prevail, the very instinct of -recovery, which is the instinct of defence and of war in man, becomes -decayed. He knows not how to get rid of anything, how to come to -terms with anything, and how to cast anything behind him. Everything -wounds him. People and things draw importunately near, all experiences -strike deep, memory is a gathering wound. To be ill is a sort of -resentment in itself. Against this resentment the invalid has only -one great remedy—I call it <i>Russian fatalism,</i> that fatalism which -is free from revolt, and with which the Russian soldier, to whom a -campaign proves unbearable, ultimately lays himself down in the snow. -To accept nothing more, to undertake nothing more, to absorb nothing -more—to cease entirely from reacting.... The tremendous sagacity -of this fatalism, which does not always imply merely the courage for -death, but which in the most dangerous cases may actually constitute -a self-preservative measure, amounts to a reduction of activity in -the vital<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> functions, the slackening down of which is like a sort of -will to hibernate. A few steps farther in this direction we find the -fakir, who will sleep for weeks in a tomb.... Owing to the fact that -one would be used up too quickly if one reacted, one no longer reacts -at all: this is the principle. And nothing on earth consumes a man -more quickly than the passion of resentment. Mortification, morbid -susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst -for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison—this is surely the -most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by -exhausted men. It involves a rapid wasting away of nervous energy, an -abnormal increase of detrimental secretions, as, for instance, that -of bile into the stomach. To the sick man resentment ought to be more -strictly forbidden than anything else—it is <i>his</i> special danger: -unfortunately, however, it is also his most natural propensity. This -was fully grasped by that profound physiologist Buddha. His "religion," -which it would be better to call a system of hygiene, in order to avoid -confounding it with a creed so wretched as Christianity, depended -for its effect upon the triumph over resentment: to make the soul -free therefrom was considered the first step towards recovery. "Not -through hostility is hostility put to flight; through friendship does -hostility end": this stands at the beginning of Buddha's teaching—this -is not a precept of morality, but of physiology. Resentment born of -weakness is not more deleterious to anybody than it is to the weak -man himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>—conversely, in the case of that man whose nature is -fundamentally a rich one, resentment is a superfluous feeling, a -feeling to remain master of which is almost a proof of riches. Those -of my readers who know the earnestness-with which my philosophy wages -war against the feelings of revenge and rancour, even to the extent of -attacking the doctrine of "free will" (my conflict with Christianity -is only a particular instance of it), will understand why I wish to -focus attention upon my own personal attitude and the certainty of -my practical instincts precisely in this matter. In my moments of -decadence I forbade myself the indulgence of the above feelings, -because they were harmful; as soon as my life recovered enough riches -and pride, however, I regarded them again as forbidden, but this time -because they were <i>beneath</i> me. That "Russian fatalism" of which I have -spoken manifested itself in me in such a way that for years I held -tenaciously to almost insufferable conditions, places, habitations, -and companions, once chance had placed them on my path—it was better -than changing them, than feeling that they could be changed, than -revolting against them.... He who stirred me from this fatalism, he -who violently tried to shake me into consciousness, seemed to me then -a mortal enemy—in point of fact, there was danger of death each time -this was done. To regard one's self as a destiny, not to wish one's -self "different"—this, in such circumstances, is sagacity, itself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>War, on the other hand, is something different. At heart I am a -warrior. Attacking belongs to my instincts. To <i>be able to be</i> an -enemy, to <i>be</i> an enemy—maybe these things presuppose a strong nature; -in any case all strong natures involve these things. Such natures need -resistance, consequently they go in search of obstacles: the pathos of -aggression belongs of necessity to strength as much as the feelings -of revenge and of rancour belong to weakness. Woman, for instance, is -revengeful; her weakness involves this passion, just as it involves -her susceptibility in the presence of other people's suffering. The -strength of the aggressor can be measured by the opposition which -he needs; every increase of growth betrays itself by a seeking out -of more formidable opponents—or problems: for a philosopher who -is combative challenges even problems to a duel. The task is not -to overcome opponents in general, but only those opponents against -whom one has to summon all one's strength, one's skill, and one's -swordsmanship—in fact, opponents who are one's equals.... To be one's -enemy's equal—this is the first condition of an honourable duel. Where -one despises, one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees -something <i>beneath</i> one, one <i>ought</i> not to wage war. My war tactics -can be reduced to four principles A First, I attack only things that -are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become triumphant. -Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> allies, -against which I stand alone—against which I compromise nobody but -myself.... I have not yet taken one single step before the public eye, -which did not compromise me: that is <i>my</i> criterion of a proper mode -of action. Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a personality -merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, -but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent. In this way I -attacked David Strauss, or rather the success given to a senile book by -the cultured classes of Germany—by this means I caught German culture -red-handed. In this way I attacked Wagner, or rather the falsity or -mongrel instincts of our "culture" which confounds the super-refined -with the strong, and the effete with the great. Fourthly, I attack -only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in -which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is -lacking. On the contrary, attacking is to me a proof of goodwill and, -in certain circumstances, of gratitude. By means of it, I do honour to -a thing, I distinguish a thing; whether I associate my name with that -of an institution or a person, by being <i>against</i> or <i>for</i> either, -is all the same to me. If I wage war against Christianity, I feel -justified in doing so, because in that quarter I have met with no fatal -experiences and difficulties—the most earnest Christians have always -been kindly disposed to me. I, personally, the most essential opponent -of Christianity, am far from holding the individual responsible for -what is the fatality of long ages.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>May I be allowed to hazard a suggestion concerning one last trait -in my character, which in my intercourse with other men has led me -into some difficulties? I am gifted with a sense of cleanliness the -keenness of which is phenomenal; so much so, that I can ascertain -physiologically—that is to say, smell—the proximity, nay, the inmost -core, the "entrails" of every human soul.... This sensitiveness of mine -is furnished with psychological antennæ, wherewith I feel and grasp -every secret: the quality of concealed filth lying at the base of many -a human character which may be the inevitable outcome of base blood, -and which education may have veneered, is revealed to me at the first -glance. If my observation has been correct, such people, whom my sense -of cleanliness rejects, also become conscious, on their part, of the -cautiousness to which my loathing prompts me: and this does not make -them any more fragrant.... In keeping with a custom which I have long -observed,—pure habits and honesty towards myself are among the first -conditions of my existence, I would die in unclean surroundings,—I -swim, bathe, and splash about, as it were, incessantly in water, in -any kind of perfectly transparent and shining element. That is why -my relations with my fellows try my patience to no small extent; my -humanity does not consist in the fact that I understand the feelings -of my fellows, but that I can endure to understand.... My humanity -is a perpetual process of self-mastery. But I need solitude—that is -to say, recovery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> return to myself, the breathing of free, crisp, -bracing air.... The whole of my <i>Zarathustra</i> is a dithyramb in honour -of solitude, or, if I have been understood, in honour of purity. Thank -Heaven, it is not in honour of "pure foolery"!<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> He who has an eye for -colour will call him a diamond. The loathing of mankind, of the rabble, -was always my greatest danger.... Would you hearken to the words spoken -by Zarathustra concerning deliverance from loathing?</p> - -<p>"What forsooth hath come unto me? How did I deliver myself from -loathing? Who hath made mine eye younger? How did I soar to the height, -where there are no more rabble sitting about the well?</p> - -<p>"Did my very loathing forge me wings and the strength to scent -fountains afar off? Verily to the loftiest heights did I need to fly, -to find once more the spring of joyfulness.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I found it, my brethren! Up here, on the loftiest height, the -spring of joyfulness gusheth forth for me. And there is a life at the -well of which no rabble can drink with you.</p> - -<p>"Almost too fiercely dost thou rush, for me, thou spring of joyfulness! -And ofttimes dost thou empty the pitcher again in trying to fill it.</p> - -<p>"And yet must I learn to draw near thee more humbly. Far too eagerly -doth my heart jump to meet thee.</p> - -<p>"My heart, whereon my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, -over-blessed summer: how my summer heart yearneth for thy coolness!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Farewell, the lingering affliction of my spring! Past is the -wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and -summer noontide!</p> - -<p>"A summer in the loftiest heights, with cold springs and blessed -stillness: oh come, my friends, that the stillness may wax even more -blessed!</p> - -<p>"For this is our height and our home: too high and steep is our -dwelling for all the unclean and their appetites.</p> - -<p>"Do but cast your pure eyes into the well of my joyfulness, my friends! -How could it thus become muddy! It will laugh back at you with its -purity.</p> - -<p>"On the tree called Future do we build our nest: eagles shall bring -food in their beaks unto us lonely ones!</p> - -<p>"Verily not the food whereof the unclean might partake. They would -think they ate fire and would burn their mouths!</p> - -<p>"Verily, no abodes for the unclean do we here hold in readiness! To -their bodies our happiness would seem an ice-cavern, and to their -spirits also!</p> - -<p>"And like strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the -eagles, companions of the snow, and playmates of the sun: thus do -strong winds live.</p> - -<p>"And like a wind shall I one day blow amidst them, and take away their -soul's breath with my spirit: thus my future willeth it.</p> - -<p>"Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low lands; and this is -his counsel to his foes and to all those who spit and spew: 'Beware of -spitting against the wind!'"</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> The right which every Polish deputy, whether a great or an -inferior nobleman, possessed of forbidding the passing of any measure -by the Diet, was called in Poland the <i>liberum veto</i> (in Polish <i>nie -pozwalam</i>), and brought all legislation to a standstill.—TR.</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> Eugen Dübring is a philosopher and political economist -whose general doctrine might be characterised as a sort of abstract -Materialism with an optimistic colouring.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This, of course, is a reference to Wagner's <i>Parsifal.</i> -See my note on p. 96 of <i>The Will to Power</i> vol. i.—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER" id="WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER">WHY I AM SO CLEVER</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>Why do I know more things than other people? Why, in fact, am I so -clever? I have never pondered over questions that are not questions. I -have never squandered my strength. Of actual religious difficulties, -for instance, I have no experience. I have never known what it is to -feel "sinful." In the same way I completely lack any reliable criterion -for ascertaining what constitutes a prick of conscience: from all -accounts a prick of conscience does not seem to be a very estimable -thing.... Once it was done I should hate to leave an action of mine -in the lurch; I should prefer completely to omit the evil outcome, -the consequences, from the problem concerning the value of an action. -In the face of evil consequences one is too ready to lose the proper -standpoint from which one's deed ought to be considered. A prick of -conscience strikes me as a sort of "evil eye." Something that has -failed should be honoured all the more jealously, precisely because -it has failed—this is much more in keeping with my morality.—"God," -"the immortality of the soul," "salvation," a "beyond"—to all these -notions, even as a child, I never paid any attention whatsoever, nor -did I waste any time upon them,—maybe I was never <i>naif</i> enough for -that?—I am quite unacquainted with atheism as a result, and still -less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> as an event in my life: in me it is inborn, instinctive. I am -too inquisitive, too incredulous, too high spirited, to be satisfied -with such a palpably clumsy solution of things. God is a too palpably -clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy -towards us thinkers—at bottom He is really no more than a coarse -and rude <i>prohibition</i> of us: ye shall not think!... I am much more -interested in another question,—a question upon which the "salvation -of humanity" depends to a far greater degree than it does upon any -piece of theological curiosity: I refer to nutrition. For ordinary -purposes, it may be formulated as follows: "How precisely must <i>thou</i> -feed thyself in order to attain to thy maximum of power, or <i>virtù</i> -in the Renaissance style,—of virtue free from moralic acid?" My -experiences in regard to this matter have been as bad as they possibly -could be; I am surprised that I set myself this question so late in -life, and that it took me so long to draw "rational" conclusions -from my experiences. Only the absolute worth-<i>1</i> lessness of German -culture—its "idealism"—can to some extent explain how it was that -precisely in this matter I was so backward that my ignorance was almost -saintly. This "culture," which from first to last teaches one to lose -sight of actual things and to hunt after thoroughly problematic and -so-called ideal aims, as, for instance, "classical culture"—as if it -were not hopeless from the start to try to unite "classical" and -"German" in one concept. It is even a little comical—try and imagine -a "classically cultured" citizen of Leipzig!—Indeed, I can say, that -up to a very mature age, my food was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> entirely bad—expressed morally, -it was "impersonal," "selfless," "altruistic," to the glory of cooks -and all other fellow-Christians. It was through the cooking in vogue -at Leipzig, for instance, together with my first study of Schopenhauer -(1865), that I earnestly renounced my "Will to Live." To spoil one's -stomach by absorbing insufficient nourishment—this problem seemed to -my mind solved with admirable felicity by the above-mentioned cookery. -(It is said that in the year 1866 changes were introduced into this -department.) But as to German cookery in general—what has it not got -on its conscience! Soup <i>before</i> the meal (still called <i>alla tedesca</i> -in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled -to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of -pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely -bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the <i>ancients,</i> and not alone -of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect -took its origin—that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.... -German intellect is indigestion; it can assimilate nothing. But even -English diet, which in comparison with German, and indeed with French -alimentation, seems to me to constitute a "return to Nature,"—that is -to say, to cannibalism,—is profoundly opposed to my own instincts. It -seems to me to give the intellect heavy feet, in fact, Englishwomen's -feet.... The best cooking is that of Piedmont. Alcoholic drinks do -not agree with me; a single glass of wine or beer a day is amply -sufficient to turn life into a valley of tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> for me;—in Munich live -my antipodes. Although I admit that this knowledge came to me somewhat -late, it already formed part of my experience even as a child. As a boy -I believed that the drinking of wine and the smoking of tobacco were at -first but the vanities of youths, and later merely bad habits. Maybe -the poor wine of Naumburg was partly responsible for this poor opinion -of wine in general. In order to believe that wine was exhilarating, I -should have had to be a Christian—in other words, I should have had to -believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity. Strange to say, whereas -small quantities of alcohol, taken with plenty of water, succeed in -making me feel out of sorts, large quantities turn me almost into a -rollicking tar. Even as a boy I showed my bravado in this respect. To -compose a long Latin essay in one night, to revise and recopy it, to -aspire with my pen to emulating the exactitude and the terseness of my -model, Sallust, and to pour a few very strong grogs over it all—this -mode of procedure, while I was a pupil at the venerable old school of -Pforta, was not in the least out of keeping with my physiology, nor -perhaps with that of Sallust, however much it may have been alien to -dignified Pforta. Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more -and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, -who have experienced what vegetarianism is,—just as Wagner, who -converted me back to meat, experienced it,—cannot with sufficient -earnestness advise all more <i>spiritual</i> natures to abstain absolutely -from alcohol. Water answers the purpose.... I have a predilection in -favour of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> those places where in all directions one has opportunities -of drinking from running brooks (Nice, Turin, Sils). <i>In vino Veritas</i>: -it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the -world about the concept "Truth"—with me spirit moves on the face of -the waters.... Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A -heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first -principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active -as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. -For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call -interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table -d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between -meals, coffee should be given up—coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is -beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, -but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the -whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own -standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate -limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which -to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to -drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as -possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to -the accompaniment of free bodily motion—nor in one in which even the -muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in -the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is -the real sin against the Holy Spirit.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - - -<p>To the question of nutrition, that of locality and climate is next of -kin. Nobody is so constituted as to be able to live everywhere and -anywhere; and he who has great duties to perform, which lay claim -to all his strength, has, in this respect, a very limited choice. -The influence of climate upon the bodily functions, affecting their -acceleration or retardation, extends so far, that a blunder in the -choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from -his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that -he never even comes face to face with it. Animal vigour never acquires -enough strength in him in order to reach that pitch of artistic freedom -which makes his own soul whisper to him: I, alone, can do that.... Ever -so slight a tendency to laziness in the intestines, once it has become -a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something -"German" out of a genius; the climate of Germany, alone, is enough to -discourage the strongest and most heroically disposed intestines. The -tempo of the body's functions is closely bound up with the agility or -the clumsiness of the spirit's feet; spirit itself is indeed only a -form of these organic functions. Let anybody make a list of the places -in which men of great intellect have been found, and are still found; -where wit, subtlety, and malice constitute happiness; where genius -is almost necessarily at home: all of them rejoice in exceptionally -dry air. Paris, Provence, Florence, Jerusalem, Athens—these names -prove something, namely:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> that genius is conditioned by dry air, by a -pure sky—that is to say, by rapid organic functions, by the constant -and ever-present possibility of procuring for one's self great and -even enormous quantities of strength. I have a certain case in mind -in which a man of remarkable intellect and independent spirit became -a narrow, craven specialist and a grumpy old crank, simply owing to -a lack of subtlety in his instinct for climate. And I myself might -have been an example of the same thing, if illness had not compelled -me to reason, and to reflect upon reason realistically. Now that I -have learnt through long practice to read the effects of climatic and -meteorological influences, from my own body, as though from a very -delicate and reliable instrument, and that I am able to calculate the -change in degrees of atmospheric moisture by means of physiological -observations upon myself, even on so short a journey as that from -Turin to Milan; I think with horror of the ghastly fact that my -whole life, until the last ten years,—the most perilous years,—has -always been spent in the wrong, and what to me ought to have been -the most forbidden, places. Naumburg, Pforta, Thuringia in general, -Leipzig, Bâle, Venice—so many ill-starred places for a constitution -like mine. If I cannot recall one single happy reminiscence of my -childhood and youth, it is nonsense to suppose that so-called "moral" -causes could account for this—as, for instance, the incontestable -fact that I lacked companions that could have satisfied me; for this -fact is the same to-day as it ever was, and it does not prevent me -from being cheerful and brave. But it was ignorance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> in physiological -matters—that confounded "Idealism"—that was the real curse of my -life. This was the superfluous and foolish element in my existence; -something from which nothing could spring, and for which there can be -no settlement and no compensation. As the outcome of this "Idealism" -I regard all the blunders, the great aberrations of instinct, and -the "modest specialisations" which drew me aside from the task of my -life; as, for instance, the fact that I became a philologist—why -not at least a medical man or anything else which might have opened -my eyes? My days at Bâle, the whole of my intellectual routine, -including my daily time-table, was an absolutely senseless abuse of -extraordinary powers, without the slightest compensation for the -strength that I spent, without even a thought of what I was squandering -and how its place might be filled. I lacked all subtlety in egoism, -all the fostering care of an imperative instinct; I was in a state -in which one is ready to regard one's self as anybody's equal, a -state of "disinterestedness," a forgetting of one's distance from -others—something, in short, for which I can never forgive myself. -When I had well-nigh reached the end of my tether, simply because I -had almost reached my end, I began to reflect upon the fundamental -absurdity of my life—"Idealism." It was <i>illness</i> that first brought -me to reason.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>After the choice of nutrition, the choice of climate and locality, the -third matter concerning which one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> must not on any account make a -blunder, is the choice of the manner in which one <i>recuperates one's -strength.</i> Here, again, according to the extent to which a spirit is -<i>sui generis,</i> the limits of that which he can allow himself—in other -words, the limits of that which is beneficial to him—become more and -more confined. As far as I in particular am concerned, <i>reading</i> in -general belongs to my means of recuperation; consequently it belongs -to that which rids me of myself, to that which enables me to wander -in strange sciences and strange souls—to that, in fact, about which -I am no longer in earnest. Indeed, it is while reading that I recover -from <i>my</i> earnestness. During the time that I am deeply absorbed in -my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur -to me to allow any one to speak or even to think in my presence. -For that is what reading would mean.... Has any one ever actually -noticed, that, during the period of profound tension to which the -state of pregnancy condemns not only the mind, but also, at bottom, -the whole organism, accident and every kind of external stimulus acts -too acutely and strikes too deep? Accident and external stimuli must, -as far as possible, be avoided: a sort of walling-of-one's-self-in is -one of the primary instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy. -Shall I allow a strange thought to steal secretly over the wall? -For that is what reading would mean.... The periods of work and -fruit-fulness are followed by periods of recuperation: come hither, -ye delightful, intellectual, intelligent books! Shall I read German -books?... I must go back six months to catch myself with a book in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -my hand. What was it? An excellent study by Victor Brochard upon the -Greek sceptics, in which my Laertiana<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> was used to advantage. The -sceptics!—the only <i>honourable</i> types among that double-faced and -sometimes quintuple-faced throng, the philosophers!.... Otherwise I -almost always take refuge in the same books: altogether their number -is small; they are books which are precisely my proper fare. It is -not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library -makes me ill. Neither is it my nature to love much or many kinds of -things. Suspicion or even hostility towards new books is much more -akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration," <i>largeur de cœur,</i> -and other forms of "neighbour-love." ... It is to a small number of -old French authors, that I always return again and again; I believe -only in French culture, and regard everything else in Europe which -calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take -the German kind into consideration.... The few instances of higher -culture with which I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> met in Germany were all French in their -origin. The most striking example of this was Madame Cosima Wagner, -by far the most decisive voice in matters of taste that I have ever -heard. If I do not read, but literally love Pascal? as the most -instinctive sacrifice to Christianity, killing himself inch by inch, -first bodily, then spiritually, according to the terrible consistency -of this most appalling form of inhuman cruelty; if I have something -of Montaigne's mischievousness in my soul, and—who knows?—perhaps -also in my body; if my artist's taste endeavours to defend the names -of Molière, Corneille, and Racine, and not without bitterness, against -such a wild genius as Shakespeare—all this does not prevent me from -regarding even the latter-day Frenchmen also as charming companions. -I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of -more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could -be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day. Let me -mention a few at random—for their number is by no means small—Paul -Bourget, Pierre Loti, Gyp, Meilhac, Anatole France, Jules Lemaitre; -or, to point to one of strong race, a genuine Latin, of whom I am -particularly fond, Guy de Maupassant. Between ourselves, I prefer this -generation even to its masters, all of whom were corrupted by German -philosophy (Taine, for instance, by Hegel, whom he has to thank for -his misunderstanding of great men and great periods). Wherever Germany -extends her sway, she <i>ruins</i> culture. It was the war which first saved -the spirit of France.... Stendhal is one of the happiest accidents of -my life—for everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> that marks an epoch in it has been brought -to me by accident and never by means of a recommendation. He is quite -priceless, with his psychologist's eye, quick at forestalling and -anticipating; with his grasp of facts, which is reminiscent of the same -art in the greatest of all masters of facts (<i>ex ungue Napoleonem</i>); -and, last but not least, as an honest atheist—a specimen which is -both rare and difficult to discover in France—all honour to Prosper -Mérimée!... Maybe that I am even envious of Stendhal? He robbed -me of the best atheistic joke, which I of all people could have -perpetrated: "God's only excuse is that He does not exist" ... I myself -have said somewhere—What has been the greatest objection to Life -hitherto?—God....</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>It was Heinrich Heine who gave me the most perfect idea of what a -lyrical poet could be. In vain do I search through all the kingdoms of -antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and -passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which -perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me,—I estimate the value of -men, of races, according to the extent to which they are unable to -conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him. And with -what mastery he wields his native tongue! One day it will be said of -Heine and me that we were by far the greatest artists of the German -language that have ever existed, and that we left all the efforts that -mere Germans made in this language an incalculable distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> behind -us. I must be profoundly related to Byron's <i>Manfred:</i> of all the -dark abysses in this work I found the counterparts in my own soul—at -the age of thirteen I was ripe for this book. Words fail me, I have -only a look, for those who dare to utter the name of <i>Faust</i> in the -presence of <i>Manfred.</i> The Germans are <i>incapable</i> of conceiving -anything sublime: for a proof of this, look at Schumann! Out of anger -for this mawkish Saxon, I once deliberately composed a counter-overture -to <i>Manfred,</i> of which Hans von Bülow declared he had never seen the -like before on paper: such compositions amounted to a violation of -Euterpe. When I cast about me for my highest formula of Shakespeare, -I find invariably but this one: that he conceived the type of Cæsar. -Such things a man cannot guess—he either is the thing, or he is not. -The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. -This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he -can no longer endure his own work.... After casting a glance between -the pages of my <i>Zarathustra,</i> I pace my room to and fro for half -an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears. -I know of no more heartrending reading than Shakespeare: how a man -must have suffered to be so much in need of playing the clown! Is -Hamlet <i>understood</i>? It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one -mad.... But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be -an abyss, a philosopher.... We all fear the truth.... And, to make a -confession; I feel instinctively certain and convinced that Lord Bacon -is the originator, the self-torturer, of this most sinister kind of -literature:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> what do I care about the miserable gabble of American -muddlers and blockheads? But the power for the greatest realism in -vision is not only compatible with the greatest realism in deeds, -with the monstrous in deeds, with crime—<i>it actually presupposes the -latter.</i> ... We do not know half enough about Lord Bacon—the first -realist in all the highest acceptation of this word—to be sure of -everything he did, everything he willed, and everything he experienced -in his inmost soul.... Let the critics go to hell! Suppose I had -christened my <i>Zarathustra</i> with a name not my own,—let us say with -Richard Wagner's name,—the acumen of two thousand years would not have -sufficed to guess that the author of <i>Human, all-too-Human</i> was the -visionary of <i>Zarathustra.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>As I am speaking here of the recreations of my life, I feel I must -express a word or two of gratitude for that which has refreshed me by -far the most heartily and most profoundly. This, without the slightest -doubt, was my intimate relationship with Richard Wagner. All my other -relationships with men I treat quite lightly; but I would not have the -days I spent at Tribschen—those days of confidence, of cheerfulness, -of sublime flashes, and of profound moments—blotted from my life -at any price. I know not what Wagner may have been for others; but -no cloud ever darkened <i>our</i> sky. And this brings me back again to -France,—I have no arguments against Wagnerites, and <i>hoc genus omne</i> -who believe that they do honour to Wagner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> by believing him to be -like themselves; for such people I have only a contemptuous curl of -my lip. With a nature like mine, which is so strange to everything -Teutonic, that even the presence of a German retards my digestion, my -first meeting with Wagner was the first moment in my life in which I -breathed freely: I felt him, I honoured him, as a foreigner, as the -opposite and the incarnate contradiction of all "German virtues." We -who as children breathed the marshy atmosphere of the fifties, are -necessarily pessimists in regard to the concept "German"; we cannot -be anything else than revolutionaries—we can assent to no state of -affairs which allows the canting bigot to be at the top. I care not -a jot whether this canting bigot acts in different colours to-day, -whether he dresses in scarlet or dons the uniform of a hussar.<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Very -well, then! Wagner was a revolutionary—he fled from the Germans.... -As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris; that subtlety -of all the five senses which Wagner's art presupposes, those fingers -that can detect slight gradations, psychological morbidity—all these -things can be found only in Paris. Nowhere else can you meet with -this passion for questions of form, this earnestness in matters of -<i>mise-en-scène,</i> which is the Parisian earnestness <i>par excellence.</i> -In Germany no one has any idea of the tremendous ambition that fills -the heart of a Parisian artist. The German is a good fellow. Wagner was -by no means a good fellow.... But I have already said quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> enough -on the subject of Wagner's real nature (see <i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> -Aphorism 269), and about those to whom he is most closely related. -He is one of the late French romanticists, that high-soaring and -heaven-aspiring band of artists, like Delacroix and Berlioz, who in -their inmost nacres are sick and incurable, and who are all fanatics -of <i>expression,</i> and virtuosos through and through.... Who, in sooth, -was the first intelligent follower of Wagner? Charles Baudelaire, the -very man who first understood Delacroix—that typical decadent, in whom -a whole generation of artists saw their reflection; he was perhaps the -last of them too.... What is it that I have never forgiven Wagner? -The fact that he condescended to the Germans—that he became a German -Imperialist.... Wherever Germany spreads, she <i>ruins</i> culture.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>Taking everything into consideration, I could never have survived my -youth without Wagnerian music. For I was condemned to the society -of Germans. If a man wish to get rid of a feeling of insufferable -oppression, he has to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner. -Wagner is the counter-poison to everything essentially German—the fact -that he is a poison too, I do not deny. From the moment that <i>Tristan</i> -was arranged for the piano—all honour to you, Herr von Bülow!—I was -a Wagnerite. Wagner's previous works seemed beneath me—they were too -commonplace, too "German." ... But to this day I am still seeking for a -work which would be a match to <i>Tristan</i> in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> dangerous fascination, and -possess the same gruesome and dulcet quality of infinity; I seek among -all the arts in vain. All the quaint features of Leonardo da Vinci's -work lose their charm at the sound of the first bar in <i>Tristan.</i> -This work is without question Wagner's <i>non plus ultra</i>; after its -creation, the composition of the <i>Mastersingers</i> and of the <i>Ring</i> was -a relaxation to him. To become more healthy—this in a nature like -Wagner's amounts to going backwards. The curiosity of the psychologist -is so great in me, that I regard it as quite a special privilege -to have lived at the right time, and to have lived precisely among -Germans, in order to be ripe for this work. The world must indeed be -empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for this "infernal -voluptuousness": it is allowable, it is even imperative, to employ a -mystic formula for this purpose. I suppose I know better than any one -the prodigious feats of which Wagner was capable, the fifty worlds of -strange ecstasies to which no one else had wings to soar; and as I am -alive to-day and strong enough to turn even the most suspicious and -most dangerous things to my own advantage, and thus to grow stronger, -I declare Wagner to have been the greatest benefactor of my life. The -bond which unites us is the fact that we have suffered greater agony, -even at each other's hands, than most men are able to bear nowadays, -and this will always keep our names associated in the minds of men. -For, just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among Germans, so, in -truth, am I, and ever will be. Ye lack two centuries of psychological -and artistic discipline, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> dear countrymen!... But ye can never -recover the time lost.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>To the most exceptional of my readers I should like to say just one -word about what I really exact from music. It must be cheerful and yet -profound, like an October afternoon. It must be original, exuberant, -and tender, and like a dainty, soft woman in roguishness and grace ... I -shall never admit that a German <i>can</i> understand what music is. Those -musicians who are called German, the greatest and most famous foremost, -are all foreigners, either Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen—or Jews; -or else, like Heinrich Schütz, Bach, and Händel, they are Germans of -a strong race which is now extinct. For my own part, I have still -enough of the Pole left in me to let all other music go, if only I -can keep Chopin. For three reasons I would except Wagner's <i>Siegfried -Idyll,</i> and perhaps also one or two things of Liszt, who excelled all -other musicians in the noble tone of his orchestration; and finally -everything that has been produced beyond the Alps<i>—this side</i> of the -Alps.<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> I could not possibly dispense with Rossini, and still less -with my Southern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro, Pietro -Gasti. And when I say beyond the Alps, all I really mean is Venice. -If I try to find a new word for music, I can never find any other -than Venice. I know not how to draw any distinction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> between tears -and music. I do not know how to think either of joy, or of the south, -without a shudder of fear.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -On the bridge I stood<br /> -Lately, in gloomy night.<br /> -Came a distant song:<br /> -In golden drops it rolled<br /> -Over the glittering rim away.<br /> -Music, gondolas, lights—<br /> -Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom....<br /> -<br /> -A stringed instrument, my soul,<br /> -Sang, imperceptibly moved,<br /> -A gondola song by stealth,<br /> -Gleaming for gaudy blessedness.<br /> -—Hearkened any thereto?<br /> -</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>In all these things—in the choice of food, place, climate, and -recreation—the instinct of self-preservation is dominant, and this -instinct manifests itself with least ambiguity when it acts as an -instinct of defence. To close one's eyes to much, to seal one's ears to -much, to keep certain things at a distance—this is the first principle -of prudence, the first proof of the fact that a man is not an accident -but a necessity. The popular word for this instinct of defence is -<i>taste.</i> A man's imperative command is not only to say "no" in cases -where "yes" would be a sign of "disinterestedness," but also to say -"no" <i>as seldom as possible.</i> One must part with all that which compels -one to repeat "no," with ever greater frequency. The rationale of this -principle is that all discharges of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> defensive forces, however slight -they may be, involve enormous and absolutely superfluous losses when -they become regular and habitual. Our greatest expenditure of strength -is made up of those small and most frequent discharges of it. The act -of keeping things off, of holding them at a distance, amounts to a -discharge of strength,—do not deceive yourselves on this point!—and -an expenditure of energy directed at purely negative ends. Simply by -being compelled to keep constantly on his guard, a man may grow so weak -as to be unable any longer to defend himself. Suppose I were to step -out of my house, and, instead of the quiet and aristocratic city of -Turin, I were to find a German provincial town, my instinct would have -to brace itself together in order to repel all that which would pour in -upon it from this crushed-down and cowardly world. Or suppose I were -to find a large German city—that structure of vice in which nothing -grows, but where every single thing, whether good or bad, is squeezed -in from outside. In such circumstances should I not be compelled to -become a hedgehog? But to have prickles amounts to a squandering of -strength; they even constitute a twofold luxury, when, if we only chose -to do so, we could dispense with them and open our hands instead....</p> - -<p>Another form of prudence and self-defence consists in trying to -react as seldom as possible, and to keep one's self aloof from those -circumstances and conditions wherein one would be condemned, as it -were, to suspend one's "liberty" and one's initiative, and become a -mere reacting medium.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> As an example of this I point to the intercourse -with books. The scholar who, in sooth, does little else than handle -books—with the philologist of average attainments their number may -amount to two hundred a day—ultimately forgets entirely and completely -the capacity of thinking for himself. When he has not a book between -his fingers he cannot think. When he thinks, he responds to a stimulus -(a thought he has read),—finally all he does is to react. The scholar -exhausts his whole strength in saying either "yes" or "no" to matter -which has already been thought out, or in criticising it—he is no -longer capable of thought on his own account.... In him the instinct -of self-defence has decayed, otherwise he would defend himself against -books. The scholar is a decadent. With my own eyes I have seen gifted, -richly endowed, and free-spirited natures already "read to ruins" at -thirty, and mere wax vestas that have to be rubbed before they can give -off any sparks—or "thoughts." To set to early in the morning, at the -break of day, in all the fulness and dawn of one's strength, and to -read a book—this I call positively vicious!</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">9</p> - - -<p>At this point I can no longer evade a direct answer to the question, -<i>how one becomes what one is.</i> And in giving it, I shall have to -touch upon that masterpiece in the art of self-preservation, which is -<i>selfishness.</i> ... Granting that one's life-task—the determination and -the fate of one's life-task—greatly exceeds the average measure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -such things, nothing more dangerous could be conceived than to come -face to face with one's self by the side of this life-task. The fact -that one becomes what one is, presupposes that one has not the remotest -suspicion of what one is. From this standpoint even the blunders of -one's life have their own meaning and value, the temporary deviations -and aberrations, the moments of hesitation and of modesty, the -earnestness wasted upon duties which lie outside the actual life-task. -In these matters great wisdom, perhaps even the highest wisdom, comes -into activity: in these circumstances, in which <i>nosce teipsum</i> would -be the sure road to ruin, forgetting one's self, misunderstanding -one's self, belittling one's self, narrowing one's self, and making -one's self mediocre, amount to reason itself. Expressed morally, to -love one's neighbour and to live for others and for other things -<i>may</i> be the means of protection employed to maintain the hardest -kind of egoism. This is the exceptional case in which I, contrary -to my principle and conviction, take the side of the altruistic -instincts; for here they are concerned in subserving selfishness -and self-discipline. The whole surface of consciousness—for -consciousness <i>is</i> a surface—must be kept free from any one of the -great imperatives. Beware even of every striking word, of every -striking attitude! They are all so many risks which the instinct runs -of "understanding itself" too soon. Meanwhile the organising "idea," -which is destined to become master, grows and continues to grow into -the depths,—it begins to command, it leads you slowly back from your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -deviations and aberrations, it prepares individual qualities and -capacities, which one day will make themselves felt as indispensable -to the whole of your task,—step by step it cultivates all the -serviceable faculties, before it ever whispers a word concerning the -dominant task, the "goal," the "object," and the "meaning" of it all. -Looked at from this standpoint my life is simply amazing. For the task -of <i>transvaluing values,</i> more capacities were needful perhaps than -could well be found side by side in one individual; and above all, -antagonistic capacities which had to be free from the mutual strife -and destruction which they involve. An order of rank among capacities; -distance; the art of separating without creating hostility; to refrain -from confounding things; to keep from reconciling things; to possess -enormous multifariousness and yet to be the reverse of chaos—all -this was the first condition, the long secret work, and the artistic -mastery of my instinct. Its superior guardianship manifested itself -with such exceeding strength, that not once did I ever dream of what -was growing within me—until suddenly all my capacities were ripe, and -one day burst forth in all the perfection of their highest bloom. I -cannot remember ever having exerted myself, I can point to no trace of -<i>struggle</i> in my life; I am the reverse of a heroic nature. To "will" -something, to "strive" after something, to have an "aim" or a "desire" -in my mind—I know none of these things from experience. Even at this -moment I look out upon my future—a <i>broad</i> future!—as upon a calm -sea: no sigh of longing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> makes a ripple on its surface. I have not the -slightest wish that anything should be otherwise than it is: I myself -would not be otherwise.... But in this matter I have always been the -same. I have never had a desire. A man who, after his four-and-fortieth -year, can say that he has never bothered himself about <i>honours, -women,</i> or <i>money</i>!—not that they did not come his way.... It was -thus that I became one day a University Professor—I had never had -the remotest idea of such a thing; for I was scarcely four-and-twenty -years of age. In the same way, two years previously, I had one day -become a philologist, in the sense that my <i>first</i> philological work, -my start in every way, was expressly obtained by my master Ritschl for -publication in his <i>Rheinisches Museum.</i><a name="FNanchor_4_7" id="FNanchor_4_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_7" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> (Ritschl—and I say it -in all reverence—was the only genial scholar that I have ever met. -He possessed that pleasant kind of depravity which distinguishes us -Thuringians, and which makes even a German sympathetic—even in the -pursuit of truth we prefer to avail ourselves of roundabout ways. In -saying this I do not mean to underestimate in any way my Thuringian -brother, the intelligent Leopold von Ranke....)</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">10</p> - - -<p>You may be wondering why I should actually have related all these -trivial and, according to traditional accounts, insignificant details -to you; such action can but tell against me, more particularly if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> I -am fated to figure in great causes. To this I reply that these trivial -matters—diet, locality, climate, and one's mode of recreation, the -whole casuistry of; self-love—are inconceivably more important than, -all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem! It is precisely -in this quarter that we must begin to learn afresh. All those things -which mankind has valued with such earnestness heretofore are not even -real; they are mere creations of fancy, or, more strictly speaking, -<i>lies</i> born of the evil instincts of diseased and, in the deepest -sense, noxious natures—all the concepts, "God," "soul," "virtue," -"sin," "Beyond," "truth," "eternal life." ... But the greatness of -human nature, its "divinity," was sought for in them.... All questions -of politics, of social order, of education, have been falsified, root -and branch, owing to the fact that the most noxious men have been -taken for great men, and that people were taught to despise the small -things, or rather the fundamental things, of life. If I now choose to -compare myself with those creatures who have hitherto been honoured as -the first among men, the difference becomes obvious. I do not reckon -the so-called "first" men even as human beings—for me they are the -excrements of mankind, the products of disease and of the instinct -of revenge: they are so many monsters laden with rottenness, so many -hopeless incurables, who avenge themselves on life.... I wish to be -the opposite of these people: it is my privilege to have the very -sharpest discernment for every sign of healthy instincts. There is no -such thing as a morbid trait in me; even in times of serious illness -I have never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> grown morbid, and you might seek in vain for a trace of -fanaticism in my nature. No one can point to any moment of my life -in which I have assumed either an arrogant or a pathetic attitude. -Pathetic attitudes are not in keeping with greatness; he who needs -attitudes is false.... Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy—in -fact easiest—to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest -duties from me. Whoever could have seen me during the seventy days of -this autumn, when, without interruption, I did a host of things of -the highest rank—things that no man can do nowadays—with a sense of -responsibility for all the ages yet to come, would have noticed no sign -of tension in my condition, but rather a state of overflowing freshness -and good cheer. Never have I eaten with more pleasant sensations, -never has my sleep been better. I know of no other manner of dealing -with great tasks, than as <i>play</i>: this, as a sign of greatness, is -an essential prerequisite. The slightest constraint, a sombre mien, -any hard accent in the voice—all these things are objections to a -man, but how much more to his work!... One must not have nerves.... -Even to <i>suffer</i> from solitude is an objection—the only thing I have -always suffered from is "multitude."<a name="FNanchor_5_8" id="FNanchor_5_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_8" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> At an absurdly tender age, in -fact when I was seven years old, I already knew that no human speech -would ever reach me: did any one ever see me sad on that account? At -present I still possess the same affability towards everybody, I am -even full of consideration for the lowest: in all this there is not -an atom of haughtiness or of secret contempt. He whom I despise soon -guesses that he is despised by me: the very fact of my existence is -enough to rouse indignation in all those who have polluted blood in -their veins. My formula for greatness in man is! <i>amor fati</i>: the fact -that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or -behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, -and on no account concealed,—all idealism is falsehood in the face of -necessity,—but it must also be <i>loved....</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> Nietzsche, as is well known, devoted much time when a -student at Leipzig to the study of three Greek philosophers, Theognis, -Diogenes Laertius, and Democritus. This study first bore fruit in the -case of a paper, <i>Zur Geschichte der Theognideischen Spruchsammlung</i>, -which was subsequently published by the most influential journal of -classical philology in Germany. Later, however, it enabled Nietzsche to -enter for the prize offered by the University of Leipzig for an essay, -<i>De fontibus Diogenis Laertii.</i> He was successful in gaining the prize, -and the treatise was afterwards published in the <i>Rheinisches Museum,</i> -and is still quoted as an authority. It is to this essay, written when -he was twenty-three years of age, that he here refers.—TR.</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> The favourite uniform of the German Emperor, William -II.—TR.</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> In the latter years of his life, Nietzsche practically -made Italy his home.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_7" id="Footnote_4_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_7"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> See note on page 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_8" id="Footnote_5_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_8"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The German words are, <i>Einsamkeit</i> and <i>Vielsamkeit.</i> The -latter was coined by Nietzsche. The English word "multitude" should, -therefore, be understood as signifying multifarious instincts and -gifts, which in Nietzsche strove for ascendancy and caused him more -suffering than any solitude. Complexity of this sort, held in check -by a dominant instinct, as in Nietzsche's case, is of course the only -possible basis of an artistic nature.—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS" id="WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS">WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I am one thing, my creations are another. Here, before I speak of the -books themselves, I shall touch upon the question of the understanding -and misunderstanding with which they have met. I shall proceed to -do this in as perfunctory a manner as the occasion demands; for the -time has by no means come for this question. My time has not yet -come either; some are born posthumously. One s day institutions will -be needed in which men will live and teach, as I understand living -and teaching; maybe, also, that by that time, chairs will be founded -and endowed for the interpretation of <i>Zarathustra. </i> But I should -regard it as a complete contradiction of myself, if I expected to -find ears and eyes for my truths to-day: the fact that no one listens -to me, that no one knows how to receive at my hands to-day, is not -only comprehensible, it seems to me quite the proper thing. I do not -wish to be mistaken for another—and to this end I must not mistake -myself. To repeat what I have already said, I can point to but few -instances of ill-will in my life: and as for literary ill-will, I -could mention scarcely a single example of it. On the other hand, I -have met with far too much <i>pure foolery</i>!... It seems to me that to -take up one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of my books is one of the rarest honours that a man can -pay himself—even supposing that he put his shoes from off his feet -beforehand, not to mention boots.... When on one occasion Dr. Heinrich -von Stein honestly complained that he could not understand a word of -my <i>Zarathustra,</i> I said to him that this was just as it should be: to -have understood six sentences in that book—that is to say, to have -lived them—raises a man to a higher level among mortals than "modern" -men can attain. With this feeling of distance how could I even wish to -be read by the "moderns" whom I know! My triumph is just the opposite -of what Schopenhauer's was—I say "<i>Non</i> legor, <i>non</i> legar."—Not -that I should like to underestimate the pleasure I have derived from -the innocence with which my works have frequently been contradicted. -As late as last summer, at a time when I was attempting, perhaps by -means of my weighty, all-too-weighty literature, to throw the rest of -literature off its balance, a certain professor of Berlin University -kindly gave me to understand that I ought really to make use of a -different form: no one could read such stuff as I wrote.—Finally, it -was not Germany, but Switzerland that presented me with the two most -extreme cases. An essay on <i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> by Dr. V. Widmann in -the paper called the <i>Bund,</i> under the heading "Nietzsche's Dangerous -Book," and a general account of all my works, from the pen of Herr -Karl Spitteler, also in the <i>Bund,</i> constitute a maximum in my life—I -shall not say of what.... The latter treated my <i>Zarathustra,</i> for -instance as "<i>advanced exercises in style</i>," and expressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the wish -that later on I might try and attend to the question of substance as -well; Dr. Widmann assured me of his respect for the courage I showed -in endeavouring to abolish all decent feeling. Thanks to a little -trick of destiny, every sentence in these criticisms seemed, with -a consistency that I could but admire, to be an inverted truth. In -fact it was most remarkable that all one had to do was to "transvalue -all values," in order to hit the nail on the head with regard to me, -instead of striking my head with the nail.... I am more particularly -anxious therefore to discover an explanation. After all, no one can -draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man -has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access. To -take an extreme case, suppose a book contains simply incidents which -lie quite outside the range of general or even rare experience—suppose -it to be the <i>first</i> language to express a whole series of experiences. -In this case nothing it contains will really be heard at all, and, -thanks to an acoustic delusion, people will believe that where nothing -is heard there is nothing to hear.... This, at least, has been my -usual experience, and proves, if you will, the originality of my -experience. He who thought he had understood something in my work, had -as a rule adjusted something in it to his own image—not infrequently -the very opposite of myself, an "idealist," for instance. He who -understood nothing in my work, would deny that I was worth considering -at all.—The word "Superman," which designates a type of man that -would be one of nature's rarest and luckiest strokes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> as opposed to -"modern" men, to "good" men, to Christians and other Nihilists,—a -word which in the mouth of Zarathustra, the annihilator of morality, -acquires a very profound meaning,—is understood almost everywhere, and -with perfect innocence, in the light of those values to which a flat -contradiction was made manifest in the figure of Zarathustra—that is -to say, as an "ideal" type, a higher kind of man, half "saint" and half -"genius." ... Other learned cattle have suspected me of Darwinism on -account of this word: even the "hero cult" of that great unconscious -and involuntary swindler, Carlyle,—a cult which I repudiated with -such roguish malice,—was recognised in my doctrine. Once, when I -whispered to a man that he would do better I to seek for the Superman -in a Cæsar Borgia than in a Parsifal, he could not believe his ears. -The fact that I am quite free from curiosity in regard to criticisms of -my books, more particularly when they appear in newspapers, will have -to be forgiven me. My friends and my publishers know this, and never -speak to me of such things. In one particular case, I once saw all the -sins that had been committed against a single book—it was <i>Beyond Good -and Evil;</i> I could tell you a nice story about it. Is it possible that -the <i>National-Zeitung</i>—a Prussian paper (this comment is for the sake -of my foreign readers—for my own part, I beg to state, I read only <i>Le -Journal des Débats</i>)—really and seriously regarded the book as a "sign -of the times," or a genuine and typical example of Tory philosophy,<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -for which the <i>Kreuz-Zeitung</i> had not sufficient courage?...</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This was said for the benefit of Germans: for everywhere else I have -my readers—all of them exceptionally intelligent men, characters that -have won their spurs and that have been reared in high offices and -superior duties; I have even real geniuses among my readers. In Vienna, -in St Petersburg, in Stockholm, in Copenhagen, in Paris, and New -York—I have been discovered everywhere: I have not yet been discovered -in Europe's flatland—Germany.... And, to make a confession, I rejoice -much more heartily over those who do not read me, over those who have -neither heard of my name nor of the word philosophy. But whithersoever -I go, here in Turin, for instance, every face brightens and softens -at the sight of me. A thing that has flattered me more than anything -else hitherto, is the fact that old market-women cannot rest until -they have picked out the sweetest of their grapes for me. To this -extent must a man be a philosopher.... It is not in vain that the -Poles are considered as the French among the Slavs. A charming Russian -lady will not be mistaken for a single moment concerning my origin. -I am not successful at being pompous, the most I can do is to appear -embarrassed.... I can think in German, I can feel in German—I can do -most things; but this is beyond my powers.... My old master Ritschl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -went so far as to declare that I planned even my philological treatises -after the manner of a Parisian novelist—that I made them absurdly -thrilling. In Paris itself people are surprised at "<i>toutes mes audaces -et finesses</i>";—the words are Monsieur Taine's;—I fear that even in -the highest forms of the dithyramb, that salt will be found pervading -my work which never becomes insipid, which never becomes "German"—and -that is, wit.... I can do nought else. God help me! Amen.—We all know, -some of us even from experience, what a "long-ears" is. Well then, I -venture to assert that I have the smallest ears that have ever been -seen. This fact is not without interest to women—it seems to me they -feel that I understand them better!... I am essentially the anti-ass, -and on this account alone a monster in the world's history—in Greek, -and not only in Greek, I am the <i>Antichrist.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>I am to a great extent aware of my privileges as a writer: in one -or two cases it has even been brought home to me how very much the -habitual > reading of my works "spoils" a man's taste. Other books -simply cannot be endured after mine, and least of all philosophical -ones. It is an incomparable distinction to cross the threshold of -this noble and subtle world—in order to do so one must certainly -not be a German; it is, in short, a distinction which one must have -deserved. He, however, who is related to me through loftiness of -will, experiences genuine raptures of understanding in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> my books: -for I swoop down from heights into which no bird has ever soared; I -know abysses into which no foot has ever slipped. People have told -me that it is impossible to lay down a book of mine—that I disturb -even the night's rest.... There is no prouder or at the same time more -subtle kind of books: they sometimes attain to the highest pinnacle -of earthly endeavour, cynicism; to capture their thoughts a man must -have the tenderest fingers as well as the most intrepid fists. Any -kind of spiritual decrepitude utterly excludes all intercourse with -them—even any kind of dyspepsia: a man must have no nerves, but he -must have a cheerful belly. Not only the poverty of a man's soul and -its stuffy air excludes all intercourse with them, but also, and to a -much greater degree, cowardice, uncleanliness, and secret intestinal -revengefulness; a word from my lips suffices to make the colour of -all evil instincts rush into a face. Among my acquaintances I have -a number of experimental subjects, in whom I see depicted all the -different, and instructively different, reactions which follow upon -a perusal of my works. Those who will have nothing to do with the -contents of my books, as for instance my so-called friends, assume an -"impersonal" tone concerning them: they wish me luck, and congratulate -me for having produced another work; they also declare that my writings -show progress, because they exhale a more cheerful spirit.... The -thoroughly vicious people, the "beautiful souls," the false from top to -toe, do not know in the least what to do with my books—consequently, -with the beautiful consistency of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> beautiful souls, they regard -my work as beneath them. The cattle among my acquaintances, the mere -Germans, leave me to understand, if you please, that they are not -always of my opinion, though here and there they agree with me.... I -have heard this said even about <i>Zarathustra.</i> "Feminism," whether in -mankind or in man, is likewise a barrier to my writings; with it, no -one could ever enter into this labyrinth of fearless knowledge. To -this end, a man must never have spared himself, he must have been hard -in his habits, in order to be good-humoured and merry among a host of -inexorable truths. When I try to picture the character of a perfect -reader, I always imagine a monster of courage and curiosity, as well as -of suppleness, cunning, and prudence—in short, a born adventurer and -explorer. After all, I could not describe better than <i>Zarathustra</i> has -done unto whom I really address myself: unto whom alone would he reveal -his riddle?</p> - -<p>"Unto you, daring explorers and experimenters, and unto all who have -ever embarked beneath cunning sails upon terrible seas;</p> - -<p>"Unto you who revel in riddles and in twilight, whose souls are lured -by flutes unto every treacherous abyss:</p> - -<p>"For ye care not to grope your way along a thread with craven fingers; -and where ye are able to <i>guess,</i> ye hate to <i>argue</i>?"</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>I will now pass just one or two general remarks about my <i>art of -style.</i> To communicate a state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> an inner tension of pathos by means -of signs, including the tempo of these signs,—that is the meaning of -every style; and in view of the fact that the multiplicity of inner -states in me is enormous, I am capable of many kinds of style—in -short, the most multifarious art of style that any man has ever had at -his disposal. Any style is <i>good</i> which genuinely communicates an inner -condition, which does not blunder over the signs, over the tempo of the -signs, or over <i>moods</i>—all the laws of phrasing are the outcome of -representing moods artistically. Good style, in itself, is a piece of -sheer foolery, mere idealism, like "beauty in itself," for instance, -or "goodness in itself," or "the thing-in-itself." All this takes for -granted, of course, that there exist ears that can hear, and such men -as are capable and worthy of a like pathos, that those are not wanting -unto whom one may communicate one's self. Meanwhile my Zarathustra, -for instance, is still in quest of such people—alas! he will have to -seek a long while yet! A man must be worthy of listening to him.... -And, until that time, there will be no one who will understand the art -that has been squandered in this book. No one has ever existed who has -had more novel, more strange, and purposely created art forms to fling -to the winds. The fact that such things were possible in the German -language still awaited proof; formerly, I myself would have denied -most emphatically that it was possible. Before my time people did not -know what could be done with the German language—what could be done -with language in general. The art of grand rhythm, of grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> style in -periods, for expressing the tremendous fluctuations of sublime and -superhuman passion, was first discovered by me: with the dithyramb -entitled "The Seven Seals," which constitutes the last discourse of -the third part of <i>Zarathustra,</i> I soared miles above all that which -heretofore has been called poetry.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>The fact that the voice which speaks in my works is that of a -psychologist who has not his peer, is perhaps the first conclusion -at which a good reader will arrive—a reader such as I deserve, and -one who reads me just as the good old philologists used to read their -Horace. Those propositions about which all the world is fundamentally -agreed—not to speak of fashionable philosophy, of moralists and -other empty-headed and cabbage-brained people—are to me but ingenuous -blunders: for instance, the belief that "altruistic" and "egoistic"; -are opposites, while all the time the "ego" itself is merely a "supreme -swindle," an "ideal." ... There are no such things as egoistic or -altruistic actions: both concepts are psychological nonsense. Or -the proposition that "man pursues happiness"; or the proposition -that "happiness is the reward of virtue." ... Or the proposition -that "pleasure and pain are opposites." ... Morality, the Circe of -mankind, has falsified everything psychological, root and branch—it -has demoralised everything, even to the terribly nonsensical point -of calling love "unselfish." A man must first be firmly poised, he -must stand securely on his two legs, otherwise he cannot love at -all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> This indeed the girls know only too well: they don't care two -pins about unselfish and merely objective men.... May I venture to -suggest, incidentally, that I know women? This knowledge is part of my -Dionysian patrimony. Who knows? maybe I am the first psychologist of -the eternally feminine. Women all like me.... But that's an old story: -save, of course, the abortions among them, the emancipated ones, those -who lack the where-withal to have children. Thank goodness I am not -willing to let myself be torn to pieces! the perfect woman tears you -to pieces when she loves you: I know these amiable Mænads.... Oh! what -a dangerous, creeping, subterranean little beast of prey she is! And -so agreeable withal! ... A little woman, pursuing her vengeance, would -force open even the iron gates of Fate itself. Woman is incalculably -more wicked than man, she is also cleverer. Goodness in a woman is -already a sign of <i>degeneration.</i> All cases of "beautiful souls" in -women may be traced to a faulty physiological condition—but I go no -further, lest I should become medicynical. The struggle for equal -rights is even a symptom of disease; every doctor knows this. The more -womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail against rights -in general: the natural order of things, the eternal war between the -sexes, assigns to her by far the foremost rank. Have people had ears -to hear my definition of love? It is the only definition worthy of a -philosopher. Love, in its means, is war; in its foundation, it is the -mortal hatred of the sexes. Have you heard my reply to the question -how a woman can be cured, "saved"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> in fact?—Give her a child! A woman -needs children, man is always only a means, thus spake Zarathustra. -"The emancipation of women,"—this is the instinctive hatred of -physiologically botched—that is to say, barren—women for those of -their sisters who are well constituted: the fight against "man" is -always only a means, a pretext, a piece of strategy. By trying to rise -to "Woman <i>per se</i>," to "Higher Woman," to the "Ideal Woman," all they -wish to do is to lower the general level of women's rank: and there are -no more certain means to this end than university education, trousers, -and the rights of voting cattle. Truth to tell, the emancipated are -the anarchists in the "eternally feminine" world, the physiological -mishaps, the most deep-rooted instinct of whom is revenge. A whole -species of the most malicious "idealism"—which, by the bye, also -manifests itself in men, in Henrik Ibsen for instance, that typical -old maid—whose object is to poison the clean conscience, the natural -spirit, of sexual love.... And in order to leave no doubt in your minds -in regard to my opinion, which, on this matter, is as honest as it -is severe, I will reveal to you one more clause out of my moral code -against vice—with the word "vice" I combat every kind of! opposition -to Nature, or, if you prefer fine words, idealism. The clause reads: -"Preaching of chastity is a public incitement to unnatural practices. -All depreciation of the sexual life, all the sullying of it by means -of the concept 'impure,' is the essential crime against Life—is the -essential crime against the Holy Spirit of Life."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - -<p>In order to give you some idea of myself as a psychologist, let me -take this curious piece of psychological analysis out of the book -<i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> in which it appears. I forbid, by the bye, any -guessing as to whom I am describing in this passage. "The genius of -the heart, as that great anchorite possesses it, the divine tempter -and born Pied Piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to sink into -the inmost depths of every soul, who neither utters a word nor casts a -glance, in which some seductive motive or trick does not lie: a part -of whose masterliness is that he understands the art of seeming—not -what he is, but that which will place a fresh constraint upon his -followers to press ever more closely upon him, to follow him ever more -enthusiastically and whole-heartedly.... The genius of the heart, -which makes all loud and self-conceited things hold their tongues and -lend their ears, which polishes all rough souls and makes them taste a -new longing—to lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be -reflected in them.... The genius of the heart which teaches the clumsy -and too hasty hand to hesitate and grasp more tenderly; which scents -the hidden and forgotten treasure, the pearl of goodness and sweet -spirituality, beneath thick black ice, and is a divining rod for every -grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in heaps of mud and sand.... -The genius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away -richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, not as though favoured and crushed -by the good things of others;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> but richer in himself, fresher to -himself than before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing -wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more fragile, more -bruised; but full of hopes which as yet lack names, full of a new will -and striving, full of a new unwillingness and counter-striving." ...</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Junker-Philosophie.</i> The landed proprietors constitute -the dominating class in Prussia, and it is from this class that all -officers and higher officials are drawn. The <i>Kreuz-Zeitung</i> is the -organ of the Junker party.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY" id="THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY">"THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>In order to be fair to the <i>Birth of Tragedy</i> (1872) it is necessary -to forget a few things. It created a sensation and even fascinated by -means of its mistakes—by means of its application to Wagnerism, as -if the latter were the sign of an ascending tendency. On that account -alone, this treatise was an event in Wagner's life: thenceforward -great hopes surrounded the name of Wagner. Even to this day, people -remind me, sometimes in the middle of <i>Parsifal,</i> that it rests on -my conscience if the opinion, that this movement is of great value -to culture, at length became prevalent I have often seen the book -quoted as "The Second Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music": -people had ears only for new formulæ for Wagner's art, his object -and his mission—and in this way the real hidden value of the book -was overlooked. "Hellenism and Pessimism"—this would have been a -less equivocal title, seeing that the book contains the first attempt -at showing how the Greeks succeeded in disposing: of pessimism—in -what manner they overcame it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> ... Tragedy itself is the proof of -the fact that the Greeks were not pessimists: Schopenhauer blundered -here as he blundered in everything else.—Regarded impartially, -<i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> is a book quite strange to its age: no one -would dream that it was begun in the thunder of the battle of Wörth. -I thought out these problems on cold September nights beneath the -walls of Metz, in the midst of my duties as nurse to the wounded; it -would be easier to think that it was written fifty years earlier. Its -attitude towards politics is one of indifference,—"un-German,"<a name="FNanchor_1_10" id="FNanchor_1_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_10" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -as people would say to-day,—it smells offensively of Hegel; only in -one or two formulæ is it infected with the bitter odour of corpses -which is peculiar to Schopenhauer. An idea—the antagonism of the two -concepts Dionysian and Apollonian—is translated into metaphysics; -history itself is depicted as the development of this idea; in tragedy -this antithesis has become unity; from this standpoint things which -theretofore had never been face to face are suddenly confronted, and -understood and illuminated by each other.... Opera and revolution, -for instance.... The two decisive innovations in the book are, first, -the comprehension of the Dionysian phenomenon among the Greeks—it -provides the first psychological analysis of this phenomenon, and -sees in it the single root of all Greek art; and, secondly, the -comprehension of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Socraticism—Socrates being presented for the first -time as the instrument of Greek dissolution, as a typical decadent. -"Reason" <i>versus</i> Instinct. "Reason" at any cost, as a dangerous, -life-undermining force. The whole book is profoundly and politely -silent concerning Christianity: the latter is neither Apollonian nor -Dionysian; it denies all æsthetic values, which are the only values -that <i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> recognises. Christianity is most profoundly -nihilistic, whereas in the Dionysian symbol, the most extreme limits of -a yea-saying attitude to life are attained. In one part of the book the -Christian priesthood is referred to as a "perfidious order of goblins," -as "subterraneans."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This start of mine was remarkable beyond measure. As a confirmation -of my inmost personal experience I had discovered the only example -of this fact that history possesses,—with this I was the first -to understand the amazing Dionysian phenomenon. At the same time, by -recognising Socrates as a decadent, I proved most conclusively that -the certainty of my psychological grasp of things ran very little risk -at the hands of any sort of moral idiosyncrasy: to regard morality -itself as a symptom of degeneration is an innovation, a unique event -of the first order in the history of knowledge. How high I had soared -above the pitifully foolish gabble about Optimism and Pessimism with -my two new doctrines! I was the first to see the actual contrast: the -degenerate instinct which turns upon life with a subterranean lust -of vengeance (Christianity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" -id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> Schopenhauer's philosophy, and in -some respects too even Plato's philosophy—in short, the whole -of idealism in its typical forms), as opposed to a formula of the -highest yea-saying to life, born of an abundance and a superabundance -of life—a I yea-saying free from all reserve, applying even to -suffering, and guilt, and all that is questionable and strange in -existence.... This last, most joyous, most exuberant and exultant -yea to life, is not only the highest, but also the profoundest -conception, and one which is most strictly confirmed and supported by -truth and science. Nothing that exists must be suppressed, nothing -can be dispensed with. Those aspects of life which Christians and -other Nihilists reject, belong to an incalculably higher order in the -hierarchy of values, than that which the instinct of degeneration calls -good, and <i>may</i> call good. In order to understand this, a certain -courage is necessary, and, as a prerequisite of this, a certain -superfluity of strength: for a man can approach only as near to truth -as he has the courage to advance—that is to say, everything -depends strictly upon the measure of his strength. Knowledge, and the -affirmation of reality, are just as necessary to the strong man as -cowardice, the flight from reality—in fact, the "ideal"—are -necessary to the weak inspired by weakness.... These people are not at -liberty to "know,"—decadents stand in need of lies,—it is -one of their self-preservative measures. He who not only understands -the word "Dionysian," but understands <i>himself</i> in that term, does -not require any refutation of Plato, or of Christianity, or of -Schopenhauer—for his nose <i>scents decomposition.</i></p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>The extent to which I had by means of these doctrines discovered the -idea of "tragedy," the ultimate explanation of what the psychology of -tragedy is, I discussed finally in <i>The Twilight of the Idols</i> (Aph. -5, part 10).... "The saying of yea to life, and even to its weirdest -and most difficult problems: the will to life rejoicing at its own -infinite vitality in the sacrifice of its highest types—that is what I -called Dionysian, that is what I meant as the bridge to the psychology -of the tragic poet. Not to cast out terror and pity, or to purge one's -self of dangerous passion by discharging it with vehemence,—this was -Aristotle's<a name="FNanchor_2_11" id="FNanchor_2_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_11" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> misunderstanding of it,—but to be far beyond terror -and pity and to be the eternal lust of Becoming itself—that lust -which also involves the joy of destruction." ... In this sense I have -the right to regard myself as the first <i>tragic philosopher</i>—that is -to say, the most extreme antithesis and antipodes of a pessimistic -philosopher. Before my time no such thing existed as this translation -of the Dionysian phenomenon into philosophic emotion: tragic wisdom was -lacking; in vain have I sought for signs of it even among the great -Greeks in philosophy—those belonging to the two centuries before -Socrates. I still remained a little doubtful about Heraclitus, in whose -presence, alone, I felt warmer and more at ease than anywhere else. -The yea-saying to the impermanence and annihilation of things, which -is the decisive feature of a Dionysian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> philosophy; the yea-saying to -contradiction and war, the postulation of Becoming, together with the -radical rejection even of the concept <i>Being</i>— in all these things, at -all events, I must recognise him who has come nearest to me in thought -hither to. The doctrine of the "Eternal Recurrence"—that is to say, -of the absolute and eternal repetition of all things in periodical -cycles—this doctrine of Zarathustra's might, it is true, have been -taught before. In any case, the Stoics, who derived nearly all their -fundamental ideas from Heraclitus, show traces of it.</p> - -<p>A tremendous hope finds expression in this work. After all, I have -absolutely no reason to renounce the hope for a Dionysian future of -music. Let us look a century ahead, and let us suppose that my attempt -to destroy two millenniums of hostility to Nature and of the violation -of humanity be crowned with success That new party of life-advocates, -which will undertake the greatest of all tasks, the elevation and -perfection of mankind, as well as the relentless destruction of all -degenerate and parasitical elements, will make that <i>superabundance -of life</i> on earth once more possible, out of which the Dionysian -state will perforce arise again. I promise the advent of a tragic -age: the highest art in the saying of yea to life, "tragedy," will be -born again when mankind has the knowledge of the hardest, but most -necessary of wars, behind it, without, however, suffering from that -knowledge.... A psychologist might add that what I heard in Wagnerian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -music in my youth and early manhood had nothing whatsoever to do with -Wagner; that when I described Dionysian music, I described merely -what <i>I</i> personally had heard—that I was compelled instinctively to -translate and transfigure everything into the new spirit which filled -my breast. A proof of this, and as strong a proof as you could have, -is my essay, <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i>: in all its decisive psychological -passages I am the only person concerned—without any hesitation you may -read my name or the word "Zarathustra" wherever the text contains the -name of Wagner. The whole panorama of the <i>dithyrambic</i> artist is the -representation of the already existing author of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and -it is drawn with an abysmal depth which does not even once come into -contact with the real Wagner. Wagner himself had a notion of the truth; -he did not recognise himself in the essay.—In this way, "the idea of -Bayreuth" was changed into something which to those who are acquainted -with my <i>Zarathustra</i> will be no riddle—that is to say, into the -Great Noon when the highest of the elect will consecrate themselves -for the greatest of all duties—who knows? the vision of a feast which -I may live to see.... The pathos of the first few pages is universal -history; the look which is discussed on page 105<a name="FNanchor_3_12" id="FNanchor_3_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_12" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> of the book, is the -actual look of <i>Zarathustra;</i> Wagner, Bayreuth, the whole of this petty -German wretchedness, is a cloud upon which an infinite Fata Morgana -of the future is reflected. Even from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> psychological standpoint, -all the decisive traits in my character are introduced into Wagner's -nature—the juxtaposition of the most brilliant and most fatal forces, -a Will to Power such as no man has ever possessed—inexorable bravery -in matters spiritual, an unlimited power of learning unaccompanied by -depressed powers for action. Everything in this essay is a prophecy: -the proximity of the resurrection of the Greek spirit, the need of men -who will be counter-Alexanders, who will once more tie the Gordian knot -of Greek culture, after it has been cut. Listen to the world-historic -accent with which the concept "sense for the tragic" is introduced -on page 180: there are little else but world-historic accents in -this essay. This is the strangest kind of "objectivity" that ever -existed: my absolute certainty in regard to what I <i>am,</i> projected -itself into any chance reality—truth about myself was voiced from out -appalling depths. On pages 174 and 175 the style of <i>Zarathustra</i> is -described and foretold with incisive certainty, and no more magnificent -expression will ever be found than that on pages 144-147 for the event -for which <i>Zarathustra</i> stands—that prodigious act of the purification -and consecration of mankind.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_10" id="Footnote_1_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_10"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Those Germans who, like Nietzsche or Goethe, recognised -that politics constituted a danger to culture, and who appreciated the -literature of maturer cultures, such as that of France, are called -<i>un-deutsch</i> (un-German) by Imperialistic Germans.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_11" id="Footnote_2_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_11"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Aristotle's <i>Poetics</i>, c. vi.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_12" id="Footnote_3_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_12"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This number and those which follow refer to <i>Thoughts out -of Season,</i> Part I. in this edition of Nietzsche's Works.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON" id="THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON">"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>The four essays composing the <i>Thoughts out of Season</i> are thoroughly -warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -in drawing the sword—and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously -supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, -upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt -Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public -opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to -suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of -German culture—and still less the triumph of this culture; over -that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which -is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of -pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised -piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of -the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The -object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity -as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the -"historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first -time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the -third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher -concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; -and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are -presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign -contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," -"Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"—these two types -were Schopenhauer and Wagner, <i>or,</i> in a word, Nietzsche....</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The -stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger -on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation—I had told it that its -victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something -very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not -only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous -as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug -self-content—in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, -called <i>The Old and the New Faith</i> (the term "Philistine of Culture" -passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my -book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians -I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird -of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as -grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they -contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was -assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious <i>Grentzboten</i>; and it cost me -some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action -against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for -very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, -Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had -been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that -time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he -liked to refer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von -Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could -obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von -T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my -book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor -Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made -him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a -sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, -of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical -advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review -which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most -bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of -my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last -<i>humane</i> German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in -the <i>Augsburg Gazette,</i> and it can be read to-day, couched in rather -more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was -referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign -of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival -of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. -Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of -the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in -discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the -best polemical work in the German language,—the best performance in -the art of polemics, which for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> Germans is so dangerous and so strongly -to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even -greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of -language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists<a name="FNanchor_1_13" id="FNanchor_1_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_13" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for -the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his -admiration for my courage—that "greatest courage of all which places -the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects -of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has -ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany -I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the -privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, -least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise -is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put -one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's -entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my -opponent!—the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, -quite a novel kind of free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> thought found its expression in this way: -up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my -blood than the whole of that European and American species known as -<i>litres penseurs.</i> Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" -that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than -with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, -after their own fashion—that is to say, in their own image; against -that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, -if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an -"ideal." ... I am the first <i>Immoralist</i>.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - -<p>I should not like to say that the last two essays in the <i>Thoughts -out of Season,</i> associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner -respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these -two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of -course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the -second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I -already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a -theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws -its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do -something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented -educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and -self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness -and to world-historic duties, yearned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> to find expression. Roughly -speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined -types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes -opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, -in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression -at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly -sagacity, on page 183 of <i>Schopenhauer as Educator.</i> Plato made use -of Socrates in the same way—that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. -Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of -which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they -refer simply to me. The essay <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> is a vision of my -own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, -is written down in <i>Schopenhauer as Educator.</i> But, above all, the -<i>vow</i> I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold—at a height from -which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!—oh, how -far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land—I did not -deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger—<i>and</i> -success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future -which must not remain only a promise!—In this book every word has -been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not -lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with -blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its -wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being -a philosopher,—that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the -philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a -Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of -philosophy,—concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable -information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as -Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in -it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, -and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere -scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is -not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my -profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were -merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists -in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become -one thing—in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of -my fate to be a scholar for a while.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_13" id="Footnote_1_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_13"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The Purists constitute a definite body in Germany, which -is called the <i>Deutscher Sprach-Verein.</i> Their object is to banish -every foreign word from the language, and they carry this process of -ostracism even into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at -rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical. Strange -to say, their principal organ, and their other publications, are by -no means free either from solecisms or faults of style, and it is -doubtless to this curious anomaly that Nietzsche here refers.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN" id="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p><i>Human all-too-Human,</i> with its two sequels, is the memorial of a -crisis. It is called a book for free spirits: almost every sentence in -it is the expression of a triumph—by means of it I purged myself of -everything in me which was foreign to my nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> book means: "Where ye see ideal things I -see—human, alas! all-too-human things!" ... I know men better. The -word "free spirit" in this book must not be understood as anything -else than a spirit that has become free, that has once more taken -possession of itself. My tone, the pitch of my voice, has completely -changed; the book will be thought clever, cool, and at times both -hard and scornful. A certain spirituality, of noble taste, seems to -be ever struggling to dominate a passionate torrent at its feet. In -this respect there is some sense in the fact that it was the hundredth -anniversary of Voltaire's death that served, so to speak, as an excuse -for the publication of the book as early as 1878. For Voltaire, as the -opposite of every one who wrote after him, was above all a grandee of -the intellect; precisely what I am also. The name of Voltaire on one -of my writings—that was verily a step forward—in my direction.... -Looking into this book a little more closely, you perceive a pitiless -spirit who knows all the secret hiding-places in which ideals are wont -to skulk—where they find their dungeons, and, as it were, their last -refuge. With a torch in my hand, the light of which is not by any -means a flickering one, I illuminate this nether world with beams that -cut like blades. It is war, but war without powder and smoke, without -warlike attitudes, without pathos and contorted limbs—all these things -would still be "idealism." One error after the other is quietly laid -upon ice; the ideal is not refuted,—it freezes. Here, for instance, -"genius" freezes; round the corner the "saint" freezes; under a thick -icicle the "hero" freezes; and in the end "faith"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> itself freezes. -So-called "conviction" and also "pity" are considerably cooled—and -almost everywhere the "thing in itself" is freezing to death.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This book was begun during the first musical festival at Bayreuth; a -feeling of profound strangeness towards everything that surrounded -me there, is one of its first conditions. He who has any notion of -the visions which even at that time had flitted across my path, will -be able to guess what I felt when one day I came to my senses in -Bayreuth. It was just as if I had been dreaming. Where on earth was I? -I recognised nothing that I saw; I scarcely recognised Wagner. It was -in vain that I called up reminiscences. Tribschen—remote island of -bliss: not the shadow of a resemblance! The incomparable days devoted -to the laying of the first stone, the small group of the initiated -who celebrated them, and who were far from lacking fingers for the -handling of delicate things: not the shadow of a resemblance! <i>What -had happened?</i>—Wagner had been translated into German! The Wagnerite -had become master of Wagner!<i>—German</i> art! the German master! German -beer!... We who know only too well the kind of refined artists and -cosmopolitanism in taste, to which alone Wagner's art can appeal, were -beside ourselves at the sight of Wagner bedecked with German virtues. -I think I know the Wagnerite, I have experienced three generations -of them, from Brendel of blessed memory, who confounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> Wagner with -Hegel, to the "idealists" of the <i>Bayreuth Gazette,</i> who confound -Wagner with themselves,—I have been the recipient of every kind of -confession about Wagner, from "beautiful souls." My kingdom for just -one intelligent word I—In very truth, a blood-curdling company! Nohl, -Pohl, and <i>Kohl</i><a name="FNanchor_1_14" id="FNanchor_1_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_14" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and others of their kidney to infinity! There -was not a single abortion that was lacking among them—no, not even -the anti-Semite.—Poor Wagner! Into whose hands had he fallen? If -only he had gone into a herd of swine! But among Germans! Some day, -for the edification of posterity, one ought really to have a genuine -Bayreuthian stuffed, or, better still, preserved in spirit,—for -it is precisely spirit that is lacking in this quarter,—with this -inscription at the foot of the jar: "A sample of the spirit whereon -the 'German Empire' was founded." ... But enough! In the middle of -the festivities I suddenly packed my trunk and left the place for a -few weeks, despite the fact that a charming Parisian lady sought to -comfort me; I excused myself to Wagner simply by means of a fatalistic -telegram. In a little spot called Klingenbrunn, deeply buried in the -recesses of the Bohmerwald, I carried my melancholy and my contempt of -Germans about with me like an illness—and, from time to time, under -the general title of "The Plough-share," I wrote a sentence or two down -in my note-book, nothing but severe psychological stuff, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> it is -possible may have found its way into <i>Human, all-too-Human.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>That which had taken place in me, then, was not only a breach with -Wagner—I was suffering from a general aberration of my instincts, -of which a mere isolated blunder, whether it were Wagner or my -professorship at Bâle, was nothing more than a symptom. I was seized -with a fit of impatience with myself; I saw that it was high time that -I should turn my thoughts upon my own lot. In a trice I realised, with -appalling clearness, how much time had already been squandered—how -futile and how senseless my whole existence as a philologist appeared -by the side of my life-task. I was ashamed of this false modesty.... -Ten years were behind me, during which, to tell the truth, the -nourishment of my spirit had been at a standstill, during which I had -added not a single useful fragment to my knowledge, and had forgotten -countless things in the pursuit of a hotch-potch of dry-as-dust -scholarship. To crawl with meticulous care and short-sighted eyes -through old Greek metricians—that is what I had come to!... Moved to -pity I saw myself quite thin, quite emaciated: realities were only too -plainly absent from my stock of knowledge, and what the "idealities" -were worth the devil alone knew! A positively burning thirst overcame -me: and from that time forward I have done literally nothing else than -study physiology, medicine, and natural science—I even returned to -the actual study of history only when my life-task compelled me to. It -was at that time, too, that I first divined the relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> between an -instinctively repulsive occupation, a so-called vocation, which is the -last thing to which one is "called" and that need of lulling a feeling -of emptiness and hunger, by means of an art which is a narcotic—by -means of Wagner's art, for instance. After looking carefully about -me, I have discovered that a large number of young men are all in the -same state of distress: one kind of unnatural practice perforce leads -to another. In Germany, or rather, to avoid all ambiguity, in the -Empire,<a name="FNanchor_2_15" id="FNanchor_2_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_15" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> only too many are condemned to determine their choice too -soon, and then to pine away beneath a burden that they can no longer -throw off.... Such creatures crave for Wagner as for an opiate,—they -are thus able to forget themselves, to be rid of themselves for a -moment.... What am I saying!—for five or six hours.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>At this time my instincts turned resolutely against any further -yielding or following on my part, and any further misunderstanding -of myself. Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, -illness, poverty—anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified -"selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my -ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to -laziness—the so-called "sense of duty." At this juncture there came to -my help, in a way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> that I cannot sufficiently admire, and precisely at -the right time, that evil heritage which I derive from my father's side -of the family, and which, at bottom, is no more than a predisposition -to die young. Illness slowly liberated me from the toils, it spared me -any sort of sudden breach, any sort of violent and offensive step. At -that time I lost not a particle of the good will of others, but rather -added to my store. Illness likewise gave me the right completely to -reverse my mode of life; it not only allowed, it actually commanded, -me to forget; it bestowed upon me the necessity of lying still, of -having leisure, of waiting, and of exercising patience.... But all -this means thinking!... The state of my eyes alone put an end to all -book-wormishness, or, in plain English—philology: I was thus delivered -from books; for years I ceased from reading, and this was the greatest -boon I ever conferred upon myself! That nethermost self, which was, -as it were, entombed, and which had grown dumb because it had been -forced to listen perpetually to other selves (for that is what reading -means!), slowly awakened; at first it was shy and doubtful, but at -last it <i>spoke again</i> Never have I rejoiced more over my condition -than during the sickest and most painful moments of my life. You have -only to examine <i>The Dawn of Day,</i> or, perhaps, <i>The Wanderer and -his Shadow,</i><a name="FNanchor_3_16" id="FNanchor_3_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_16" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in order to understand what this "return to myself" -actually meant: in itself it was the highest kind of recovery!... My -cure was simply the result of it.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p><i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> this monument of a course of vigorous -self-discipline, by means of which I put an abrupt end to all the -"Superior Bunkum," "Idealism," "Beautiful Feelings," and other -effeminacies that had percolated into my being, was written principally -in Sorrento; it was finished and given definite shape during a winter -at Bâle, under conditions far less favourable than those in Sorrento. -Truth to tell, it was Peter Gast, at that time a student at the -University of Bâle, and a devoted friend of mine, who was responsible -for the book. With my head wrapped in bandages, and extremely painful, -I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along—to be -accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author. -When the completed book ultimately reached me,—to the great surprise -of the serious invalid I then was,—I sent, among others, two copies -to Bayreuth. Thanks to a miraculous flash of intelligence on the part -of chance, there reached me precisely at the same time a splendid copy -of the <i>Parsifal</i> text, with the following inscription from Wagner's -pen: "To his dear friend Friedrich Nietzsche, from Richard Wagner, -Ecclesiastical Councillor." At this crossing of the two books I seemed -to hear an ominous note. Did it not sound as if two swords had crossed? -At all events we both felt this was so, for each of us remained silent. -At about this time the first Bayreuth Pamphlets appeared: and I then -understood the move on my part for which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> it was high time. Incredible! -Wagner had become pious.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>My attitude to myself at that time (1876), and the unearthly certitude -with which I grasped my life-task and all its world-historic -consequences, is well revealed throughout the book, but more -particularly in one very significant passage, despite the fact that, -with my instinctive cunning, I once more circumvented the use of -the little word "I,"—not however, this time, in order to shed -world-historic glory on the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but on -that of another of my friends, the excellent Dr. Paul Rée—fortunately -much too acute a creature to be deceived—others were less subtle. -Among my readers I have a number of hopeless people, the typical -German professor for instance, who can always be recognised from the -fact that, judging from the passage in question, he feels compelled to -regard the whole book as a sort of superior Realism. As a matter of -fact it contradicts five or six of my friend's utterances: only read -the introduction to <i>The Genealogy of Morals</i> on this question.—The -passage above referred to reads: "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>" (read Nietzsche, the first -Immoralist), "has attained by means of his incisive and decisive -analysis of human actions? 'The moral man,' he says is no nearer to the -intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the physical man, for there -is no intelligible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> world.' This theory, hardened and sharpened under -the hammer-blow of historical knowledge" (read <i>The Transvaluation -of all Values</i>), "may some time or other, perhaps in some future -period,—1890!—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."<a name="FNanchor_4_17" id="FNanchor_4_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_17" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_14" id="Footnote_1_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_14"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nohl and Pohl were both writers on music; Kohl, however, -which literally means cabbage, is a slang expression, denoting superior -nonsense.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_15" id="Footnote_2_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_15"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Needless to say, Nietzsche distinguishes between -Bismarckian Germany and that other Germany—Austria, Switzerland, and -the Baltic Provinces—where the German language is also spoken.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_16" id="Footnote_3_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_16"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> Part II. in this edition.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_17" id="Footnote_4_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_17"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> vol. i. Aph. 37.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THE_DAWN_OF_DAY" id="THE_DAWN_OF_DAY">"THE DAWN OF DAY:</a></h4> - -<h5>THOUGHTS ABOUT MORALITY AS A PREJUDICE"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>With this book I open my campaign against morality. Not that it is at -all redolent of powder—you will find quite other and much nicer smells -in it, provided that you have any keenness in your nostrils. There -is nothing either of light or of heavy artillery in its composition, -and if its general end be a negative one, its means are not so—means -out of which the end follows like a logical conclusion, <i>not</i> like a -cannon-shot. And if the reader takes leave of this book with a feeling -of timid caution in regard to everything which has hitherto been -honoured and even worshipped under the name of morality, it does not -alter the fact that there is not one negative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> word, not one attack, -and not one single piece of malice in the whole work—on the contrary, -it lies in the sunshine, smooth and happy, like a marine animal, -basking in the sun between two rocks. For, after all, I was this marine -animal: almost every sentence in the book was thought out, or rather -<i>caught,</i> among that medley of rocks in the neighbourhood of Genoa, -where I lived quite alone, and exchanged secrets with the ocean. Even -to this day, when by chance I happen to turn over the leaves of this -book, almost every sentence seems to me like a hook by means of which I -draw something incomparable out of the depths; its whole skin quivers -with delicate shudders of recollection. This book is conspicuous for no -little art in gently catching things which whisk rapidly and silently -away, moments which I call godlike lizards—not with the cruelty of -that young Greek god who simply transfixed the poor little beast; -but nevertheless with something pointed—with a pen. "There are so -many dawns which have not yet shed their light"—this Indian maxim is -written over the doorway of this book. Where does its author seek that -new morning, that delicate red, as yet undiscovered, with which another -day—ah! a whole series of days, a whole world of new days!—will -begin? In the <i>Transvaluation of all Values,</i> in an emancipation from -all moral values, in a saying of yea, and in an attitude of trust, to -all that which hitherto has been forbidden, despised, and damned. This -yea-saying book projects its light, its love, its tenderness, over all -evil things, it restores to them their soul, their clear conscience, -and their superior right and privilege to exist on earth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> Morality is -not assailed, it simply ceases to be considered. This book closes with -the word "or?"—it is the only book which closes with an "or?".</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>My life-task is to prepare for humanity one supreme moment in which it -can come to its senses, a Great Noon in which it will turn its gaze -backwards and forwards, in which it will step from under the yoke -of accident and of priests, and for the first time set the question -of the Why and Wherefore of humanity as a whole—this life-task -naturally follows out of the conviction that mankind does <i>not</i> get -on the right road of its own accord, that it is by no means divinely -ruled, but rather that it is precisely under the cover of its most -holy valuations that the instinct of negation, of corruption, and of -degeneration has held such a seductive sway. The question concerning -the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest -importance to me because it determines the future of mankind. The -demand made upon us to believe that everything is really in the best -hands, that a certain book, the Bible, gives us the definite and -comforting assurance that there is a Providence that wisely rules the -fate of man,—when translated back into reality amounts simply to this, -namely, the will to stifle the truth which maintains the reverse of -all this, which is that hitherto man has been in the <i>worst possible</i> -hands, and that he has been governed by the physiologically botched, -the men of cunning and burning revengefulness, and the so-called -"saints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>"—those slanderers of the world and traducers of humanity. -The definite proof of the fact that the priest (including the priest -in disguise, the philosopher) has become master, not only within a -certain limited religious community, but everywhere, and that the -morality of decadence, the will to nonentity, has become morality -<i>per se,</i> is to be found in this: that altruism is now an absolute -value, and egoism is regarded with hostility everywhere. He who -disagrees with me on this point, I regard as infected. But all the -world disagrees with me. To a physiologist a like antagonism between -values admits of no doubt. If the most insignificant organ within the -body neglects, however slightly, to assert with absolute certainty its -self-preservative powers, its recuperative claims, and its egoism, the -whole system degenerates. The physiologist insists upon the removal of -degenerated parts, he denies all fellow-feeling for such parts, and -has not the smallest feeling of pity for them. But the desire of the -priest is precisely the degeneration of the whole of mankind; hence his -preservation of that which is degenerate—this is what his dominion -costs humanity. What meaning have those lying concepts, those handmaids -of morality, "Soul," "Spirit," "Free will," "God," if their aim is not -the physiological ruin of mankind? When earnestness is diverted from -the instincts that aim at self-preservation and an increase of bodily -energy, <i>i.e.</i> at an <i>increase of life</i>; when anæmia is raised to an -ideal and the contempt of the body is construed as "the salvation of -the soul," what is all this if it is not a recipe for decadence? Loss -of ballast, resistance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> offered to natural instincts, selflessness, -in fact—this is what has hitherto been known as morality. With <i>The -Dawn of Day</i> I first engaged in a struggle against the morality of -self-renunciation.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA" id="JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA">"JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p><i>Dawn of Day</i> is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The -same applies once more and in the highest degree to <i>La Gaya Scienza:</i> -in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go -gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most -wonderful month of January which I have ever lived—the whole book is a -gift—sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has -here become joyful.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Thou who with cleaving fiery lances<br /> -The stream of my soul from its ice dost free,<br /> -Till with a rush and a roar it advances<br /> -To enter with glorious hoping the sea:<br /> -Brighter to see and purer ever,<br /> -Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,—<br /> -So it praises thy wondrous endeavour,<br /> -January, thou beauteous saint!"<a name="FNanchor_1_18" id="FNanchor_1_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_18" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when -he has realised the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's -words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth -book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third -book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs -of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in -Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "<i>Gaya -Scienza,</i>" of that union of <i>singer, knight, and free spirit,</i> which -distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from -all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"—an -exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances -freely upon the corpse of morality,—is a perfect Provençalism.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_18" id="Footnote_1_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_18"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated for <i>Joyful Wisdom</i> by Paul V. Cohn.—TR.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE" id="THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE">"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA: A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I now wish to relate the history of <i>Zarathustra.</i> The fundamental -idea of the work, the <i>Eternal Recurrence,</i> the highest formula of -a Yea-saying to life that can ever be attained, was first conceived -in the month of August 1881. I made a note of the idea on a sheet of -paper, with the postscript: "Six thousand feet beyond man and time." -That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the -Lake of Silvaplana, and I halted not far from Surlei, beside a huge -rock that towered aloft like a pyramid. It was then that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> the thought -struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months before -this inspiration I had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden -and decisive change in my tastes—more particularly in music. The -whole of <i>Zarathustra</i> might perhaps be classified under the rubric -music. At all events, the essential condition of its production was -a second birth within me of the art of hearing. In Recoaro, a small -mountain resort near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and -my friend and maestro, Peter Gast—who was also one who had been born -again, discovered that the phœnix music hovered over us, in lighter -and brighter plumage than it had ever worn before. If, therefore, I -now calculate from that day forward the sudden production of the book, -under the most unlikely circumstances, in February 1883,—the last -part, out of which I quoted a few lines in my preface, was written -precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost -in Venice,—I come to the conclusion that the period of gestation -covered eighteen months. This period of exactly eighteen months, -might suggest, at least to Buddhists, that I am in reality a female -elephant The interval was devoted to the <i>Gaya Scienza,</i> which contains -hundreds of indications of the proximity of something unparalleled; -for, after all, it shows the beginning of <i>Zarathustra,</i> since it -presents <i>Zarathustra's</i> fundamental thought in the last aphorism -but one of the fourth book. To this interval also belongs that <i>Hymn -to Life</i> (for a mixed choir and orchestra), the score of which was -published in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> Leipzig two years ago by E. W. Fritsch, and which gave -perhaps no slight indication of my spiritual state during this year, -in which the essentially yea-saying pathos, which I call the tragic -pathos, completely filled me heart and limb. One day people will sing -it to my memory. The text, let it be well understood, as there is -some misunderstanding abroad on this point, is not by me; it was the -astounding inspiration of a young Russian lady, Miss Lou von Salome, -with whom I was then on friendly terms. He who is in any way able -to make some sense of the last words of the poem, will divine why I -preferred and admired it: there is greatness in them. Pain is not -regarded as an objection to existence: "And if thou hast no bliss now -left to crown me—Lead on! Thou hast thy Sorrow still."</p> - -<p>Maybe that my music is also great in this passage. (The last note of -the oboe, by the bye, is C sharp, not C. The latter is a misprint.) -During the following winter, I was living on that charmingly peaceful -Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, which cuts inland between Chiavari -and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold -and exceptionally rainy; and the small <i>albergo</i> in which I lived -was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if -the sea was rough. These circumstances were surely the very reverse -of favourable; and yet, in spite of it all, and as if in proof of my -belief that everything decisive comes to life in defiance of every -obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these -unfavourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> circumstances that my <i>Zarathustra</i> originated. In the -morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious -road to Zoagli, which rises up through a forest of pines and gives -one a view far out to sea. In the afternoon, or as often as my health -allowed, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond -Porto Fino. This spot affected me all the more deeply because it was -so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I -chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small forgotten -world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that -all <i>Zarathustra</i> came to me, above all, Zarathustra himself as a -type—I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that <i>he waylaid -me</i>.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>In order to understand this type, you must first be quite clear -concerning its fundamental physiological condition: this condition -is what I call <i>great healthiness.</i> In regard to this idea I cannot -make my meaning more plain or more personal than I have done already -in one of the last aphorisms (No. 382) of the fifth book of the <i>Gaya -Scienza</i>: "We new, nameless, and unfathomable creatures," so reads -the passage, "we firstlings of a future still unproved—we who have a -new end in view also require new means to that end, that is to say, -a new healthiness, a stronger, keener, tougher, bolder, and merrier -healthiness than any that has existed heretofore. He who longs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -feel in his own soul the whole range of values and aims that have -prevailed on earth until his day, and to sail round all the coasts -of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea'; who, from the adventures of his -own inmost experience, would fain know how it feels to be a conqueror -and discoverer of the ideal;—as also how it is with the artist, the -saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the man of piety and the -godlike anchorite of yore;—such a man requires one thing above all -for his purpose, and that is, <i>great healthiness</i>—such healthiness as -he not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, -because he is continually sacrificing it again, and is compelled to -sacrifice it! And now, therefore, after having been long on the way, -we Argonauts of the ideal, whose pluck is greater than prudence would -allow, and who are often shipwrecked and bruised, but, as I have said, -healthier than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, and for -ever recovering our health—it would seem as if we had before us, as -a reward for all our toils, a country still undiscovered, the horizon -of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to every country and every -refuge of the ideal that man has ever known, a world so overflowing -with beauty, strangeness, doubt, terror, and divinity, that both our -curiosity and our lust of possession are frantic with eagerness. Alas! -how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our -conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with <i>the man -of the present day</i>? This is bad indeed; but, that we should regard -his worthiest aims and hopes with ill-concealed amusement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> or perhaps -give them no thought at all, is inevitable. Another ideal now leads -us on, a wonderful, seductive ideal, full of danger, the pursuit of -which we should be loath to urge upon any one, because we are not so -ready to acknowledge any one's <i>right to it:</i> the ideal of a spirit who -plays ingenuously (that is to say, involuntarily, and as the outcome -of superabundant energy and power) with everything that, hitherto, -has been called holy, good, inviolable, and divine; to whom even the -loftiest thing that the people have with reason made their measure of -value would be no better than a danger, a decay, and an abasement, or -at least a relaxation and temporary forgetfulness of self: the ideal -of a humanly superhuman well-being and goodwill, which often enough -will seem inhuman—as when, for instance, it stands beside all past -earnestness on earth, and all past solemnities in hearing, speech, -tone, look, morality, and duty, as their most lifelike and unconscious -parody—but with which, nevertheless, <i>great earnestness</i> perhaps alone -begins, the first note of interrogation is affixed, the fate of the -soul changes, the hour hand moves, and tragedy begins."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion -of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? -If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of -superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible completely to -set aside the idea that one is the mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> incarnation, mouthpiece, or -medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation, in the sense -that something which profoundly convulses and upsets one becomes -suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and -accuracy—describes the simple fact. One hears—one does not seek; one -takes—one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like -lightning, it comes with necessity, without faltering—I have never had -any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy so great that the immense -strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, during which -one's steps now involuntarily rush and anon involuntarily lag. There -is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct -consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations -descending to one's very toes;—there is a depth of happiness in which -the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, -but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an -overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which -embraces a whole world of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing -rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort -of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens -quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, -of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntary nature of -the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all -perception of what is imagery and metaphor; everything seems to present -itself as the readiest, the truest, and simplest means of expression. -It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> own phrases, as if all -things came to one, and offered themselves as similes. ("Here do all -things come caressingly to thy discourse and flatter thee, for they -would fain ride upon thy back. On every simile thou ridest here unto -every truth. Here fly open unto thee all the speech and word shrines -of the world, here would all existence become speech, here would -all Becoming learn of thee how to speak.") This is my experience of -inspiration. I do not doubt but that I should have to go back thousands -of years before I could find another who could say to me: "It is mine -also!"</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>For a few weeks afterwards I lay an invalid in Genoa. Then followed -a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live—and -this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to -the poet-author of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and for the choice of which I was -not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. -I wanted to go to Aquila—the opposite of Rome in every respect, and -actually founded in a spirit of hostility towards that city, just as -I also shall found a city some day, as a memento of an atheist and -genuine enemy of the Church, a person very closely related to me, the -great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it -all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be -satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in -vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, -to avoid bad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the -Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for -a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from -which one obtained a general view of Rome, and could hear the fountains -plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed—"The -Night-Song." About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad -melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the affords, "dead through -immortality," ... In the summer, finding myself once more in the sacred -place where the first thought of <i>Zarathustra</i> flashed like a light -across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither -for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day -longer. In the ensuing winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which -then for the first time poured its light into my life, I found the -third <i>Zarathustra</i>—and came to the end of my task: the whole having -occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the -country round about Nice are hallowed for me by moments that I can -never forget. That decisive chapter, entitled "Old and New Tables," -was composed during the arduous ascent from the station to Eza—that -wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. During those moments when my -creative energy flowed most plentifully, my muscular activity was -always greatest. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of -"soul." I might often have been seen dancing in those days, and I could -then walk for seven or eight hours on end over the hills without a -suggestion of fatigue. I slept well and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> laughed a good deal—I was -perfectly robust and patient.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>With the exception of these periods of industry lasting ten days, the -years I spent during the production of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and thereafter, -were for me years of unparalleled distress. A man pays dearly for -being immortal: to this end he must die many times over during his -life. There is such a thing as what I call the rancour of greatness: -everything great, whether a work or a deed, once it is completed, turns -immediately against its author. The very fact that he is its author -makes him weak at this time. He can no longer endure his deed. He can -no longer look it full in the face. To have something at one's back -which one could never have willed, something to which the knot of human -destiny is attached—and to be forced thenceforward to bear it on one's -shoulders! Why, it almost crushes one! The rancour of greatness! A -somewhat different experience is the uncanny silence that reigns about -one. Solitude has seven skins which nothing can penetrate. One goes -among men; one greets friends: but these things are only new deserts, -the looks of those one meets no longer bear a greeting. At the best -one encounters a sort of revolt. This feeling of revolt, I suffered, -in varying degrees of intensity, at the hands of almost every one who -came near me; it would seem that nothing inflicts a deeper wound than -suddenly to make one's distance felt. Those noble natures are scarce -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> know not how to live unless they can revere. A third thing is -the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of -helplessness in the presence of all small things. This seems to me a -necessary outcome of the appalling expenditure of all defensive forces, -which is the first condition of every <i>creative</i> act, of every act -which proceeds from the most intimate, most secret, and most concealed -recesses of a man's being. The small defensive forces are thus, as it -were, suspended, and no fresh energy reaches them. I even think it -probable that one does not digest so well, that one is less willing -to move, and that one is much too open to sensations of coldness and -suspicion; for, in a large number of cases, suspicion is merely a -blunder in etiology. On one occasion when I felt like this I became -conscious of the proximity of a herd of cows, some time before I could -possibly have seen it with my eyes, simply owing to a return in me of -milder and more humane sentiments: <i>they</i> communicated warmth to me....</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>This work stands alone. Do not let us mention the poets in the -same breath; nothing perhaps has ever been produced out of such a -superabundance of strength. My concept "Dionysian" here became the -<i>highest</i> deed; compared with it everything that other men have done -seems poor and limited. The fact that a Goethe or a Shakespeare would -not for an instant have known how to take breath in this atmosphere of -passion and of the heights; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> fact that by the side of Zarathustra, -Dante is no more than a believer, and not one who first <i>creates</i> the -truth—that is to say, not a world-ruling spirit, a <i>Fate</i>; the fact -that the poets of the Veda were priests and not even fit to unfasten -Zarathustra's sandal—all this is the least of things, and gives no -idea of the distance, of the azure solitude, in which this work dwells. -Zarathustra has an eternal right to say: "I draw around me circles and -holy boundaries. Ever fewer are they that mount with me to ever loftier -heights. I build me a mountain range of ever holier mountains." If all -the spirit and goodness of every great soul were collected together, -the whole could not create a single one of Zarathustra's discourses. -The ladder upon which he rises and descends is of boundless length; -he has seen further, he has willed further, and <i>gone</i> further than -any other man. There is contradiction in every word that he utters, -this most yea-saying of all spirits. Through him all contradictions -are bound up into a new unity. The loftiest and the basest powers of -human nature, the sweetest, the lightest, and the most terrible, rush -forth from out one spring with everlasting certainty. Until his coming -no one knew what was height, or depth, and still less what was truth. -There is not a single passage in this revelation of truth which had -already been anticipated and divined by even the greatest among men. -Before Zarathustra there was no wisdom, no probing of the soul, no art -of speech: in his book, the most familiar and most vulgar thing utters -unheard-of words. The sentence quivers with passion. Eloquence has -become music. Forks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> lightning are hurled towards futures of which -no one has ever dreamed before. The most powerful use of parables that -has yet existed is poor beside it, and mere child's-play compared with -this return of language to the nature of imagery. See how Zarathustra -goes down from the mountain and speaks the kindest words to every -one! See with what delicate fingers he touches his very adversaries, -the priests, and how he suffers with them from themselves! Here, at -every moment, man is overcome, and the concept "Superman" becomes the -greatest reality,—out of sight, almost far away beneath him, lies -all that which heretofore has been called great in man. The halcyonic -brightness, the light feet, the presence of wickedness and exuberance -throughout, and all that is the essence of the type Zarathustra, was -never dreamt of before as a prerequisite of greatness. In precisely -these limits of space and in this accessibility to opposites -Zarathustra feels himself the <i>highest of all living things</i>: and when -you hear how he defines this highest, you will give up trying to find -his equal.</p> - -<p>"The soul which hath the longest ladder and can step down deepest,</p> - -<p>"The vastest soul that can run and stray and rove furthest in its own -domain,</p> - -<p>"The most necessary soul, that out of desire flingeth itself to chance,</p> - -<p>"The stable soul that plungeth into Becoming, the possessing soul that -must needs taste of willing and longing,</p> - -<p>"The soul that flyeth from itself, and over-taketh itself in the widest -circle,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The wisest soul that folly exhorteth most sweetly,</p> - -<p>"The most self-loving soul, in whom all things have their rise, their -ebb and flow."</p> - -<p>But this is the very idea of Dionysus. Another consideration leads -to this idea. The psychological problem presented by the type of -Zarathustra is, how can he, who in an unprecedented manner says -no, and <i>acts</i> no, in regard to all that which has been affirmed -hitherto, remain nevertheless a yea-saying spirit? how can he who -bears the heaviest destiny on his shoulders and whose very life-task -is a fatality, yet be the brightest and the most transcendental -of spirits—for Zarathustra is a dancer? how can he who has the -hardest and most terrible grasp of reality, and who has thought the -most "abysmal thoughts," nevertheless avoid conceiving these things -as objections to existence, or even as objections to the eternal -recurrence of existence?—how is it that on the contrary he finds -reasons for <i>being himself</i> the eternal affirmation of all things, "the -tremendous and unlimited saying of Yea and Amen"?... "Into every abyss -do I bear the benediction of my yea to Life." ... But this, once more, -is precisely the idea of Dionysus.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>What language will such a spirit speak, when he speaks unto his soul? -The language of the <i>dithyramb.</i> I am the inventor of the dithyramb. -Hearken unto the manner in which Zarathustra speaks to his soul <i>Before -Sunrise</i> (iii. 48). Before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> my time such emerald joys and divine -tenderness had found no tongue. Even the profoundest melancholy of -such a Dionysus takes shape as a dithyramb. As an example of this I -take "The Night-Song,"—the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his -superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is -condemned never to love.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover.</p> - -<p>"Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise -its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the -language of love.</p> - -<p>"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I -am begirt with light.</p> - -<p>"Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I -then suck at the breasts of light!</p> - -<p>"And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on -high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light.</p> - -<p>"But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the -flames I send forth.</p> - -<p>"I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft -have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking.</p> - -<p>"Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate -is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover -the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the -end of the feast!</p> - -<p>"They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there -'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be -bridged.</p> - -<p>"An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to -them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I -have given:—thus do I thirst for wickedness.</p> - -<p>"To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the -waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:—thus do I thirst for -wickedness.</p> - -<p>"For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my -loneliness give birth.</p> - -<p>"My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue -grow weary of itself.</p> - -<p>"He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing -groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom.</p> - -<p>"Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's -shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden -hands.</p> - -<p>"Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my -heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons!</p> - -<p>"Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do -they speak with their light—to me alone are they silent.</p> - -<p>"Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it -runneth its course.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward -suns,—thus doth every sun go its way.</p> - -<p>"Like a tempest do the suns fly over their course: for such is their -way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness.</p> - -<p>"Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, -that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk -and comfort from the udders of light.</p> - -<p>"Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice!</p> - -<p>"Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst!</p> - -<p>"It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after -darkness! And loneliness!</p> - -<p>"It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,—for -speech do I long.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>Such things have never been written, never been felt, never been -<i>suffered:</i> only a God, only Dionysus suffers in this way. The reply -to such a dithyramb on the sun's solitude in light would be Ariadne. -... Who knows, but I, who Ariadne is! To all such riddles no one -heretofore had ever found an answer; I doubt even whether any one had -ever seen a riddle here. One day Zarathustra severely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> determines his -life-task—and it is also mine. Let no one misunderstand its meaning. -It's a yea-saying to the point of justifying, to the point of redeeming -even all that is past.</p> - -<p>"I walk among men as among fragments of the future: of that future -which I see.</p> - -<p>"And all my creativeness and effort is but this, that I may be able to -think and recast all these fragments and riddles and dismal accidents -into one piece.</p> - -<p>"And how could I bear to be a man, if man were not also a poet, a -riddle reader, and a redeemer of chance!</p> - -<p>"To redeem all the past, and to transform every 'it was' into 'thus -would I have it'—that alone would be my salvation!"</p> - -<p>In another passage he defines as strictly as possible what to him alone -"man" can be,—not a subject for love nor yet for pity—Zarathustra -became master even of his loathing of man: man is to him a thing -unshaped, raw material, an ugly stone that needs the sculptor's chisel.</p> - -<p>"No longer to will, no longer to value, no longer to create! Oh, that -this great weariness may never be mine!</p> - -<p>"Even in the lust of knowledge, I feel only the joy of my will to beget -and to grow; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because -my procreative will is in it.</p> - -<p>"Away from God and gods did this will lure me: what would there be to -create if there were gods?</p> - -<p>"But to man doth it ever drive me anew, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> burning, creative will. -Thus driveth it the hammer to the stone.</p> - -<p>"Alas, ye men, within the stone there sleepeth an image for me, the -image of all my dreams! Alas, that it should have to sleep in the -hardest and ugliest stone!</p> - -<p>"<i>Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison.</i> From the stone -the fragments fly: what's that to me?</p> - -<p>"I will finish it: for a shadow came unto me—the stillest and lightest -thing on earth once came unto me!</p> - -<p>"The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Alas, my -brethren! What are the—gods to me now?"</p> - -<p>Let me call attention to one last point of view. The line in italics is -my pretext for this remark. A Dionysian life-task needs the hardness of -the hammer, and one of its first essentials is without doubt the <i>joy -even of destruction.</i> The command, "Harden yourselves!" and the deep -conviction that <i>all creators are hard,</i> is the really distinctive sign -of a Dionysian nature.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL" id="BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL">BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL:</a></h4> - - -<h5>"THE PRELUDE TO A PHILOSOPHY OF THE FUTURE"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly -as possible. Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was -accomplished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> there came the turn of the negative portion, both in -word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed -hitherto, the great war,—the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal -outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had slowly to -look about me for my peers, for those who, <i>out of strength,</i> would -proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time -onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much -about fishing as most people? If nothing was <i>caught,</i> it was not I who -was at fault <i>There were no fish to come and bite.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of -<i>modernity,</i> embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, -together with certain indications as to a type which would be the -reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble -and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a <i>school -for gentlemen</i>—the term <i>gentleman</i> being understood here in a -much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. -All those things of which the age is proud,—as, for instance, -far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the -historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its -lying-in-the-dust before <i>petits faits,</i> and the rage for science,—are -shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are -regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows -upon <i>Zarathustra,</i> you may possibly guess to what system of diet it -owes its life. The eye which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> owing to tremendous constraint, has -become accustomed to see at a great distance,—<i>Zarathustra</i> is even -more far-sighted than the Tsar,—is here forced to focus sharply that -which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about -him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this -book, the reader will find the same <i>voluntary</i> turning away from those -instincts which made a <i>Zarathustra</i> a possible feat. Refinement in -form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or -less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness -and cruelty,—the whole book does not contain one single good-natured -word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind -of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness -as is to be found in <i>Zarathustra</i>? From a theological standpoint—now -pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a -theologian—it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, -coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of -knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had -made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of -idleness, on that seventh day.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC" id="THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC">"THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS: A POLEMIC"</a></h4> - - -<p>The three essays which constitute this genealogy are, as regards -expression, aspiration, and the art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> of the unexpected, perhaps the -most curious things that have ever been written. Dionysus, as you know, -is also the god of darkness. In each case the beginning is calculated -to mystify; it is cool, scientific, even ironical, intentionally -thrust to the fore, intentionally reticent. Gradually less calmness -prevails; here and there a flash of lightning defines the horizon; -exceedingly unpleasant truths break upon your ears from out remote -distances with a dull, rumbling sound,—until very soon a fierce tempo -is attained in which everything presses forward at a terrible degree -of tension. At the end, in each case, amid fearful thunderclaps, a new -truth shines out between thick clouds. The truth of the first essays -the psychology of Christianity: the birth of Christianity out of the -spirit of resentment, not, as is supposed, out of the "Spirit,"—in -all its essentials, a counter-movement, the great insurrection against -the dominion of noble values. The second essay contains the psychology -of conscience: this is not, as you may believe, "the voice of God in -man"; it is the instinct of cruelty, which turns inwards once it is -unable to discharge itself outwardly. Cruelty is here exposed, for the -first time, as one of the oldest and most indispensable elements in the -foundation of culture. The third essay replies to the question as to -the origin of the formidable power of the ascetic ideal, of the priest -ideal, despite the fact that this ideal is essentially detrimental, -that it is a will to nonentity and to decadence. Reply: it flourished -not because God was active behind the priests, as is generally -believed, but because it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> a <i>faute de mieux</i>—from the fact that -hitherto it has been the only ideal and has had no competitors. "For -man prefers to aspire to nonentity than not to aspire at all." But -above all, until the time of <i>Zarathustra</i> there was no such thing -as a counter-ideal. You have understood my meaning. Three decisive -overtures on the part of a psychologist to a <i>Transvaluation of all -Values.</i>—This book contains the first psychology of the priest.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS" id="THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS">"THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS:</a></h4> - -<h5>HOW TO PHILOSOPHISE WITH THE HAMMER"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>This work—which covers scarcely one hundred and fifty pages, with its -cheerful and fateful tone, like a laughing demon, and the production -of which occupied so few days that I hesitate to give their number—is -altogether an exception among books: there is no work more rich in -substance, more independent, more upsetting—more wicked. If any one -should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how everything, before my -time, was standing on its head, he should begin reading me in this -book. That which is called "Idols" on the title page is simply the -old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain English, <i>The -Twilight of the Idols</i> means that the old truth is on its last legs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>There is no reality, no "ideality," which has not been touched in -this book (touched! what a cautious euphemism!). Not only the eternal -idols, but also the youngest—that is to say, the most senile: modern -ideas, for instance. A strong wind blows between the trees and in -all directions fall the fruit—the truths. There is the waste of an -all-too-rich autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush -some to death, there are too many of them. Those things that you can -grasp, however, are quite unquestionable; they are irrevocable decrees. -I alone have the criterion of "truths" in my possession. I alone <i>can</i> -decide. It would seem as if a second consciousness had grown up in me, -as if the "life-will" in me had thrown a light upon the downward path -along which it has been running throughout the ages. The <i>downward -path</i>—hitherto this had been called the road to "Truth." All obscure -impulse—"darkness and dismay"—is at an end, the "<i>good man</i>" was -precisely he who was least aware of the proper way.<a name="FNanchor_1_19" id="FNanchor_1_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_19" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> And, speaking -in all earnestness, no one before me knew the proper way, the way -upwards: only after my time could men once more find hope, life-tasks, -and roads mapped out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> that lead to culture—<i>I am the joyful harbinger -of this culture.</i> ... On this account alone I am also a fatality.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>Immediately after the completion of the above-named work, and without -letting even one day go by, I tackled the formidable task of the -<i>Transvaluation</i> with a supreme feeling of pride which nothing could -equal; and, certain at each moment of my immortality, I cut sign after -sign upon tablets of brass with the sureness of Fate. The Preface -came into being on 3rd September 1888. When, after having written it -down, I went out into the open that morning, I was greeted by the most -beautiful day I had ever seen in the Upper Engadine—clear, glowing -with colour, and presenting all the contrasts and all the intermediary -gradations between ice and the south. I left Sils-Maria only on the -20th of September. I had been forced to delay my departure owing to -floods, and I was very soon, and for some days, the only visitor in -this wonderful spot, on which my gratitude bestows the gift of an -immortal name. After a journey that was full of incidents, and not -without danger to life,—as for instance at Como, which was flooded -when I reached it in the dead of night,—I got to Turin on the -afternoon of the 21 st. Turin is the only suitable place for me, and -it shall be my home henceforward. I took the same lodgings as I had -occupied in the spring, 6111 Via Carlo Alberto, opposite the mighty -Palazzo Carignano, in which Vittorio Emanuele was born; and I had a -view of the Piazza Carlo Alberto and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> above it across to the hills. -Without hesitating, or allowing myself to be disturbed for a single -moment, I returned to my work, only the last quarter of which had still -to be written. On the 30th September, tremendous triumph; the seventh -day; the leisure of a god on the banks of the Po.<a name="FNanchor_2_20" id="FNanchor_2_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_20" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> On the same day, -I wrote the Preface to <i>The Twilight of the Idols,</i> the correction of -the proofs of which provided me with recreation during the month of -September. Never in my life have I experienced such an autumn; nor -had I ever imagined that such things were possible on earth—a Claude -Lorrain extended to infinity, each day equal to the last in its wild -perfection.</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> A witty reference to Goethe's well-known passage in the -Prologue to <i>Faust</i>:— -</p> -<p> -"A good man, though in darkness and dismay,<br /> -May still be conscious of the proper way."<br /> -</p> -<p> -The words are spoken by the Lord.—TR. </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> There is a wonderful promenade along the banks of the Po, -for which Turin is famous, and of which Nietzsche was particularly -fond.—TR.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM" id="THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM">"THE CASE OF WAGNER: A MUSICIAN'S PROBLEM"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>In order to do justice to this essay a man ought to suffer from the -fate of music as from an open wound.—From what do I suffer when I -suffer from the fate of music? From the fact that music has lost -its world-transfiguring, yea-saying character—that it is decadent -music and no longer the flute of Dionysus. Supposing, however, that -the fate of music be as dear to man as his own life, because joy and -suffering are alike bound up with it; then he will find this pamphlet -comparatively mild and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> full of consideration. To be cheerful in -such circumstances, and laugh good-naturedly with others at one's -self,—<i>ridendodicere severum</i><a name="FNanchor_1_21" id="FNanchor_1_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_21" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> when the <i>verum dicere</i> would -justify every sort of hardness,—is humanity itself. Who doubts that -I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to point my -<i>heavy</i> guns at Wagner?—Everything decisive in this question I kept -to myself—I have loved Wagner.—After all, an attack upon a more than -usually subtle "unknown person" whom another would not have divined -so easily, lies in the meaning and path of my life-task. Oh, I have -still quite a number of other "unknown persons" to unmask besides a -Cagliostro of Music! Above all, I have to direct an attack against -the German people, who, in matters of the spirit, grow every day -more indolent, poorer in instincts, and more <i>honest</i> who, with an -appetite for which they are to be envied, continue to diet themselves -on contradictions, and gulp down "Faith" in company with science, -Christian love together with anti-Semitism, and the will to power (to -the "Empire"), dished up with the gospel of the humble, without showing -the slightest signs of indigestion. Fancy this absence of party-feeling -in the presence of opposites! Fancy this gastric neutrality and -"disinterestedness"! Behold this sense of justice in the German palate, -which can grant equal rights to all,—which finds everything tasteful! -Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans are idealists. When I was last -in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Wagner and the -<i>Trumpeter of Sakkingen</i><a name="FNanchor_2_22" id="FNanchor_2_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_22" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> equal rights; while I myself witnessed -the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most -genuine and most German of musicians,—using German here in the old -sense of the word,—a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the -master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of -which was to cultivate and spread artful (<i>listige</i><a name="FNanchor_3_23" id="FNanchor_3_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_23" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>) Church music. -Without a shadow of doubt the Germans are idealists.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>But here nothing shall stop me from being rude, and from telling the -Germans one or two unpleasant home truths: who else would do it if I -did not? I refer to their laxity in matters historical. Not only have -the Germans entirely lost the <i>breadth of vision</i> which enables one -to grasp the course of culture and the values of culture; not only -are they one and all political (or Church) puppets; but they have -also actually <i>put a ban upon</i> this very breadth of vision. A man -must first and foremost be "German," he must belong to "<i>the</i> race"; -then only can he pass judgment upon all values and lack of values -in history—then only can he establish them.... To be German is in -itself an argument, "Germany, Germany above all,"<a name="FNanchor_4_24" id="FNanchor_4_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_24" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> is a principle; -the Germans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> stand for the "moral order of the universe" in history; -compared with the Roman Empire, they are the up-holders of freedom; -compared with the eighteenth century, they are the restorers of -morality, of the "Categorical Imperative." There is such a thing as -the writing of history according to the lights of Imperial Germany; -there is, I fear, anti-Semitic history—there is also history written -with an eye to the Court, and Herr von Treitschke is not ashamed -of himself. Quite recently an idiotic opinion <i>in historicis,</i> an -observation of Vischer the Swabian æsthete, since happily deceased, -made the round of the German newspapers as a "truth" to which every -German <i>must assent</i> The observation was this: "The Renaissance <i>and</i> -the Reformation only together constitute a whole—the æsthetic -rebirth, and the moral rebirth." When I listen to such things, I lose -all patience, and I feel inclined, I even feel it my duty, to tell the -Germans, for once in a way, all that they have on their conscience. -<i>Every great crime against culture for the last four centuries lies -on their conscience....</i> And always for the same reason, always owing -to their bottomless cowardice in the face of reality, which is also -cowardice in the face of truth; always owing to the love of falsehood -which has become almost instinctive in them—in short, "idealism." -It was the Germans who caused Europe to lose the fruits, the whole -meaning of her last period of greatness—the period of the Renaissance. -At a moment when a higher order of values, values that were noble, -that said yea to life, and that guaranteed a future, had succeeded -in triumphing over the opposite values,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> the values of degeneration, -in the very seat of Christianity itself,—and <i>even in the hearts of -those sitting there,</i>—Luther, that cursed monk, not only restored the -Church, but, what was a thousand times worse, restored Christianity, -and at a time too when it lay defeated. Christianity, the <i>Denial of -the Will to Live,</i> exalted to a religion! Luther was an impossible -monk who, thanks to his own "impossibility," attacked the Church, -and in so doing restored it! Catholics would be perfectly justified -in celebrating feasts in honour of Luther, and in producing festival -plays<a name="FNanchor_5_25" id="FNanchor_5_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_25" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> in his honour. Luther and the "rebirth of morality"! May all -psychology go to the devil! Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans -are idealists. On two occasions when, at the cost of enormous courage -and self-control, an upright, unequivocal, and perfectly scientific -attitude of mind had been attained, the Germans were able to discover -back stairs leading down to the old "ideal" again, compromises between -truth and the "ideal," and, in short, formulæ for the right to reject -science and to perpetrate falsehoods. Leibniz and Kant—these two -great breaks upon the intellectual honesty of Europe! Finally, at a -moment when there appeared on the bridge that spanned two centuries -of decadence, a superior force of genius and will which was strong -enough to consolidate Europe and to convert it into a political and -economic unit, with the object of ruling the world, the Germans, with -their Wars of Independence, robbed Europe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> of the significance—the -marvellous significance, of Napoleon's life. And in so doing they laid -on their conscience everything that followed, everything that exists -to-day,—this sickliness and want of reason which is most opposed to -culture, and which is called Nationalism,—this <i>névrose nationale</i> -from which Europe is suffering acutely; this eternal subdivision of -Europe into petty states, with politics on a municipal scale: they have -robbed Europe itself of its significance, of its reason,—and have -stuffed it into a cul-de-sac. Is there any one except me who knows the -way out of this cul-de-sac? Does anyone except me know of an aspiration -which would be great enough to bind the people of Europe once more -together?</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>And after all, why should I not express my suspicions? In my case, -too, the Germans will attempt to make a great fate give birth merely -to a mouse. Up to the present they have compromised themselves with -me; I doubt whether the future will improve them. Alas! how happy I -should be to prove a false prophet in this matter! My natural readers -and listeners are already Russians, Scandinavians, and Frenchmen—will -they always be the same? In the history of knowledge, Germans are -represented only by doubtful names, they have been able to produce only -"<i>unconscious</i>" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, -Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or -Leibniz; they were all mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> <i>Schleiermachers</i>).<a name="FNanchor_6_26" id="FNanchor_6_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_26" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> The Germans must -not have the honour of seeing the first upright intellect in their -history of intellects, that intellect in which truth ultimately got the -better of the fraud of four thousand years, reckoned as one with the -German intellect. "German intellect" is my foul air: I breathe with -difficulty in the neighbourhood of this psychological uncleanliness -that has now become instinctive—an uncleanliness which in every -word and expression betrays a German. They have never undergone a -seventeenth century of hard self-examination, as the French have,—a -La Rochefoucauld, a Descartes, are a thousand times more upright -than the very first among Germans,—the latter have not yet had any -psychologists. But psychology is almost the standard of measurement -for the cleanliness or uncleanliness of a race.... For if a man is -not even clean, how can he be deep? The Germans are like women, you -can scarcely ever I fathom their depths—they haven't any, and that's -the end of it. Thus they cannot even be called shallow. That which is -called "deep" in Germany, is precisely this instinctive uncleanliness -towards one's self, of which I have just spoken: people refuse to be -clear in regard to their own natures. Might I be allowed, perhaps, to -suggest the word "German" as an international epithet denoting this -psychological depravity?—At the moment of writing, for instance, the -German Emperor is declaring it to be his Christian duty to liberate -the slaves in Africa;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> among us Europeans, then, this would be called -simply "German." ... Have the Germans ever produced even a book that -had depth? They are lacking in the mere idea of what constitutes a -book. I have known scholars who thought that Kant was deep. At the -Court of Prussia I fear that Herr von Treitschke is regarded as deep. -And when I happen to praise Stendhal as a deep psychologist, I have -often been compelled, in the company of German University Professors, -to spell his name aloud.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>And why should I not proceed to the end? I am fond of clearing the -air. It is even part of my ambition to be considered as essentially a -despiser of Germans. I expressed my suspicions of the German character -even at the age of six-and-twenty (see <i>Thoughts out of Season,</i> -vol. ii. pp. 164, 165),—to my mind the Germans are impossible. -When I try to think of the kind of man who is opposed to me in all -my instincts, my mental image takes the form of a German. The first -thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a -feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order -everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for -this is what constitutes a gentleman. Otherwise he belongs hopelessly -to that open-hearted, open-minded—alas! and always very good-natured -species, <i>la canaille</i>! But the Germans are <i>canaille</i>—alas! they are -so good-natured! A man lowers himself by frequenting the society of -Germans: the German places every one on an equal footing. With the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -exception of my intercourse with one or two artists, and above all -with Richard Wagner, I cannot say that I have spent one pleasant hour -with Germans. Suppose, for one moment, that the profoundest spirit -of all ages were to appear among Germans, then one of the saviours -of the Capitol would be sure to arise and declare that his own ugly -soul was just as great. I can no longer abide this race with which -a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances—woe -to me! I am a nuance—and which has not <i>esprit</i> in its feet, and -cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, -they simply have legs. The Germans have not the faintest idea of how -vulgar they are—but this in itself is the acme of vulgarity,—they are -not even ashamed of being merely Germans. They will have their say in -everything, they regard themselves as fit to decide all questions; I -even fear that they have decided about me. My whole life is essentially -a proof of this remark. In vain have I sought among them for a sign of -tact and delicacy towards myself. Among Jews I did indeed find it, but -not among Germans. I am so constituted as to be gentle and kindly to -every one,—I have the right not to draw distinctions,—but this does -not prevent my eyes from being open. I except no one, and least of all -my friends,—I only trust that this has not prejudiced my reputation -for humanity among them? There are five or six things which I have -always made points of honour. Albeit, the truth remains that for many -years I have considered almost every letter that has reached me as a -piece of cynicism. There is more cynicism in an attitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> of goodwill -towards me than in any sort of hatred. I tell every friend to his face -that he has never thought it worth his while to <i>study</i> any one of my -writings: from the slightest hints I gather that they do not even know -what lies hidden in my books. And with regard even to my <i>Zarathustra,</i> -which of my friends would have seen more in it than a piece of -unwarrantable, though fortunately harmless, arrogance? Ten years have -elapsed, and no one has yet felt it a duty to his conscience to defend -my name against the absurd silence beneath which it has been entombed. -It was a foreigner, a Dane, who first showed sufficient keenness of -instinct and of courage to do this, and who protested indignantly -against my so-called friends. At what German University to-day would -such lectures on my philosophy be possible, as those which Dr. Brandes -delivered last spring in Copenhagen, thus proving once more his right -to the title psychologist? For my part, these things have never caused -me any pain; that which is <i>necessary</i> does not offend me. <i>Amor fati</i> -is the core of my nature. This, however, does not alter the fact that -I love irony and even world-historic irony. And thus, about two years -before hurling the destructive thunderbolt of the <i>Transvaluation,</i> -which will send the whole of civilisation into convulsions, I sent -my <i>Case of Wagner</i> out into the world. The Germans were given the -chance of blundering and immortalising their stupidity once more on my -account, and they still have just enough time to do it in. And have -they fallen in with my plans? Admirably! my dear Germans. Allow me to -congratulate you.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_21" id="Footnote_1_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_21"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The motto of <i>The Case of Wagner.</i>—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_22" id="Footnote_2_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_22"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> An opera by Nessler which was all the rage in Germany -twenty years ago.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_23" id="Footnote_3_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_23"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Unfortunately it is impossible to render this play on the -words in English.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_24" id="Footnote_4_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_24"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The German National Song (<i>Deutschland, Deutschland über -alles</i>).—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_25" id="Footnote_5_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_25"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Ever since the year 1617 such plays have been produced by -the Protestants of Germany.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_26" id="Footnote_6_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_26"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <i>Schleiermacher</i> literally means a weaver or maker of -veils.—TR.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY" id="WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY">WHY I AM A FATALITY</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I know my destiny. There will come a day when my name will recall -the memory of something formidable—a crisis the like of which has -never been known on earth, the memory of the most profound clash -of consciences, and the passing of a sentence upon all that which -theretofore had been believed, exacted, and hallowed. I am not a -man, I am dynamite. And with it all there is nought of the founder -of a religion in me. Religions are matters for the mob; after coming -in contact with a religious man, I always feel that I must wash my -hands.... I require no "believers," it is my opinion that I am too -full of malice to believe even in myself; I never address myself to -masses. I am horribly frightened that one day I shall be pronounced -"holy." You will understand why I publish this book beforehand—it is -to prevent people from wronging me. I refuse to be a saint; I would -rather be a clown. Maybe I am a clown. And I am notwithstanding, or -rather not <i>not</i>withstanding, the mouthpiece of truth; for nothing -more blown-out with falsehood has ever existed, than a saint. But -my truth is terrible: for hitherto <i>lies</i> have been called truth. -<i>The Transvaluation of all Values,</i> this is my formula for mankind's -greatest step towards coming to its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> senses—a step which in me became -flesh and genius. My destiny ordained that I should be the first decent -human being, and that I should feel myself opposed to the falsehood -of millenniums. I was the first to discover truth, and for the simple -reason that I was the first who became conscious of falsehood as -falsehood—that is to say, I smelt it as such. My genius resides in -my nostrils. I contradict as no one has contradicted hitherto, and am -nevertheless the reverse of a negative spirit. I am the harbinger of -joy, the like of which has never existed before; I have discovered -tasks of such lofty greatness that, until my time, no one had any idea -of such things. Mankind can begin to have fresh hopes, only now that I -have lived. Thus, I am necessarily a man of Fate. For when Truth enters -the lists against the falsehood of ages, shocks are bound to ensue, -and a spell of earthquakes, followed by the transposition of hills and -valleys, such as the world has never yet imagined even in its dreams. -The concept "politics" then becomes elevated entirely to the sphere -of spiritual warfare. All the mighty realms of the ancient order of -society are blown into space—for they are all based on falsehood: -there will be wars, the like of which have never been seen on earth -before. Only from my time and after me will politics on a large scale -exist on earth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>If you should require a formula for a destiny of this kind that has -taken human form, you will find it in my <i>Zarathustra</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And he who would be a creator in good and evil—verily, he must first -be a destroyer, and break values into pieces.</p> - -<p>"Thus the greatest evil belongeth unto the greatest good: but this is -the creative good."</p> - -<p>I am by far the most terrible man that has ever existed; but this does -not alter the fact that I shall become the most beneficent. I know the -joy of <i>annihilation</i> to a degree which is commensurate with my power -to annihilate. In both cases I obey my Dionysian nature, which knows -not how to separate the negative deed from the saying of yea. I am the -first immoralist, and in this sense I am essentially the annihilator.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>People have never asked me as they should have done, what the name -of Zarathustra precisely meant in my mouth, in the mouth of the -first immoralist; for that which distinguishes this Persian from all -others in the past is the very fact that he was the exact reverse -of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle -between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. -The translation of morality into the realm of metaphysics, as force, -cause, end-in-itself, is his work. But the very question suggests -its own answer. Zarathustra created this most portentous of all -errors,—morality; therefore he must be the first to expose it. Not -only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject -than any other thinker,—all history is indeed the experimental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things,—but -because of the more important fact that Zarathustra was the most -truthful of thinkers. In his teaching alone is truthfulness upheld as -the highest virtue—that is to say, as the reverse of the cowardice -of the "idealist" who takes to his heels at the sight of reality. -Zarathustra has more pluck in his body than all other thinkers put -together. To tell the truth and to aim straight: that is the first -Persian virtue. Have I made myself clear? ... The overcoming of -morality by itself, through truthfulness, the moralist's overcoming of -himself in his opposite—in me—that is what the name Zarathustra means -in my mouth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>In reality two negations are involved in my title Immoralist. I first -of all deny the type of man that has hitherto been regarded as the -highest—the <i>good,</i> the <i>kind,</i> and the <i>charitable</i>; and I also -deny that kind of morality which has become recognised and paramount -as morality-in-itself—I speak of the morality of decadence, or, to -use a still cruder term, Christian morality. I would agree to the -second of the two negations being regarded as the more decisive, for, -reckoned as a whole, the overestimation of goodness and kindness seems -to me already a consequence of decadence, a symptom of weakness, and -incompatible with any ascending and yea-saying life. Negation and -annihilation are inseparable from a yea-saying attitude towards life. -Let me halt for a moment at the question of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> psychology of the -good man. In order to appraise the value of a certain type of man, the -cost of his maintenance must be calculated,—and the conditions of his -existence must be known. The condition of the existence of the <i>good</i> -is falsehood: or, otherwise expressed, the refusal at any price to -see how reality is actually constituted. The refusal to see that this -reality is not so constituted as always to be stimulating beneficent -instincts, and still less, so as to suffer at all moments the intrusion -of ignorant and good-natured hands. To consider distress of all kinds -as an objection, as something which must be done away with, is the -greatest nonsense on earth; generally speaking, it is nonsense of the -most disastrous sort, fatal in its stupidity—almost as mad as the will -to abolish bad weather, out of pity for the poor, so to speak. In the -great economy of the whole universe, the terrors of reality (in the -passions, in the desires, in the will to power) are incalculably more -necessary than that form of petty happiness which is called "goodness"; -it is even needful to practise leniency in order so much as to allow -the latter a place at all, seeing that it is based upon a falsification -of the instincts. I shall have an excellent opportunity of showing the -incalculably calamitous consequences to the whole of history, of the -credo of optimism, this monstrous offspring of the <i>homines optimi.</i> -Zarathustra,<a name="FNanchor_1_27" id="FNanchor_1_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_27" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> the first who recognised that the optimist is just as -degenerate as the pessimist, though perhaps more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> detrimental, says: -"<i>Good men never speak the truth. False shores and false harbours -were ye taught by the good. In the lies of the good were ye born and -bred. Through the good everything hath become false and crooked from -the roots.</i>" Fortunately the world is not built merely upon those -instincts which would secure to the good-natured herd animal his paltry -happiness. To desire everybody to become a "good man," "a gregarious -animal," "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul," or—as Herbert -Spencer wished—a creature of altruism, would mean robbing existence of -its greatest character, castrating man, and reducing humanity to a sort -of wretched Chinadom. <i>And this some have tried to do! It is precisely -this that men called morality.</i> In this sense Zarathustra calls "the -good," now "the last men," and anon "the beginning of the end"; and -above all, he considers them as <i>the most detrimental kind of men,</i> -because they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and at the -cost of the Future.</p> - -<p>"The good—they cannot create; they are ever the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>"They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables; they sacrifice -<i>unto themselves</i> the future; they crucify the whole future of humanity!</p> - -<p>"The good—they are ever the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world may do, <i>the harm of the -good is the most calamitous of all harm.</i>"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good man, is perforce the -friend of the evil man. When a degenerate kind of man has succeeded -to the highest rank among the human species, his position must have -been gained at the cost of the reverse type—at the cost of the strong -man who is certain of life. When the gregarious animal stands in -the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be -degraded to the rank of the evil. If falsehood insists at all costs on -claiming the word "truth" for its own particular standpoint, the really -truthful man must be sought out among the despised. Zarathustra allows -of no doubt here; he says that it was precisely the knowledge of the -good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute horror of men. And -it was out of this feeling of repulsion that he grew the wings which -allowed him to soar into remote futures. He does not conceal the fact -that his type of man is one which is relatively superhuman—especially -as opposed to the "good" man, and that the good and the just would -regard his superman as the <i>devil.</i></p> - -<p>"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this is the doubt that ye -wake in my breast, and this is my secret laughter: methinks ye would -call my Superman—the devil! So strange are ye in your souls to all -that is great, that the Superman would be terrible in your eyes for his -goodness."</p> - -<p>It is from this passage, and from no other, that you must set out to -understand the goal to which Zarathustra aspires—the kind of man that -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> conceives sees reality <i>as it is;</i> he is strong enough for this—he -is not estranged or far removed from it, he is that reality himself, in -his own nature can be found all the terrible and questionable character -of reality: <i>only thus can man have greatness.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>But I have chosen the title of Immoral is t as a surname and as a badge -of honour in yet another sense; I am very proud to possess this name -which distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No one hitherto -has felt Christian morality beneath him; to that end there were needed -height, a remoteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological depth, not -believed to be possible hitherto. Up to the present Christian morality -has been the Circe of all thinkers—they stood at her service. What -man, before my time, had descended into the underground caverns from -out of which the poisonous fumes of this ideal—of this slandering -of the world—burst forth? What man had even dared to suppose that -they were underground caverns? Was a single one of the philosophers -who preceded me a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a -psychologist—that is to say, a "superior swindler," an "Idealist"? -Before my time there was no psychology. To be the first in this new -realm may amount to a curse; at all events, it is a fatality: <i>for one -is also the first to despise.</i> My danger is the loathing of mankind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? That which defines me, that which makes me -stand apart from the whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that -I <i>unmasked</i> Christian morality. For this reason I was in need of a -word which conveyed the idea of a challenge to everybody. Not to have -awakened to these discoveries before, struck me as being the sign -of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has on its conscience, -as self-deception become instinctive, as the fundamental will to -be blind to every phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in -fact, as an almost criminal fraud <i>in psychologicis.</i> Blindness in -regard to Christianity is the essence of criminality—for it is the -crime <i>against</i> life. Ages and peoples, the first as well as the -last, philosophers and old women, with the exception of five or six -moments in history (and of myself, the seventh), are all alike in -this. Hitherto the Christian has been <i>the</i> "moral being," a peerless -oddity, and, <i>as</i> "a moral being," he was more absurd, more vain, more -thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage to himself, than the greatest -despiser of humanity could have deemed possible. Christian morality -is the most malignant form of all false too the actual Circe of -humanity: that which has corrupted mankind. It is not error as error -which infuriates me at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the -millenniums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of decency, and -of bravery in spiritual things, which betrays itself in the triumph of -Christianity; it is rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -ghastly fact that <i>anti-nature</i> itself received the highest honours as -morality and as law, and remained suspended over man as the Categorical -Imperative. Fancy blundering in this way, <i>not</i> as an individual, -<i>not</i> as a people, but as a whole species! as <i>humanity</i>! To teach the -contempt of all the principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the -existence of a "soul," of a "spirit," in order to be able to defy the -body; to spread the feeling that there is something impure in the very -first prerequisite of life—in sex; to seek the principle of evil in -the profound need of growth and expansion—that is to say, in severe -self-love (the term itself is slanderous); and conversely to see a -higher moral value—but what am I talking about?—I mean the <i>moral -value per se,</i> in the typical signs of decline, in the antagonism of -the instincts, in "selflessness," in the loss of ballast, in "the -suppression of the personal element," and in "love of one's neighbour" -(neighbouritis!). What! is humanity itself in a state of degeneration? -Has it always been in this state? One thing is certain, that ye are -taught only the values of decadence as the highest values. The morality -of self-renunciation is essentially the morality of degeneration; the -fact, "I am going to the dogs," is translated into the imperative," -Ye shall all go to the dogs"—and not only into the imperative. This -morality of self-renunciation, which is the only kind of morality that -has been taught hitherto, betrays the will to nonentity—it denies life -to the very roots. There still remains the possibility that it is not -mankind that is in a state of degeneration, but only that parasitical -kind of man—the priest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> who, by means of morality and lies, has -climbed up to his position of determinator of values, who divined in -Christian morality his road to power. And, to tell the truth, this -is my opinion. The teachers and I leaders of mankind—including the -theologians—have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their) -transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards; life; hence -morality. <i>The definition of morality;</i> Morality is the idiosyncrasy of -decadents, actuated by a desire <i>to avenge themselves with success upon -life.</i> I attach great value to this definition.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? I have not uttered a single word which I had -not already said five years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra. -The unmasking of Christian morality is an event which unequalled in -history, it is a real catastrophe. The man who throws light upon it -is a <i>force majeure,</i> a fatality; he breaks the history of man into -two. Time is reckoned up before him and after him. The lightning -flash of truth struck precisely that which theretofore had stood -highest: he who understands what was destroyed by that flash should -look to see whether he still holds anything in his hands. Everything -which until then was called truth, has been revealed as the most -detrimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form of life; the -holy pretext, which was the "improvement" of man, has been recognised -as a ruse for draining life of its energy and of its blood. Morality -conceived as <i>Vampirism</i>.... The man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> unmasks morality has also -unmasked the worthlessness of the values in which men either believe -or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be revered in the most -venerable man—even in the types of men that have been pronounced -holy; all he can see in them is the most fatal kind of abortions, -fatal, <i>because they fascinate.</i> The concept "God" was invented as -the opposite of the concept life—everything detrimental, poisonous, -and slanderous, and all deadly hostility to life, wad bound together -in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts "beyond" and "true world" -were invented in order to depreciate the only world that exists—in -order that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left to earthly -reality. The concepts "soul," "spirit," and last of all the concept -"immortal soul," were invented in order to throw contempt on the body, -in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to cultivate an attitude -of appalling levity towards all things in life which deserve to be -treated seriously, <i>i.e.</i> the questions of nutrition and habitation, -of intellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanliness, and -weather. Instead of health, we find the "salvation of the soul"—that -is to say, a <i>folie circulate</i> fluctuating between convulsions and -penitence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept "sin," together -with the torture instrument appertaining to it, which is the concept -"free will," was invented in order to confuse and muddle our instincts, -and to render the mistrust of them man's second nature! In the concepts -"disinterestedness" and "self-denial," the actual signs of decadence -are to be found. The allurement of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> which is detrimental, the -inability to discover one's own advantage and self-destruction, are -made into absolute qualities, into the "duty," the "holiness," and -the "divinity" of man. Finally—to keep the worst to the last—by the -notion of the <i>good</i> man, all that is favoured which is weak, ill, -botched, and sick-in-itself, which <i>ought to be wiped out.</i> The law -of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of opposition to the -proud, well-constituted man, to him who says yea to life, to him who -is certain of the future, and who guarantees the future—this man is -henceforth called the <i>evil</i> one. And all this was believed in as -<i>morality!—Ecrasez l'infâme!</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">9</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? <i>Dionysus</i> versus <i>Christ.</i></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_27" id="Footnote_1_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_27"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Needless to say this is Nietzsche, and no longer the -Persian.—TR.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a><br /><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - - - -<h4><a name="EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY" id="EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY">EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY</a></h4> - - -<p>The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in -the Editorial Note to <i>The Joyful Wisdom,</i> in which he declared -his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has -nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. -This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an -injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an -author, as it were, in his <i>négligé,</i> or, in plain English, "in his -shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and -rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage -of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not -readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, -contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small -notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress -everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, -more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. -He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the <i>Songs -and Epigrams,</i> nearly all of which are to be found translated here, -and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half -have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> appear in this -volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated -in the Fourth Part of <i>Zarathustra.</i> These Dionysus Dithyrambs were -prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final -manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual -composition, however, belongs to an earlier date.</p> - -<p>All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. -Paul Victor Cohn.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a><br /><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a><br /><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></p> -<h3><a name="SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC" id="SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC">SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.</a></h3> - - -<h4>SONGS</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -TO MELANCHOLY<a name="FNanchor_1_28" id="FNanchor_1_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_28" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O Melancholy, be not wroth with me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I this pen should point to praise thee only,</span><br /> -And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely.</span><br /> -Thus oft thou saw'st me,—yesterday, at least,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming,</span><br /> -While, visioning the carrion of his feast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming.</span><br /> -<br /> -Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning!</span><br /> -Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening.</span><br /> -What though they did not soar unto thine height,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices,</span><br /> -For <i>that</i> they sank the deeper so they might<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.</span><br /> -<br /> -Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bent hideous like a savage at his altar,</span><br /> -There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter.</span><br /> -<br /> -So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thunder of the avalanche's paces,</span><br /> -Thou spakest to me—nor wast false like man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces.</span><br /> -<br /> -Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me,</span><br /> -To point me out the vulture's airy are<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laughing avalanches, to repel me.</span><br /> -Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The torment to win life in all its changes;</span><br /> -Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges.</span><br /> -<br /> -All this am I—shuddering I feel it all—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower,</span><br /> -The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moaning storm—all symbols of thy power,—</span><br /> -Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting,</span><br /> -I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Life, for Life, for Life—forever thirsting!</span><br /> -<br /> -O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven.</span><br /> -He trembles who beholds thine awful mask;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given.</span><br /> -Song upon trembling song by starts and fits<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding,</span><br /> -The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O goddess, goddess—leave me to my scolding!</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AFTER A NIGHT STORM<a name="FNanchor_2_29" id="FNanchor_2_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_29" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane.</span><br /> -Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roars the swollen brook unto the plain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll,</span><br /> -'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl.</span><br /> -<br /> -Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Raptures of thy voice—and howls of pain.</span><br /> -Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the mace of thunder hurled amain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam,</span><br /> -Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am!</span><br /> -<br /> -The immortal Amazon they call me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All things weak and womanish I shun;</span><br /> -Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Victress I and tigress all in one!</span><br /> -<br /> -Where I tread there corpses fall before me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From mine eyes the furious torches fly,</span><br /> -And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp—or die!"</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>Two Fragments</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -1<br /> -<br /> -Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we sing in friendship's honour!</span><br /> -Where the eye of friendship glances,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Filled with all the joy of friendship</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come thou nigh to aid me,</span><br /> -Rosy dawn in thy gaze and<br /> -In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -Morning's past: the sun of noonday<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scorches with hot ray our heads.</span><br /> -Let us sit beneath the arbour<br /> -Singing songs in praise of friendship.<br /> -Friendship was our life's red dawning,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its sunset red shall be.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WANDERER<a name="FNanchor_3_30" id="FNanchor_3_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_30" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -All through the night a wanderer walks<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sturdy of stride,</span><br /> -With winding vale and sloping height<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E'er at his side.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair is the night:</span><br /> -On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>And knows not where his path will lead.<br /> -<br /> -A bird's song in the night is heard,<br /> -"Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How dost thou grip my sense and feet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pourest heart-vexation sweet</span><br /> -Into mine ear—I must remain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hearken fain:</span><br /> -Why lure me with inviting strain?"<br /> -<br /> -The good bird speaks, staying his song:<br /> -"I lure not thee,—no, thou art wrong—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With these my trills</span><br /> -I lure my mate from off the hills—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor heed thy plight.</span><br /> -To me alone the night's not fair.<br /> -What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,<br /> -On, onward ever, resting ne'er.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why stand'st thou now?</span><br /> -What has my piping done to thee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou roaming wight?"</span><br /> -The good bird pondered, silent quite,<br /> -"Why doth my piping change his plight?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why stands he now,</span><br /> -That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO THE GLACIER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -At noontide hour, when first,<br /> -Into the mountains Summer treads,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,<br /> -Then too he speaks,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>Yet we can only see his speech.<br /> -<br /> -His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath<br /> -On fevered couch.<br /> -The glacier and the fir tree and the spring<br /> -Answer his call<br /> -—Yet we their answer only see.<br /> -For faster from the rock leaps down<br /> -The torrent stream, as though to greet,<br /> -And stands, like a white column trembling,<br /> -All yearning there.<br /> -And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree<br /> -Than e'er before.<br /> -And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone<br /> -A sudden light breaks forth—<br /> -Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign.<br /> -<br /> -Even the dead man's eye<br /> -Surely once more grows light,<br /> -When, sorrowful, his child<br /> -Gives him embrace and kiss:<br /> -Surely once more the flame of light<br /> -Wells out, and glowing into life<br /> -The dead eye speaks: "My child!<br /> -Ah child, you know I love you true!"<br /> -<br /> -So all things glow and speak—the glacier speaks,<br /> -The brook, the fir,<br /> -Speak with their glance the selfsame words:<br /> -We love you true,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true!<br /> -<br /> -And he,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,<br /> -Woe-worn, gives kisses<br /> -More ardent ever,<br /> -And will not go:<br /> -But like to veils he blows his words<br /> -From out his lips,<br /> -His cruel words:<br /> -"My greeting's parting,<br /> -My coming going,<br /> -In youth I die."<br /> -<br /> -All round they hearken<br /> -And scarcely breathe<br /> -(No songster sings),<br /> -And shuddering run<br /> -Like gleaming ray<br /> -Over the mountain;<br /> -All round they ponder,—<br /> -Nor speak—<br /> -<br /> -Twas at the noon,<br /> -At noontide hour, when first<br /> -Into the mountains Summer treads,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AUTUMN<a name="FNanchor_4_31" id="FNanchor_4_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_31" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!—<br /> -The sun creeps 'gainst the hill<br /> -And climbs and climbs<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>And rests at every step.<br /> -<br /> -How faded grew the world!<br /> -On weary, slackened strings the wind<br /> -Playeth his tune.<br /> -Fair Hope fled far—<br /> -He waileth after.<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!<br /> -O fruit of the tree,<br /> -Thou tremblest, fallest?<br /> -What secret whispered unto thee<br /> -The Night,<br /> -That icy shudders deck thy cheek,<br /> -Thy cheek of purple hue?<br /> -<br /> -Silent art thou, nor dost reply—<br /> -Who speaketh still?—<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!—<br /> -"I am not fair,"—<br /> -So speaks the lone star-flower,—<br /> -"Yet men I love<br /> -And comfort men—<br /> -Many flowers shall they behold,<br /> -And stoop to me,<br /> -And break me, ah!—<br /> -So that within their eyes shall gleam<br /> -Remembrance swift,<br /> -<i>Remembrance of far fairer things than I</i>:—<br /> -I see it—see it—and I perish so."<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO<a name="FNanchor_5_32" id="FNanchor_5_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_32" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Maiden, in gentle wise<br /> -You stroke your lamb's soft fleece,<br /> -Yet flashing from your eyes<br /> -Both light and flame ne'er cease.<br /> -Creature of merry jest<br /> -And favourite near and far,<br /> -Pious with kindness blest,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Amorosissima!</span><br /> -<br /> -What broke so soon the chain,<br /> -What does your heart deplore?<br /> -And who, pray, would not fain,<br /> -If you loved him, adore?—<br /> -You're mute, but from your eye,<br /> -The tear-drop is not far,<br /> -You're mute: you'll yearn and die,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Amorosissima?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"<a name="FNanchor_6_33" id="FNanchor_6_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_33" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me!—<br /> -Now a ship, but once a girl,<br /> -Ah, and still too much a girl!<br /> -My steering-wheel, so bright to see,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>But for sake of love doth whirl.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me,<br /> -With hundred flags to ornament,<br /> -A captain smart, on glory bent,<br /> -Steers me, puffed with vanity<br /> -(He himself's an ornament).<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me,<br /> -And where'er a little flame<br /> -Gleams for me, I, like a lamb,<br /> -Go my journey eagerly<br /> -(I was always such a lamb!).<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Think you I can bark and whine<br /> -Like a dog, this mouth of mine<br /> -Throwing smoke and flame full free?<br /> -Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Once I spoke a bitter word,<br /> -That my lover, when he heard,<br /> -Fast and far away did flee:<br /> -Yes, I killed him with that word!<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me:<br /> -Hardly heard, I sprang so glib<br /> -From the cliff and broke a rib:<br /> -From my frame my soul went free,<br /> -Yes, escaped me through that rib.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Then my soul, like cat in flight<br /> -Straight did on this ship alight<br /> -Swiftly bounding—one, two, three!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>Yes, its claws are swift to smite.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me!—<br /> -Now a ship, but once a girl,<br /> -Ah, and still too much a girl!<br /> -My steering-wheel, so bright to see,<br /> -For sake of love alone doth whirl.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -MAIDEN'S SONG<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Yesterday with seventeen years<br /> -Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair,<br /> -I am grey-haired, it appears,<br /> -Now in all things—save my hair.<br /> -<br /> -Yesterday, I had a thought,<br /> -Was't a thought?—you laugh and scorn!<br /> -Did you ever have a thought?<br /> -Rather was a feeling born.<br /> -<br /> -Dare a woman think? This screed<br /> -Wisdom long ago begot:<br /> -"Follow woman must, not lead;<br /> -If she thinks, she follows not."<br /> -<br /> -Wisdom speaks—I credit naught:<br /> -Rather hops and stings like flea:<br /> -"Woman seldom harbours thought;<br /> -If she thinks, no good is she!"<br /> -<br /> -To this wisdom, old, renowned,<br /> -Bow I in deep reverence:<br /> -Now my wisdom I'll expound<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>In its very quintessence.<br /> -<br /> -A voice spoke in me yesterday<br /> -As ever—listen if you can:<br /> -"Woman is more beauteous aye,<br /> -But more interesting—man!"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"<a name="FNanchor_7_34" id="FNanchor_7_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_34" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Cave where the dead ones rest,<br /> -O marble falsehood, thee<br /> -I love: for easy jest<br /> -My soul thou settest free.<br /> -<br /> -To-day, to-day alone,<br /> -My soul to tears is stirred,<br /> -At thee, the pictured stone,<br /> -At thee, the graven word.<br /> -<br /> -This picture (none need wis)<br /> -I kissed the other day.<br /> -When there's so much to kiss<br /> -Why did I kiss the—clay?<br /> -<br /> -Who knows the reason why?<br /> -"A tombstone fool!" you laugh:<br /> -I kissed—I'll not deny—<br /> -E'en the long epitaph.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO FRIENDSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Hail to thee, Friendship!<br /> -My hope consummate,<br /> -My first red daybreak!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Alas, so endless<br /> -Oft path and night seemed,<br /> -And life's long road<br /> -Aimless and hateful!<br /> -Now life I'd double<br /> -In thine eyes seeing<br /> -Dawn-glory, triumph,<br /> -Most gracious goddess!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O'er man and beast I grew so high,<br /> -And speak—but none will give reply.<br /> -<br /> -Too lone and tall my crest did soar:<br /> -I wait: what am I waiting for?<br /> -<br /> -The clouds are grown too nigh of late,<br /> -'Tis the first lightning I await.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TREE IN AUTUMN<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I in blissful blindness stood?</span><br /> -Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanished my golden dreaming mood.</span><br /> -<br /> -Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knock first! Where have your manners fled?</span><br /> -I threw—and fear has made me speedy—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dishes of ripe fruit—at your head.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>After a Gipsy Proverb</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Here the gallows, there the cord,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hangman's ruddy beard.</span><br /> -Round, the venom-glancing horde:—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing new to me's appeared.</span><br /> -Many times I've seen the sight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now laughing in your face I cry,</span><br /> -"Hanging me is useless quite:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!"</span><br /> -<br /> -Beggars all! Ye envy me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winning what ye never won!</span><br /> -True, I suffer agony,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for you—your life is done.</span><br /> -Many times I've faced death's plight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet steam and light and breath am I.</span><br /> -Hanging me is useless quite:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE NEW COLUMBUS<a name="FNanchor_8_35" id="FNanchor_8_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_35" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"Dearest," said Columbus, "never<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trust a Genoese again.</span><br /> -At the blue he gazes ever,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distance doth his soul enchain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Strangeness is to me too dear—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Genoa has sunk and passed—</span><br /> -Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sea before me: land—at last?</span><br /> -<br /> -Firmly let us plant our feet,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er can we give up this game—</span><br /> -From the distance what doth greet?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One death, one happiness, one fame.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -IN LONESOMENESS<a name="FNanchor_9_36" id="FNanchor_9_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_36" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -The cawing crows<br /> -Townwards on whirring pinions roam;<br /> -Soon come the snows—<br /> -Thrice happy now who hath a home!<br /> -<br /> -Fast-rooted there,<br /> -Thou gazest backwards—oh, how long!<br /> -Thou fool, why dare<br /> -Ere winter come, this world of wrong?<br /> -<br /> -This world—a gate<br /> -To myriad deserts dumb and hoar!<br /> -Who lost through fate<br /> -What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.<br /> -<br /> -Now stand'st thou pale,<br /> -A frozen pilgrimage thy doom,<br /> -Like smoke whose trail<br /> -Cold and still colder skies consume.<br /> -<br /> -Fly, bird, and screech,<br /> -Like desert-fowl, thy song apart!<br /> -Hide out of reach,<br /> -Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.<br /> -<br /> -Firmly let us plant our feet,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er can we give up this game—</span><br /> -From the distance what doth greet?<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">One death, one happiness, one fame.</span><br /> -<br /> -The cawing crows<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Townwards on whirring pinions roam:</span><br /> -Soon come the snows—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woe unto him who hath no home!</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>My Answer</i><br /> -<br /> -The man presumes—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Lord!—to think that I'd return</span><br /> -To those warm rooms<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where snug the German ovens burn</span><br /> -<br /> -My friend, you see<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis but thy folly drives me far,—</span><br /> -Pity for <i>thee</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all that German blockheads are!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -VENICE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ON the bridge I stood,<br /> -Mellow was the night,<br /> -Music came from far—<br /> -Drops of gold outpoured<br /> -On the shimmering waves.<br /> -Song, gondolas, light,<br /> -Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.<br /> -<br /> -The chords of my soul, moved<br /> -By unseen impulse, throbbed<br /> -Secretly into a gondola song,<br /> -With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy.<br /> -Had I a listener there?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_28" id="Footnote_1_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_28"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_29" id="Footnote_2_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_29"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_30" id="Footnote_3_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_30"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This poem was written on the betrothal of one of -Nietzsche's Bâle friends.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_31" id="Footnote_4_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_31"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_32" id="Footnote_5_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_32"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, -near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl -with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath— -"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_33" id="Footnote_6_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_33"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired -by a ship that was christened <i>Angiolina,</i> in memory of a -love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_34" id="Footnote_7_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_34"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same -tombstone.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_35" id="Footnote_8_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_35"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great -part of his life at Genoa.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_36" id="Footnote_9_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_36"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="EPIGRAMS" id="EPIGRAMS">EPIGRAMS</a></h4> - - - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -CAUTION: POISON!<a name="FNanchor_1_37" id="FNanchor_1_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_37" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading;<br /> -<br /> -For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -With jesters it is good to jest:<br /> -Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WORD<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I dearly love the living word,<br /> -That flies to you like a merry bird,<br /> -Ready with pleasant nod to greet,<br /> -E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet,<br /> -Yet it has blood, can pant you deep:<br /> -Then to the dove's ear it will creep:<br /> -And curl itself, or start for flight—<br /> -Whate'er it does, it brings delight.<br /> -<br /> -Yet tender doth the word remain,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>Soon it is ill, soon well again:<br /> -So if its little life you'd spare,<br /> -O grasp it lightly and with care,<br /> -Nor heavy hand upon it lay,<br /> -For e'en a cruel glance would slay!<br /> -There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing!<br /> -All stark, all formless, and all cold,<br /> -Its little body changed and battered,<br /> -By death and dying rudely shattered.<br /> -<br /> -A dead word is a hateful thing,<br /> -A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting.<br /> -A curse on ugly trades I cry<br /> -That doom all little words to die!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>A Book</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back?<br /> -Is e'en for chamois here no track?<br /> -<br /> -So here I wait and firmly clasp<br /> -What eye and hand will let me grasp!<br /> -<br /> -Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath,<br /> -And under me—world, man, and death!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -JOYFUL WISDOM<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -This is no book—for such, who looks?<br /> -Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books!<br /> -What's dead and gone they make their prey,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.<br /> -<br /> -This is no book—for such, who looks?<br /> -Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks?<br /> -This is a promise, an act of will,<br /> -A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill;<br /> -A wind from sea, an anchor light,<br /> -A whirr of wheels, a steering right.<br /> -The cannon roars, white smokes its flame,<br /> -The sea—the monster—laughs and scents its game.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -DEDICATION<a name="FNanchor_2_38" id="FNanchor_2_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_38" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -He who has much to tell, keeps much<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silent and unavowed.</span><br /> -He who with lightning-flash would touch<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must long remain a cloud!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE NEW TESTAMENT<a name="FNanchor_3_39" id="FNanchor_3_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_39" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Is this your Book of Sacred Lore,<br /> -For blessing, cursing, and such uses?—<br /> -Come, come now: at the very door<br /> -God some one else's wife seduces?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE "TRUE GERMAN"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes,<br /> -To you I'm true, I wis."<br /> -He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>Went to Cosmopolis.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO THE DARWINIANS<a name="FNanchor_4_40" id="FNanchor_4_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_40" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A fool this honest Britisher<br /> -Was not ... But a Philosopher!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As <i>that</i> you really rate him?</span><br /> -Set Darwin up by Goethe's side?<br /> -But majesty you thus deride—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Genii majestatem</i>!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -To HAFIZ<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>Toast Question of a Water-Drinker</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -What you have builded, yonder inn,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'ertops all houses high:</span><br /> -The posset you have brewed therein<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world will ne'er drink dry.</span><br /> -The bird that once appeared on earth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As phœnix, is your, guest.</span><br /> -The mouse that gave a mountain birth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is you yourself confessed!</span><br /> -You're all and naught, you're inn and wine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're phœnix, mountain, mouse.</span><br /> -Back to yourself to come you pine<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fly from out your house.</span><br /> -Downward from every height you've sunk,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the depths still shine:</span><br /> -The drunkenness of all the drunk,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why do you ask for—wine?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO SPINOZA<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Of "All in One" a fervent devotee<br /> -<i>Amore Dei,</i> of reasoned piety,<br /> -Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!—<br /> -Yet underneath this love there sate<br /> -A torch of vengeance, burning secretly<br /> -The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate.<br /> -Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -That which he taught, has had its day,<br /> -That which he lived, shall live for aye:<br /> -Look at the man! No bondsman he!<br /> -Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO RICHARD WAGNER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O You who chafe at every fetter's link,<br /> -A restless spirit, never free:<br /> -Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered,<br /> -Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured,<br /> -Till from each cup of balm you poison drink,<br /> -Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink,<br /> -You too, you too, among the overpowered!<br /> -<br /> -For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped,<br /> -Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread,<br /> -With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread,<br /> -And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped.<br /> -But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>For I escaped!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -MUSIC OF THE SOUTH<a name="FNanchor_5_41" id="FNanchor_5_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_41" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -All that my eagle e'er saw clear,<br /> -I see and feel in heart to-day<br /> -(Although my hope was wan and gray)<br /> -Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear,<br /> -A balm to touch, a balm to hear,<br /> -As down from heaven it winged its way.<br /> -<br /> -So now for lands of southern fire<br /> -To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport!<br /> -Thither now turn the ship's desire—<br /> -No ship e'er sped to fairer port.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A RIDDLE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A riddle here—can you the answer scent?<br /> -"When man discovers, woman must invent."——<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO FALSE FRIENDS<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -You stole, your eye's not clear to-day.<br /> -You only stole a thought, sir? nay,<br /> -Why be so rudely modest, pray?<br /> -Here, take another handful—stay,<br /> -Take all I have, you swine—you may<br /> -Eat till your filth is purged away.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FRIEND YORICK<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Be of good cheer,<br /> -Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>As now it does, I fear,<br /> -Is it not "God"? And though in error lain,<br /> -'Tis but your own dear child,<br /> -Your flesh and blood,<br /> -That tortures you and gives you pain,<br /> -Your little rogue and do-no-good,<br /> -See if the rod will change its mood!<br /> -<br /> -In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear<br /> -Philosophy—and let me now<br /> -Whisper one word as medicine,<br /> -My own prescription, in your ear,<br /> -My remedy against such spleen—<br /> -"Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween,"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -RESOLUTION<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I should be wise to suit my mood,<br /> -Not at the beck of other men:<br /> -God made as stupid as he could<br /> -The world—well, let me praise him then.<br /> -<br /> -And if I make not straight my track,<br /> -But, far as may be, wind and bend,<br /> -That's how the sage begins his tack,<br /> -And that is how the fool will—end.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> -<br /> -The world stands never still,<br /> -Night loves the glowing day—<br /> -Sweet sounds to ear "I will!"<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>And sweeter still "I may!"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE HALCYONIAN[6]<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Addressing me most bashfully,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A woman to-day said this:</span><br /> -"What would you be like in ecstasy,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If sober you feel such bliss?"</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FINALE<a name="FNanchor_6_42" id="FNanchor_6_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_42" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Laughter is a serious art.<br /> -I would do it better daily.<br /> -Did I well to-day or no?<br /> -Came the spark right from the heart?<br /> -Little use though head wag gaily,<br /> -If the heart contain no glow.<br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_37" id="Footnote_1_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_37"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_38" id="Footnote_2_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_38"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> On the title-page of a copy of <i>Joyful Wisdom,</i> dedicated -to Herr August Bungal.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_39" id="Footnote_3_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_39"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_40" id="Footnote_4_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_40"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_41" id="Footnote_5_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_41"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful -friend, and a musician whose "Southern" music Nietzsche -admired.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_42" id="Footnote_6_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_42"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS" id="DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a></h4> - - -<h5>(1888)</h5> - - -<p class="center">These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to -himself so as to endure his last solitude.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a><br /><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;"> -OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Ten years passed by—<br /> -Not a drop reached me,<br /> -No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love<br /> -—A rainless land....<br /> -Now entreat I my wisdom<br /> -Not to become stingy in this drought;<br /> -Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew,<br /> -Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness!<br /> -<br /> -I once bade the clouds<br /> -Depart from my mountains;<br /> -Once I said to them,<br /> -"More light, ye dark ones!"<br /> -To-day I entice them to come:<br /> -Make me dark with your udders:<br /> -—I would milk you,<br /> -Ye cows of the heights!<br /> -Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love<br /> -I pour over the land.<br /> -<br /> -Away, away, ye truths<br /> -That look so gloomy!<br /> -I will not have on my mountains<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>Bitter, impatient truths.<br /> -May truth approach me to-day<br /> -Gilded by smiles,<br /> -Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,—<br /> -A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree.<br /> -<br /> -To-day I stretch my hands<br /> -Toward the tresses of chance,<br /> -Wise enough to lead,<br /> -To outwit chance like a child.<br /> -To-day I will be hospitable<br /> -'Gainst the unwelcome,<br /> -'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly....<br /> -—Zarathustra is no hedgehog.<br /> -<br /> -My soul,<br /> -Insatiable with its tongue,<br /> -Has already tasted of all things good and evil,<br /> -And has dived into all depths.<br /> -But ever, like the cork,<br /> -It swims to the surface again,<br /> -And floats like oil upon brown seas:<br /> -Because of this soul men call me fortunate.<br /> -<br /> -Who are my father and mother?<br /> -Is not my father Prince Plenty?<br /> -And my mother Silent Laughter?<br /> -Did not the union of these two<br /> -Beget me, the enigmatic beast—<br /> -Me, the monster of light—<br /> -Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom?<br /> -<br /> -Sick to-day from tenderness,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>A dewy wind,<br /> -Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains—<br /> -Sweet and stewing<br /> -In his own juice,<br /> -Beneath his own summit,<br /> -Beneath his ice,<br /> -Weary and happy,<br /> -A Creator on his seventh day.<br /> -<br /> -—Silence!<br /> -A truth passes over me<br /> -Like a cloud,—<br /> -With invisible lightnings it strikes me,<br /> -On broad, slow stairs,<br /> -Its happiness climbs to me:<br /> -Come, come, beloved truth!<br /> -<br /> -—Silence!<br /> -'Tis <i>my</i> truth!<br /> -From timid eyes,<br /> -From velvet shudders,<br /> -Her glance meets mine,<br /> -Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance.<br /> -She has guessed the reason of my happiness,<br /> -She has guessed me—ha! what is she thinking?<br /> -A purple dragon<br /> -Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance.<br /> -<br /> -—Silence! My truth is speaking!—<br /> -<br /> -"Woe to thee, Zarathustra!<br /> -Thou lookest like one<br /> -That hath swallowed gold:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>They will slit up thy belly yet!<br /> -<br /> -Thou art too rich,<br /> -Thou corrupter of many!<br /> -Thou makest too many jealous,<br /> -Too many poor....<br /> -Even on me thy light casts a shadow—<br /> -I feel chill: go away, thou rich one<br /> -Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Who would here descend,<br /> -How soon<br /> -Is he swallowed up by the depths!<br /> -But thou, Zarathustra,<br /> -Still lovest the abysses,<br /> -Lovest them as doth the fir tree!<br /> -<br /> -The fir flings its roots<br /> -Where the rock itself gazes<br /> -Shuddering at the depths,—<br /> -The fir pauses before the abysses<br /> -Where all around<br /> -Would fain descend:<br /> -Amid the impatience<br /> -Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents<br /> -It waits so patient, stern and silent,<br /> -Lonely....<br /> -<br /> -Lonely!<br /> -Who would venture<br /> -Here to be guest—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>To be thy guest?<br /> -<br /> -A bird of prey, perchance<br /> -Joyous at others' misfortune,<br /> -Will cling persistent<br /> -To the hair of the steadfast watcher,<br /> -With frenzied laughter,<br /> -A vulture's laughter....<br /> -<br /> -Wherefore so steadfast?<br /> -—Mocks he so cruel:<br /> -He must have wings, who loves the abyss,<br /> -He must not stay on the cliff,<br /> -As thou who hangest there!—<br /> -<br /> -O Zarathustra,<br /> -Cruellest Nimrod!<br /> -Of late still a hunter of God,<br /> -A spider's web to capture virtue,<br /> -An arrow of evil!<br /> -Now<br /> -Hunted by thyself,<br /> -Thine own prey<br /> -Caught in the grip of thine own soul.<br /> -<br /> -Now<br /> -Lonely to me and thee,<br /> -Twofold in thine own knowledge,<br /> -Mid a hundred mirrors<br /> -False to thyself,<br /> -Mid a hundred memories<br /> -Uncertain,<br /> -Weary at every wound,<br /> -Shivering at every frost,<br /> -Throttled in thine own noose,<br /> -Self-knower!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>Self-hangman!<br /> -<br /> -Why didst bind thyself<br /> -With the noose of thy wisdom?<br /> -Why luredst thyself<br /> -Into the old serpent's paradise?<br /> -Why stolest into<br /> -Thyself, thyself?...<br /> -<br /> -A sick man now,<br /> -Sick of serpent's poison,<br /> -A captive now<br /> -Who hast drawn the hardest lot:<br /> -In thine own shaft<br /> -Bowed as thou workest,<br /> -In thine own cavern<br /> -Digging at thyself,<br /> -Helpless quite,<br /> -Stiff,<br /> -A cold corse<br /> -Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens,<br /> -Overburdened by thyself,<br /> -A knower!<br /> -A self-knower!<br /> -The wise Zarathustra!...<br /> -<br /> -Thou soughtest the heaviest burden,<br /> -So foundest thou thyself,<br /> -And canst not shake thyself off....<br /> -<br /> -Watching,<br /> -Chewing,<br /> -One that stands upright no more!<br /> -Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>Deformed spirit!<br /> -<br /> -And of late still so proud<br /> -On all the stilts of thy pride!<br /> -Of late still the godless hermit,<br /> -The hermit with one comrade—the devil,<br /> -The scarlet prince of every devilment!...<br /> -<br /> -Now—<br /> -Between two nothings<br /> -Huddled up,<br /> -A question-mark,<br /> -A weary riddle,<br /> -A riddle for vultures....<br /> -They will "solve" thee,<br /> -They hunger already for thy "solution,"<br /> -They flutter already about their "riddle,"<br /> -About thee, the doomed one!<br /> -O Zarathustra,<br /> -Self-knower!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>Self-hangman!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE SUN SINKS<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I<br /> -<br /> -Not much longer thirstest thou,<br /> -O burnt-up heart!<br /> -Promise is in the air,<br /> -From unknown mouths I feel a breath,<br /> -—The great coolness comes....<br /> -My sun stood hot above me at noonday:<br /> -A greeting to you that are coming,<br /> -Ye sudden winds,<br /> -Ye cool spirits of afternoon!<br /> -<br /> -The air is strange and pure.<br /> -See how the night<br /> -Leers at me with eyes askance,<br /> -Like a seducer!...<br /> -Be strong, my brave heart,<br /> -And ask not "Why?"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -The day of my life!<br /> -The sun sinks,<br /> -And the calm flood<br /> -Already is gilded.<br /> -Warm breathes the rock:<br /> -Did happiness at noonday<br /> -Take its siesta well upon it?<br /> -In green light<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss<br /> -<br /> -Day of my life!<br /> -Eventide's nigh,<br /> -Thy eye already<br /> -Glows half-broken,<br /> -Thy dew already<br /> -Pours out its tear-drops,<br /> -Already over the white seas<br /> -Walks the purple of thy love,<br /> -Thy last hesitating holiness....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -3<br /> -<br /> -Golden gaiety, come!<br /> -Thou, the sweetest foretaste—<br /> -Foretaste of death!<br /> -—Went I my way too swiftly?<br /> -Now that the foot grows weary,<br /> -Thine eye still catches me,<br /> -Thy happiness still catches me.<br /> -<br /> -Around but waves and play.<br /> -Whatever was hard<br /> -—Sank into blue oblivion.<br /> -My boat now stands idle.<br /> -Storm and motion—how did it forget them!<br /> -Desire and Hope are drowned,<br /> -Sea and soul are becalmed.<br /> -<br /> -Seventh Solitude!<br /> -Never felt!<br /> -Sweet certainty nearer,<br /> -Or warmer the sun's ray.<br /> -—Glows not the ice of my summit yet?<br /> -Silvery, light, a fish<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>Now my vessel swims out....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE LAST DESIRE<a name="FNanchor_1_43" id="FNanchor_1_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_43" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -So would I die<br /> -As then I saw him die,<br /> -The friend, who like a god<br /> -Into my darkling youth<br /> -Threw lightning's light and fire:<br /> -Buoyant yet deep was he,<br /> -Yea, in the battle's strife<br /> -With the gay dancer's heart.<br /> -<br /> -Amid the warriors<br /> -His was the lightest heart,<br /> -Amid the conquerors<br /> -His brow was dark with thought—<br /> -He was a fate poised on his destiny:<br /> -Unbending, casting thought into the past<br /> -And future, such was he.<br /> -<br /> -Fearful beneath the weight of victory,<br /> -Yet chanting, as both victory and death<br /> -Came hand and hand to him.<br /> -<br /> -Commanding even as he lay in death,<br /> -And his command that man annihilate.<br /> -<br /> -So would I die<br /> -As then I saw him die,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>Victorious and destroying.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE BEACON<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Here, where the island grew amid the seas,<br /> -A sacrificial rock high-towering,<br /> -Here under darkling heavens,<br /> -Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires,<br /> -A beacon for ships that have strayed,<br /> -A beacon for them that have an answer!...<br /> -<br /> -These flames with grey-white belly,<br /> -In cold distances sparkle their desire,<br /> -Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights—<br /> -A snake upreared in impatience:<br /> -This signal I set up there before me.<br /> -This flame is mine own soul,<br /> -Insatiable for new distances,<br /> -Speeding upward, upward its silent heat.<br /> -<br /> -Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men?<br /> -Why fled he swift from all continents?<br /> -Six solitudes he knows already—<br /> -But even the sea was not lonely enough for him,<br /> -On the island he could climb, on the mount he<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">became flame,</span><br /> -At the seventh solitude<br /> -He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head.<br /> -<br /> -Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars<br /> -Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens!<br /> -At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod.<br /> -Give answer to the flame's impatience,<br /> -Let me, the fisher on high mountains,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>Catch my seventh, last solitude!——<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FAME AND ETERNITY<a name="FNanchor_2_44" id="FNanchor_2_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_44" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I<br /> -<br /> -Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood<br /> -Upon this adverse fate of thine?<br /> -Beware, lest from thy doleful mood<br /> -A countenance <i>90</i> dark is brewed<br /> -That men in seeing thee divine<br /> -A hate more bitter than the brine.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Speak, why does Zarathustra roam<br /> -Upon the towering mountain-height?<br /> -Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home<br /> -Is shut so long from human sight?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash,<br /> -The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights<br /> -Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash<br /> -Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights,<br /> -Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love,<br /> -The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above<br /> -And looms with menace of a thundercloud.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide!<br /> -To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud<br /> -Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>And bastions and ramparts sway and rock,<br /> -<br /> -The lightning sears the dusky face of night,<br /> -And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock<br /> -The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth<br /> -The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -This fame, which all the wide world loves,<br /> -I touch with gloves,<br /> -And scorning beat<br /> -Beneath my feet.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Who hanker after the pay of it?<br /> -Who cast themselves in the way of it?<br /> -These prostitutes to gold,<br /> -These merchant folk. They fold<br /> -Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame,<br /> -Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill.<br /> -They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep,<br /> -And let their greedy paws unhindered creep<br /> -Into its depths. So let them take their fill,<br /> -For if thou dost not offer them enough,<br /> -Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -They are all virtuous, yea every one.<br /> -Virtue and fame are ever in accord<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>So long as time doth run,<br /> -<br /> -The tongues that prate of virtue as reward<br /> -Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be<br /> -One guilty of all vile and horrid sin!<br /> -And when I see fame's importunity<br /> -So advertise her shameless harlotry,<br /> -Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin<br /> -One place alone, the lowest, would I win.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -This fame, which all the wide world loves,<br /> -I touch with gloves,<br /> -And scorning beat<br /> -Beneath my feet.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -3<br /> -<br /> -Hush! I see vastness!—and of vasty things<br /> -Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine<br /> -Them with his words? Then take the might which brings<br /> -The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea.<br /> -O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars!<br /> -And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>A shining constellation falls towards me.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -4<br /> -<br /> -O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being!<br /> -O carved tablets of Eternity!<br /> -And dost thou truly bend thy way to me?<br /> -Thy loveliness, to all—obscurity,<br /> -What? Fear'st not to unveil before <i>my</i> seeing?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -O shield of Destiny!<br /> -O carven tablets of Eternity!<br /> -Yea, verily, thou knowest—what mankind doth hate,<br /> -What I alone do love: thou art inviolate<br /> -To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate!<br /> -'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity,<br /> -Canst kindle everlasting love in me!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate!<br /> -That no desire can reach to invocate,<br /> -That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay,<br /> -Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea:<br /> -For I love thee, Eternity!<br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_43" id="Footnote_1_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_43"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_44" id="Footnote_2_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_44"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a><br /><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS" id="FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a></h4> - -<h5>(1882-88)</h5> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a><br /><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">SPEECHES, PARABLES, AND SIMILES</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -3<br /> -<br /> -My home's in the highlands,<br /> -For the highlands I yearn not,<br /> -I raise not mine eyes aloft:<br /> -I am one that looks downward,<br /> -One that must bless,—All<br /> -blessers look downward.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -11<br /> -<br /> -Thus I began,<br /> -I unlearned all self-pity!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -13<br /> -<br /> -Not in shattering idols,<br /> -But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee,<br /> -Consisted thy valour.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -14<br /> -<br /> -See, there stand<br /> -Those heavy cats of granite,<br /> -Those old, old Values.<br /> -Woe is me! How overthrow them?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Scratching cats,<br /> -With paws that are fettered,<br /> -There they sit<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>And their glance is poison.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -17<br /> -<br /> -A lightning-flash became my wisdom:<br /> -With sword of adamant it clove me every<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">darkness!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -19<br /> -<br /> -A thought that still<br /> -Flows hot, like lava:<br /> -But all streams of lava<br /> -Build a fortress around them,<br /> -And every thought finally<br /> -Oppresses itself with laws.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -20<br /> -<br /> -Such is my will:<br /> -And since 'tis my will,<br /> -All goes as I wish—<br /> -That was my final wisdom:<br /> -I willed what I must,<br /> -And thus I forced every "must,"—<br /> -Since then has been for me no "must."<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -23<br /> -<br /> -Deceit<br /> -Is war's whole art<br /> -The fox's skin<br /> -Is my secret shirt of mail<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -25<br /> -<br /> -We of the new underworld<br /> -Grub for new treasures.<br /> -Godless it seemed to the ancients<br /> -To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures<br /> -And once more this godlessness revives,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -28<br /> -<br /> -Looking for love and finding masks,<br /> -Finding accursed masks and having to break them!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -29<br /> -<br /> -Do I love you?<br /> -Yes, as the rider loves his steed,<br /> -That carryeth him to his goal.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -30<br /> -<br /> -His pity is cruel,<br /> -His loving hand-clasp bruises,<br /> -Give not a giant your hand!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -31<br /> -<br /> -Ye fear me?<br /> -Ye fear the taut-strung bow?<br /> -Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -33<br /> -<br /> -I am naught but a word-maker.<br /> -What matter words?<br /> -What matter I?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -34<br /> -<br /> -Ah, my friends,<br /> -Whither has flown all that is called "good"?<br /> -Whither all good people?<br /> -Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods?<br /> -I call all good,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -35<br /> -<br /> -Not through his sins and greatest follies.<br /> -Through his perfection I suffered,<br /> -As I suffered most from men.<a name="FNanchor_1_45" id="FNanchor_1_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_45" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -36<br /> -<br /> -"Man is evil."<br /> -So spake the wisest<br /> -For my consolement.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -37<br /> -<br /> -And only when I to myself am a burden<br /> -Do ye fall heavy upon me!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -38<br /> -<br /> -Too soon, already<br /> -I laugh again:<br /> -For a foe 'tis easy<br /> -To make me amends.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -39<br /> -<br /> -Gentle am I towards man and chance;<br /> -Gentle with all men, and even with grasses:<br /> -A spot of sunshine on winter curtains,<br /> -Moist with tenderness,<br /> -A thawing wind to snow-bound souls:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Proud-minded towards trifling<br /> -Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger,<br /> -'Tis aye my pleasure<br /> -To be bamboozled:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -40<br /> -<br /> -A strange breath breathes and spits at me,<br /> -Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -41<br /> -<br /> -Little people,<br /> -Confiding, open-hearted,<br /> -But low-built portals,<br /> -Where only the low of stature can enter.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -How can I get through the city-gate<br /> -Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -42<br /> -<br /> -My wisdom was like to the sun,<br /> -I longed to give them light,<br /> -But I only deceived them.<br /> -The sun of my wisdom<br /> -Blinded the eyes<br /> -Of these poor bats....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -43<br /> -<br /> -Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">a seer did:</span><br /> -Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">journeyed.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -44<br /> -<br /> -Back! on my heels too closely ye follow!<br /> -Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">you!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -45<br /> -<br /> -"He goes to hell who goes thy ways!"<br /> -So be it I to my hell<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -46<br /> -<br /> -Your God, you tell me,<br /> -Is a God of love?<br /> -The sting of conscience<br /> -A sting from God?<br /> -A sting of love?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -48<br /> -<br /> -They chew gravel,<br /> -They lie on their bellies<br /> -Before little round things,<br /> -They adore all that falleth not down—<br /> -These last servants of God<br /> -Believers (in reality)!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -50<br /> -<br /> -They made their God out of nothing,<br /> -What wonder if now he is naught?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -51<br /> -<br /> -Ye loftier men! There have once been<br /> -More thoughtful times, more reflective,<br /> -Than is our to-day and to-morrow.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -52<br /> -Our time is like a sick woman—<br /> -Let her but shriek, rave, scold,<br /> -And break the tables and dishes!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -54<br /> -<br /> -Ye mount?<br /> -Is it true that ye mount,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>Ye loftier men?<br /> -<br /> -Are ye not, pray,<br /> -Like to a ball<br /> -Sped to the heights<br /> -By the lowest that's in you?<br /> -Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -55<br /> -<br /> -All that you thought<br /> -You had to despise,<br /> -Where you only renounced!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -56<br /> -<br /> -All men repeat the refrain!<br /> -No, no, and thrice say No!<br /> -What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven?<br /> -We would not enter the kingdom of heaven,<br /> -The kingdom of earth shall be ours?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -57<br /> -<br /> -The will redeemeth,<br /> -He that has nothing to do<br /> -In a Nothing finds food for trouble.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -58<br /> -<br /> -You cannot endure it more,<br /> -Your tyrannous destiny,<br /> -Love it—you're given no choice!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -59<br /> -<br /> -These alone free us from woes<br /> -(Choose now I)<br /> -Sudden death<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>Or long-drawn-out love.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -60<br /> -<br /> -Of death we are sure,<br /> -So why not be merry?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -61<br /> -<br /> -The worst of pleas<br /> -I have hidden from you—that life grew tedious!<br /> -Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -62<br /> -<br /> -Lonely days,<br /> -Ye must walk on valorous feet!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -63<br /> -<br /> -Loneliness<br /> -Plants naught, it ripens....<br /> -And even then you must have the sun for your<br /> -friend.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -64<br /> -<br /> -Once more must ye plunge in the throng—In<br /> -the throng ye grow hard and smooth.<br /> -Solitude withers<br /> -And lastly destroys.—<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -65<br /> -<br /> -When on the hermit comes the great fear;<br /> -When he runs and runs<br /> -And knows not whither;<br /> -When the storms roar behind<br /> -And the lightning bears witness against him,<br /> -And his cavern breeds spectres<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>And fills him with dread.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -67<br /> -<br /> -Throw thy pain in the depths,<br /> -Man, forget! Man, forget!<br /> -Divine is the art of forgetting!<br /> -Wouldst fly?<br /> -Wouldst feel at home in the heights?<br /> -Throw thy heaviest load in the sea!<br /> -Here is the sea, hurl thyself in the sea!<br /> -Divine is the art of forgetting!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -69<br /> -<br /> -Look forward, never look back!<br /> -We sink to the depths<br /> -If we peer ever into the depths.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -70<br /> -<br /> -Beware, beware<br /> -Of warning the reckless!<br /> -Thy warning will drive them<br /> -To leap into every abyss!<br /> -<br /> -71<br /> -<br /> -Why hurled he himself from the heights?<br /> -What led him astray?<br /> -His pity for all that is lowly led him astray,<br /> -And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold.<br /> -<br /> -72<br /> -<br /> -Whither went he? Who knows?<br /> -We only know that he sank.<br /> -A star went out in the desolate void,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>And lone was the void.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -73<br /> -<br /> -What we have not<br /> -But need,<br /> -We must take.<br /> -And so a good conscience I took.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -74<br /> -<br /> -Who is there that could bestow right upon thee?<br /> -So take thy right!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -75<br /> -<br /> -O ye waves,<br /> -Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me?<br /> -Do ye raise me your crests in wrath?<br /> -With my rudder I smite<br /> -Your folly full square.<br /> -This bark ye yourselves<br /> -To immortal life will carry along.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -77<br /> -<br /> -When no new voice was heard,<br /> -Ye made from old words<br /> -A law:<br /> -When life grows stark, there shoots up the law.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -78<br /> -<br /> -What none can refute<br /> -Ye say must be true?<br /> -Oh, ye innocents!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -79<br /> -<br /> -Art thou strong?<br /> -Strong as an ass? Strong as God?<br /> -Art thou proud?<br /> -So proud as to flaunt<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>Unashamed thy conceit?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -80<br /> -<br /> -Beware,<br /> -And ne'er beat the drum<br /> -Of thy destiny I<br /> -Go out of the way<br /> -From all pom-pom of fame!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Be not known too soon!<br /> -Be one that has hoarded renown!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -81<br /> -<br /> -Wilt thou grasp at the thorns?<br /> -Thy fingers must pay.<br /> -Grasp at a poniard.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -85<br /> -<br /> -Be a tablet of gold,<br /> -They will grave upon thee<br /> -In golden script.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -86<br /> -<br /> -Upright he stands<br /> -With more sense of "justice"<br /> -In his outermost toe<br /> -Than I have in all my head.<br /> -A virtue-monster<br /> -Mantled in white.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -87<br /> -<br /> -Already he mimics himself,<br /> -Already weary he grows,<br /> -Already he seeks the paths he has trod—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden!<br /> -<br /> -Secretly burnt—<br /> -Not for his faith,<br /> -Rather because he had lost the heart<br /> -To find new faith.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -88<br /> -<br /> -Too long he sat in the cage,<br /> -That runaway!<br /> -Too long he dreaded<br /> -A gaoler!<br /> -<br /> -Timorous now he goeth his ways,<br /> -All things make him to stumble—<br /> -The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -89<br /> -<br /> -Ye chambers smoky and musty,<br /> -Ye cages and narrow hearts,<br /> -How could your spirit be free?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -90<br /> -<br /> -Narrow souls!<br /> -Huckster-souls!<br /> -When money leaps into the box<br /> -The soul leaps into it too!<a name="FNanchor_2_46" id="FNanchor_2_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_46" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -92<br /> -<br /> -Are ye women,<br /> -That ye wish to suffer<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>From that which ye love?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -99<br /> -<br /> -They are cold, these men of learning!<br /> -Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food,<br /> -And their mouths could learn to eat fire!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -101<br /> -<br /> -Your false love<br /> -For the past,<br /> -A love for the graves of the dead,<br /> -Is a theft from life<br /> -That steals all the future.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -An antiquary<br /> -Is a craftsman of dead things,<br /> -Who lives among coffins and skeletons.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -103<br /> -<br /> -Only the poet who can lie<br /> -Wilfully, skilfully,<br /> -Can tell the truth.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -104<br /> -<br /> -Our chase after truth,<br /> -Is't a chase after happiness?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -105<br /> -<br /> -Truth<br /> -Is a woman, no better,<br /> -Cunning in her shame:<br /> -Of what she likes best<br /> -She will know naught,<br /> -And covers her face....<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>To what doth she yield<br /> -But to violence?<br /> -Violence she needs.<br /> -Be hard, ye sages!<br /> -Ye must compel her,<br /> -That shamefaced Truth....<br /> -For her happiness<br /> -She needs constraint—She<br /> -is a woman, no better.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -106<br /> -<br /> -We thought evil of each other?<br /> -We were too distant,<br /> -But now in this tiny hut,<br /> -Pinned to one destiny,<br /> -How could we still be foes?<br /> -We must needs love those<br /> -Whom we cannot escape.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -107<br /> -<br /> -Love thy foe,<br /> -Let the robber rob thee:<br /> -The woman hears and—does it.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -110<br /> -<br /> -A proud eye<br /> -With silken curtains,<br /> -Seldom clear,<br /> -Honours him that may see it unveiled.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -111<br /> -<br /> -Sluggard eyes<br /> -That seldom love—<br /> -But when they love, the levin flashes<br /> -As from shafts of gold<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -117<br /> -<br /> -They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling.<br /> -Grasp them, they pinch you;<br /> -Leave them alone, and they walk backward.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -119<br /> -<br /> -Crooked go great rivers and men,<br /> -Crooked, but turned to their goal;<br /> -That is their highest courage,<br /> -They dreaded not crooked paths.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -121<br /> -<br /> -Wouldst catch them?<br /> -Then speak to them<br /> -As to stray sheep:<br /> -"Your path, your path<br /> -You have lost!"<br /> -They follow all<br /> -That flatter them so:<br /> -"What? had we a path?"<br /> -Each whispers the other:<br /> -"It really seems that we have a path."<br /> -</p> - - -<p class="p2">[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, -several fragments having been omitted.—TR.]</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_45" id="Footnote_1_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_45"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he -considers equivalent to harmlessness.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_46" id="Footnote_2_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_46"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, -who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money -leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a><br /><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="HYMN_TO_LIFE" id="HYMN_TO_LIFE">HYMN TO LIFE.</a></h4> - -<p><i>For Chorus and Orchestra.</i> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</span> -Trans. <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER.</span> Arr. for Piano <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A.</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn01.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn02.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn03.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn04.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn05.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn06.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a><br /><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - - - - - - - - - - - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52190 ***</div> -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/cover.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/cover.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 83973fc..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/cover.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn01.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn01.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 528e05c..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn01.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn02.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn02.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 119fe7a..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn02.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn03.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn03.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 886a2ff..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn03.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn04.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn04.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 79ac338..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn04.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn05.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn05.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 98bee08..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn05.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn06.png b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn06.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3fb589a..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/hymn06.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/ill_niet.jpg b/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/ill_niet.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d035085..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-01-04/52190-h/images/ill_niet.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/52190-0.txt b/old/old/52190-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 48cb30e..0000000 --- a/old/old/52190-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6673 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ecce Homo, 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: Ecce Homo - Complete Works, Volume Seventeen - -Author: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Anthony M. Ludovici - Paul V. Cohn - -Release Date: May 30, 2016 [EBook #52190] - -Most recently updated: February 24, 2023 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECCE HOMO *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.) - - - - - -ECCE HOMO - -(_NIETZSCHES AUTOBIOGRAPHY_) - -BY - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE - - -TRANSLATED BY - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI - - -POETRY RENDERED BY - -PAUL V. COHN -- FRANCIS BICKLEY - -HERMAN SCHEFFAUER -- DR. G. T. WRENCH - -HYMN TO LIFE (_composed by F. NIETZSCHE_) - - -The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche - -The First Complete and Authorised English Translation - -Edited by Dr Oscar Levy - -Volume Seventeen - -T.N. FOULIS - -13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET - -EDINBURGH: AND LONDON - -1911 - - - -CONTENTS - -TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION -AUTHOR'S PREFACE -WHY I AM SO WISE -WHY I AM SO CLEVER -WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS -The Birth of Tragedy -Thoughts out of Season -Human, All-too-Human -The Dawn of Day -The Joyful Wisdom -Thus spake Zarathustra -Beyond Good and Evil -The Genealogy of Morals -The Twilight of the Idols -The Case of Wagner -WHY I AM A FATALITY -EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY -POETRY-- -Songs, Epigrams, etc. -Dionysus-Dithyrambs -Fragments of Dionysus-Dithyrambs -HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE - - - - -TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION - - -_Ecce Homo_ is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true -that the pamphlet _Nietzsche contra Wagner_ was prepared a month -later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as -anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of -aphorisms drawn from such previous works as _Joyful Wisdom, Beyond -Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,_ etc. Coming at the end of a -year in which he had produced the _Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the -Idols,_ and _The Antichrist, Ecce Homo_ is not only a coping-stone -worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting -conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his -character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement -as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end, -Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which, -in the _Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that -every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and -intimates when his time seems to have come--that is to say, while he -is still _himself_ while he still knows what he is about, and is able -to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a -manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man -lying on his back, decrepit and exhausted, or to the moribund victim -of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole -life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly -and proudly,--sword in hand. War, which he--and he alone among all -the philosophers of Christendom--had praised so whole-heartedly, at -last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him -a victim on the battlefield--the terrible battlefield of thought, on -which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet -been established or even thought of. - -To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed -for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at -least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and -of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is -aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find -in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and -inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a -Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"--however much they may -have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of -certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only -in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation -and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be -preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of -thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only -as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a -like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices -against Nietzsche's lack of the very virtue they so abundantly possess -or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous -remark: "_Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden_" (Only nobodies are ever modest). - -It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life. -Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday, -it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but -for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche -left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight -years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December -1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares -the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and -inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public -mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he -existed" ("_die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin_"). And, true to his -intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of -the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in -which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to -the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task, -and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, _Dionysus_ versus -_Christ,_--everything comes straight from the shoulder, without -hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without -concealment. Only in one place does he appear to conceal something, and -then he actually leads one to understand that he is doing so. It is in -regard to Wagner, the greatest friend of his life. "Who doubts," he -says, "that I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to -point my heavy guns at Wagner?"--But he adds: "Everything decisive in -this question I kept to myself--I have loved Wagner" (p. 122). - -To point, as many have done, to the proximity of all Nietzsche's autumn -work of the year 1888 to his breakdown at the beginning of 1889, and -to argue that in all its main features it foretells the catastrophe -that is imminent, seems a little too plausible, a little too obvious -and simple to require refutation. That Nietzsche really was in a state -which in medicine is known as _euphoria_--that is to say, that state -of highest well-being and capacity which often precedes a complete -breakdown, cannot, I suppose, be questioned; for his style, his -penetrating vision, and his vigour, reach their zenith in the works -written in this autumn of 1888; but the contention that the matter, the -substance, of these works reveals any signs whatsoever of waning mental -health, or, as a certain French biographer has it, of an inability to -"hold himself and his judgments in check," is best contradicted by -the internal evidence itself. To take just a few examples at random, -examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. of -the present work; consider the reserve and the restraint with which the -idea in Aphorism 7 of that chapter is worked out,--not to speak of the -restraint and self-mastery in the idea itself, namely:-- - -"To be one's enemy's equal--this is the first condition of an -honourable duel. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one -commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage -war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack -only things that are triumphant--if necessary I wait until they become -triumphant. Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find -no allies, against which I stand alone--against which I compromise -nobody but myself.... Thirdly, I never make personal attacks--I use a -personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a -general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent.... -Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal -differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of -disagreeable experiences is lacking." - -And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II., Wagner--the -supposed mortal enemy, the supposed envied rival to Nietzsche--is -treated. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or -who is losing control? - -And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work -and put the question--Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that -we find in these pages? Is it the old countenance with which we are -familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will -the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche -here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed -in _Thus spake Zarathustra,_ five years previously, and is perfectly -conscious of this fidelity (see p. 141); neither can he be even on the -verge of any marked change, because the whole of the third chapter, -in which he reviews his life-work, is simply a reiteration and a -confirmation of his old points of view, which are here made all the -more telling by additional arguments suggested, no doubt, by maturer -thought. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its -cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily -incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the -genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the _Thoughts out of -Season_ (pp. 75-76, 80, 81, 82), a summing up which a most critical -analysis of the essays in question can but verify. Romanticism, -idealism, Christianity, are still scorned and despised; another -outlook, a nobler, braver, and more earthly outlook, is still upheld -and revered; the great yea to life, including all that it contains -that is terrible and questionable, is still pronounced in the teeth of -pessimists, nihilists, anarchists, Christians, and other decadents; and -Germany, "Europe's flatland," is still subjected to the most relentless -criticism. If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere -growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most -careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former -opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are -found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so -radically to have perturbed. - -But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this -autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion -of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would -have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own. This -anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, -suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including -Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler -with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and -Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and -help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de -Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,--this was the man -who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device _amor fati_ upon -his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the -unspeakable suffering he had endured. - -And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's -sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate -instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile -structure--the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,--his terrible -will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite -problems. We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, -Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, -what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity -in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is -highly organised. Disraeli says in _Contarini Fleming_ (Part iv. chap. -v.):-- - - "I have sometimes half believed, although the suspicion is - mortifying, that there is only one step between his state - who deeply indulges in imaginative meditation, and insanity; - for I well remember that at this period of my life, when - I indulged in meditation to a degree that would now be - impossible, and I hope unnecessary, my senses sometimes - appeared to be wandering." - -And artists are the proper judges of artists,--not Oxford Dons, like -Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something -for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly -av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the -eleventh edition of the _Encyclopedia Britannica,_ and implies the -hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is -madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to -go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this -want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's -doctrine still is. - -Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he went mad so late is -the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work -he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he -actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years -of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were -everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at -his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the -phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors. - -No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with -understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, -to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no -longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since -then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will -prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent -pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with -that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and -"the modest" has always confronted everything truly great. - -ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI. - - - - -PREFACE - - -1 - -As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my -fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made -upon them, it seems to me _above_ all necessary to declare here who -and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well -known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself. But -the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the -smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people -have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made -credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive -at all. I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come -to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I -am _not_ alive.... Under these circumstances, it is a duty--and one -against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the -pride of my instincts, rebel--to say: _Listen! for I am such and such a -person. For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!_ - - - -2 - -I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the -contrary, I am the very opposite in nature to the kind of man that -has been honoured hitherto as virtuous. Between ourselves, it seems -to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I -am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be -even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book! Maybe I have here -succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same -time sympathetic manner--maybe this is the only purpose of the present -work. - -The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to -"improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only -learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols (idols -is the name I give to all ideals) is much more like my business. In -proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been -robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness.... The "true -world" and the "apparent world"--in plain English, the fictitious world -and reality.... Hitherto the _lie_ of the ideal has been the curse of -reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has -become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to -be worshipped which are the exact _opposite_ of the ones which would -ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future. - - - -3 - -He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious -that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be -built for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The -ice is near, the loneliness is terrible--but how serenely everything -lies in the sunshine! how freely one can breathe! how much, one feels, -lies beneath one! Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is -a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks--the -seeking--out of everything strange and questionable in existence, -everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through -long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I -acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally -desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising -and idealising. The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of -their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain -mind endure; how much truth can it dare?--these questions became for -me ever more and more the actual test of values. Error (the belief in -the ideal) is not blindness; error is cowardice.... Every conquest, -every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness -towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self. I do not refute -ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence.... _Nitimur -in vetitum;_ with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; -for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without -exception, Truth. - - - -4 - -In my lifework, my _Zarathustra_ holds a place apart. With it, I gave -my fellow-men the greatest gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. -This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only -the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,--the -whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath -it,--but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of -truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered -without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness. Here it is -not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness -and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would -not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper -heed to the tones--the halcyonic tones--that fall from the lips of -Zarathustra:-- - -"The most silent words are harbingers of the storm; thoughts that come -on dove's feet lead the world. - -"The figs fall from the trees; they are good and sweet, and, when they -fall, their red skins are rent. - -"A north wind am I unto ripe figs. - -"Thus, like figs, do these precepts drop down to you, my friends; now -drink their juice and their sweet pulp. - -"It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and afternoon." - -No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is -demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and -well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out--a slow and gentle gait -is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the -most elect; it is a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? -one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. I Is not Zarathustra, -because of these things, a _seducer?_ ... But what, indeed, does he -himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just -the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," -and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is -other than they. - -"Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus -would I have it. - -"Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves -against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath -deceived you. - -"The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but -also to hate his friends. - -"The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why -would ye not pluck at my wreath? - -"Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? -Take heed, lest a statue crush you. - -"Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? -Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers? - -"Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all -believers; therefore is all believing worth so little. - -"Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all -denied me will I come back unto you." - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. - - - - - -On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the -grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I -looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many -good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth -year to-day; I had the _right_ to bury it--that in it which still -had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the -_Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight -of the Idols,_ my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer--all these -things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. _How -could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?_ - -That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life. - - - - -ECCE HOMO - - -HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS - - - - -WHY I AM SO WISE - - - -1 - - -The happiness of my existence, its unique character perhaps, consists -in its fatefulness: to speak in a riddle, as my own father I am already -dead, as my own mother I still live and grow old. This double origin, -taken as it were from the highest and lowest rungs of the ladder of -life, at once a decadent and a beginning, this, if anything, explains -that neutrality, that freedom from partisanship in regard to the -general problem of existence, which perhaps distinguishes me. To the -first indications of ascending or of descending life my nostrils are -more sensitive than those of any man that has yet lived. In this domain -I am a master to my backbone--I know both sides, for I am both sides. -My father died in his six-and-thirtieth year: he was delicate, lovable, -and morbid, like one who is preordained to pay simply a flying visit--a -gracious reminder of life rather than life itself. In the same year -that his life declined mine also declined: in my six-and-thirtieth year -I reached the lowest point in my vitality,--I still lived, but my eyes -could distinguish nothing that lay three paces away from me. At that -time--it was the year 1879--I resigned my professorship at Bâle, lived -through the summer like a shadow in St. Moritz, and spent the following -winter, the most sunless of my life, like a shadow in Naumburg. This -was my lowest ebb. During this period I wrote _The Wanderer and His -Shadow._ Without a doubt I was conversant with shadows then. The winter -that followed, my first winter in Genoa, brought forth that sweetness -and spirituality which is almost inseparable from extreme poverty -of blood and muscle, in the shape of _The Dawn of Day,_ The perfect -lucidity and cheerfulness, the intellectual exuberance even, that this -work reflects, coincides, in my case, not only with the most profound -physiological weakness, but also with an excess of suffering. In the -midst of the agony of a headache which lasted three days, accompanied -by violent nausea, I was possessed of most singular dialectical -clearness, and in absolutely cold blood I then thought out things, for -which, in my more healthy moments, I am not enough of a climber, not -sufficiently subtle, not sufficiently cold. My readers perhaps know -to what extent I consider dialectic a symptom of decadence, as, for -instance, in the most famous of all cases--the case of Socrates. All -the morbid disturbances of the intellect, even that semi-stupor which -accompanies fever, have, unto this day, remained completely unknown to -me; and for my first information concerning their nature and frequency, -I was obliged to have recourse to the learned works which have been -compiled on the subject. My circulation is slow. No one has ever been -able to detect fever in me. A doctor who treated me for some time as -a nerve patient finally declared: "No! there is nothing wrong with -your nerves, it is simply I who am nervous." It has been absolutely -impossible to ascertain any local degeneration in me, nor any organic -stomach trouble, however much I may have suffered from profound -weakness of the gastric system as the result of general exhaustion. -Even my eye trouble, which sometimes approached so parlously near -to blindness, was only an effect and not a cause; for, whenever my -general vital condition improved, my power of vision also increased. -Having admitted all this, do I need to say that I am experienced in -questions of decadence? I know them inside and out. Even that filigree -art of prehension and comprehension in general, that feeling for -delicate shades of difference, that psychology of "seeing through brick -walls," and whatever else I may be able to do, was first learnt then, -and is the specific gift of that period during which everything in -me was subtilised,--observation itself, together with all the organs -of observation. To look upon healthier concepts and values from the -standpoint of the sick, and conversely to look down upon the secret -work of the instincts of decadence from the standpoint of him who is -laden and self-reliant with the richness of life--this has been my -longest exercise, my principal experience. If in anything at all, it -was in this that I became a master. To-day my hand knows the trick, I -now have the knack of reversing perspectives: the first reason perhaps -why a _Transvaluation of all Values_ has been possible to me alone. - - - -2 - - -For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of -such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always -instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily -health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those -remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain -details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself -to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in -life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my -refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and -to be doctored--all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts -respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself -in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of -success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is -that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature -cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound -nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to -a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long -period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered -life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even -trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them--out -of my Will to Health and to Life I made my philosophy.... For this -should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my -vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: -the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of -poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes -recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such -lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral -block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only -which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits -of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for -injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; -that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively -gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a -selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, -whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural -scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, -the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with -that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in -him--he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting -it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can -digest himself and others; he knows how to forget--he is strong enough -to make everything turn to his own advantage. - -Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just -described is none other than myself. - - - -3 - - -This double thread of experiences, this means of access to two worlds -that seem so far asunder, finds in every detail its counterpart in my -own nature--I am my own complement: I have a "second" sight, as well -as a first. And perhaps I also have a third sight. By the very nature -of my origin I was allowed an outlook beyond all merely local, merely -national and limited horizons; it required no effort on my part to be -a "good European." On the other hand, I am perhaps more German than -modern Germans--mere Imperial Germans--can hope to be,--I, the last -anti-political German. Be this as it may, my ancestors were Polish -noblemen: it is owing to them that I have so much race instinct in my -blood--who knows? perhaps even the _liberum veto_[1] When I think of -the number of times in my travels that I have been accosted as a Pole, -even by Poles themselves, and how seldom I have been taken for a German, -it seems to me as if I belonged to those only who have a sprinkling -of German in them. But my mother, Franziska Oehler, is at any rate -something very German; as is also my paternal grandmother, Erdmuthe -Krause. The latter spent the whole of her youth in good old Weimar, -not without coming into contact with Goethe's circle. Her brother, -Krause, the Professor of Theology in Königsberg, was called to the -post of General Superintendent at Weimar after Herder's death. It is -not unlikely that her mother, my great grandmother, is mentioned in -young Goethe's diary under the name of "Muthgen." She married twice, -and her second husband was Superintendent Nietzsche of Eilenburg. -In 1813, the year of the great war, when Napoleon with his general -staff entered Eilenburg on the 10th of October, she gave birth to a -son. As a daughter of Saxony she was a great admirer of Napoleon, and -maybe I am so still. My father, born in 1813, died in 1849. Previous -to taking over the pastorship of the parish of Röcken, not far from -Lützen, he lived for some years at the Castle of Altenburg, where he -had charge of the education of the four princesses. His pupils are the -Queen of Hanover, the Grand-Duchess Constantine, the Grand-Duchess of -Oldenburg, and the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg. He was full of -loyal respect for the Prussian King, Frederick William the Fourth, from -whom he obtained his living at Röcken; the events of 1848 saddened him -extremely. As I was born on the 15 th of October, the birthday of the -king above mentioned, I naturally received the Hohenzollern names of -Frederick William. There was at all events one advantage in the choice -of this day: my birthday throughout the whole of my childhood was a day -of public rejoicing. I regard it as a great privilege to have had such -a father: it even seems to me that this embraces all that I can claim -in the matter of privileges--life, the great yea to life, excepted. -What I owe to him above all is this, that I do not need any special -intention, but merely a little patience, in order involuntarily to -enter a world of higher and more delicate things. There I am at home, -there alone does my inmost passion become free. The fact that I had -to pay for this privilege almost with my life, certainly does not -make it a bad bargain. In order to understand even a little of _my -Zarathustra,_ perhaps a man must be situated and constituted very much -as I am myself--with one foot beyond the realm of the living. - - - -4 - - -I have never understood the art of arousing ill-feeling against -myself,--this is also something for which I have to thank my -incomparable father,--even when it seemed to me highly desirable -to do so. However un-Christian it may seem, I do not even bear any -ill-feeling towards myself. Turn my life about as you may, you will -find but seldom--perhaps indeed only once--any trace of some one's -having shown me ill-will. You might perhaps discover, however, too -many traces of _goodwill...._ My experiences even with those on whom -every other man has burnt his fingers, speak without exception in their -favour; I tame every bear, I can make even clowns behave decently. -During the seven years in which I taught Greek to the sixth form of -the College at Bâle, I never had occasion to administer a punishment; -the laziest youths were diligent in my class. The unexpected has -always found me equal to it; I must be unprepared in order to keep my -self-command. Whatever the instrument was, even if it were as out of -tune as the instrument "man" can possibly be,--it was only when I was -ill that I could not succeed in making it express something that was -worth hearing. And how often have I not been told by the "instruments" -themselves, that they had never before heard their voices express such -beautiful things.... This was said to me most delightfully perhaps by -that young fellow Heinrich von Stein, who died at such an unpardonably -early age, and who, after having considerately asked leave to do -so, once appeared in Sils-Maria for a three days' sojourn, telling -everybody there that it was _not_ for the Engadine that he had come. -This excellent person, who with all the impetuous simplicity of a -young Prussian nobleman, had waded deep into the swamp of Wagnerism -(and into that of Dübringism[2] into the bargain!), seemed almost -transformed during these three days by a hurricane of freedom, like one -who has been suddenly raised to his full height and given wings. Again -and again I said to him that this was all owing to the splendid air; -everybody felt the same,--one could not stand 6000 feet above Bayreuth -for nothing,--but he would not believe me.... Be this as it may, if -I have been the victim of many a small or even great offence, it was -not "will," and least of all ill-will that actuated the offenders; but -rather, as I have already suggested, it was goodwill, the cause of no -small amount of mischief in f my life, about which I had to complain. -_My_ experience gave me a right to feel suspicious in regard to all -so-called "unselfish" instincts, in regard to the whole of "neighbourly -love" which is ever ready and waiting with deeds or with advice. To -me it seems that these instincts are a sign of weakness, they are an -example of the inability to withstand a stimulus--it is only among -decadents that this _pity_ is called a virtue. What I reproach the -pitiful with is, that they are too ready to forget shame, reverence, -and the delicacy of feeling which knows how to keep at a distance; they -do not remember that this gushing pity stinks of the mob, and that it -is next of kin to bad manners--that pitiful hands may be thrust with -results fatally destructive into a great destiny, into a lonely and -wounded retirement, and into the privileges with which great guilt -endows one. The overcoming of pity I reckon among the noble virtues; -In the "Temptation of Zarathustra" I have imagined a case, in which a -great cry of distress reaches his ears, in which pity swoops down upon -him like a last sin, and would make him break faith with himself. To -remain one's own master in such circumstances, to keep the sublimity -of one's mission pure in such cases,--pure from the many ignoble and -more short-sighted impulses which come into play in so-called unselfish -actions,--this is the rub, the last test perhaps which a Zarathustra -has to undergo--the actual proof of his power. - - - -5 - - -In yet another respect I am no more than my father over again, and as -it were the continuation of his life after an all-too-early death. -Like every man who has never been able to meet his equal, and unto -whom the concept "retaliation" is just as incomprehensible as the -notion of "equal rights," I have forbidden myself the use of any sort -of measure of security or protection--and also, of course, of defence -and "justification"--in all cases in which I have been made the victim -either of trifling or even _very great_ foolishness. My form of -retaliation consists in this: as soon as possible to set a piece of -cleverness at the heels of an act of stupidity; by this means perhaps -it may still be possible to overtake it. To speak in a parable: I -dispatch a pot of jam in order to get rid of a bitter experience.... -Let anybody only give me offence, I shall "retaliate," he can be quite -sure of that: before long I discover an opportunity of expressing my -thanks to the "offender" (among other things even for the offence)--or -of _asking_ him for something, which can be more courteous even than -giving. It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter, -is more good-natured, more straightforward, than silence. Those--who -keep silent are almost always lacking in subtlety and refinement of -heart; silence is an objection, to swallow a grievance must necessarily -produce a bad temper--it even upsets the stomach. All silent people -are dyspeptic. You perceive that I should not like to see rudeness -undervalued; it is by far the most _humane_ form of contradiction, and, -in the midst of modern effeminacy, it is one of our first virtues; If -one is sufficiently rich for it, it may even be a joy to be wrong. If -a god were to descend to this earth, he would have to do nothing but -wrong--to take _guilt_ not punishment, on one's shoulders, is the first -proof of divinity. - - - -6 - - -Freedom from resentment and the understanding of the nature of -resentment--who knows how very much after all I am indebted to my long -illness for these two things? The problem is not exactly simple: a -man must have experienced both through his strength and through his -weakness, If illness and weakness are to be charged with anything at -all, it is with the fact that when they prevail, the very instinct of -recovery, which is the instinct of defence and of war in man, becomes -decayed. He knows not how to get rid of anything, how to come to -terms with anything, and how to cast anything behind him. Everything -wounds him. People and things draw importunately near, all experiences -strike deep, memory is a gathering wound. To be ill is a sort of -resentment in itself. Against this resentment the invalid has only -one great remedy--I call it _Russian fatalism,_ that fatalism which -is free from revolt, and with which the Russian soldier, to whom a -campaign proves unbearable, ultimately lays himself down in the snow. -To accept nothing more, to undertake nothing more, to absorb nothing -more--to cease entirely from reacting.... The tremendous sagacity -of this fatalism, which does not always imply merely the courage for -death, but which in the most dangerous cases may actually constitute -a self-preservative measure, amounts to a reduction of activity in -the vital functions, the slackening down of which is like a sort of -will to hibernate. A few steps farther in this direction we find the -fakir, who will sleep for weeks in a tomb.... Owing to the fact that -one would be used up too quickly if one reacted, one no longer reacts -at all: this is the principle. And nothing on earth consumes a man -more quickly than the passion of resentment. Mortification, morbid -susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst -for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison--this is surely the -most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by -exhausted men. It involves a rapid wasting away of nervous energy, an -abnormal increase of detrimental secretions, as, for instance, that -of bile into the stomach. To the sick man resentment ought to be more -strictly forbidden than anything else--it is _his_ special danger: -unfortunately, however, it is also his most natural propensity. This -was fully grasped by that profound physiologist Buddha. His "religion," -which it would be better to call a system of hygiene, in order to avoid -confounding it with a creed so wretched as Christianity, depended -for its effect upon the triumph over resentment: to make the soul -free therefrom was considered the first step towards recovery. "Not -through hostility is hostility put to flight; through friendship does -hostility end": this stands at the beginning of Buddha's teaching--this -is not a precept of morality, but of physiology. Resentment born of -weakness is not more deleterious to anybody than it is to the weak -man himself--conversely, in the case of that man whose nature is -fundamentally a rich one, resentment is a superfluous feeling, a -feeling to remain master of which is almost a proof of riches. Those -of my readers who know the earnestness-with which my philosophy wages -war against the feelings of revenge and rancour, even to the extent of -attacking the doctrine of "free will" (my conflict with Christianity -is only a particular instance of it), will understand why I wish to -focus attention upon my own personal attitude and the certainty of -my practical instincts precisely in this matter. In my moments of -decadence I forbade myself the indulgence of the above feelings, -because they were harmful; as soon as my life recovered enough riches -and pride, however, I regarded them again as forbidden, but this time -because they were _beneath_ me. That "Russian fatalism" of which I have -spoken manifested itself in me in such a way that for years I held -tenaciously to almost insufferable conditions, places, habitations, -and companions, once chance had placed them on my path--it was better -than changing them, than feeling that they could be changed, than -revolting against them.... He who stirred me from this fatalism, he -who violently tried to shake me into consciousness, seemed to me then -a mortal enemy--in point of fact, there was danger of death each time -this was done. To regard one's self as a destiny, not to wish one's -self "different"--this, in such circumstances, is sagacity, itself. - - - -7 - - -War, on the other hand, is something different. At heart I am a -warrior. Attacking belongs to my instincts. To _be able to be_ an -enemy, to _be_ an enemy--maybe these things presuppose a strong nature; -in any case all strong natures involve these things. Such natures need -resistance, consequently they go in search of obstacles: the pathos of -aggression belongs of necessity to strength as much as the feelings -of revenge and of rancour belong to weakness. Woman, for instance, is -revengeful; her weakness involves this passion, just as it involves -her susceptibility in the presence of other people's suffering. The -strength of the aggressor can be measured by the opposition which -he needs; every increase of growth betrays itself by a seeking out -of more formidable opponents--or problems: for a philosopher who -is combative challenges even problems to a duel. The task is not -to overcome opponents in general, but only those opponents against -whom one has to summon all one's strength, one's skill, and one's -swordsmanship--in fact, opponents who are one's equals.... To be one's -enemy's equal--this is the first condition of an honourable duel. Where -one despises, one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees -something _beneath_ one, one _ought_ not to wage war. My war tactics -can be reduced to four principles A First, I attack only things that -are triumphant--if necessary I wait until they become triumphant. -Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no allies, -against which I stand alone--against which I compromise nobody but -myself.... I have not yet taken one single step before the public eye, -which did not compromise me: that is _my_ criterion of a proper mode -of action. Thirdly, I never make personal attacks--I use a personality -merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, -but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent. In this way I -attacked David Strauss, or rather the success given to a senile book by -the cultured classes of Germany--by this means I caught German culture -red-handed. In this way I attacked Wagner, or rather the falsity or -mongrel instincts of our "culture" which confounds the super-refined -with the strong, and the effete with the great. Fourthly, I attack -only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in -which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is -lacking. On the contrary, attacking is to me a proof of goodwill and, -in certain circumstances, of gratitude. By means of it, I do honour to -a thing, I distinguish a thing; whether I associate my name with that -of an institution or a person, by being _against_ or _for_ either, -is all the same to me. If I wage war against Christianity, I feel -justified in doing so, because in that quarter I have met with no fatal -experiences and difficulties--the most earnest Christians have always -been kindly disposed to me. I, personally, the most essential opponent -of Christianity, am far from holding the individual responsible for -what is the fatality of long ages. - -May I be allowed to hazard a suggestion concerning one last trait -in my character, which in my intercourse with other men has led me -into some difficulties? I am gifted with a sense of cleanliness the -keenness of which is phenomenal; so much so, that I can ascertain -physiologically--that is to say, smell--the proximity, nay, the inmost -core, the "entrails" of every human soul.... This sensitiveness of mine -is furnished with psychological antennæ, wherewith I feel and grasp -every secret: the quality of concealed filth lying at the base of many -a human character which may be the inevitable outcome of base blood, -and which education may have veneered, is revealed to me at the first -glance. If my observation has been correct, such people, whom my sense -of cleanliness rejects, also become conscious, on their part, of the -cautiousness to which my loathing prompts me: and this does not make -them any more fragrant.... In keeping with a custom which I have long -observed,--pure habits and honesty towards myself are among the first -conditions of my existence, I would die in unclean surroundings,--I -swim, bathe, and splash about, as it were, incessantly in water, in -any kind of perfectly transparent and shining element. That is why -my relations with my fellows try my patience to no small extent; my -humanity does not consist in the fact that I understand the feelings -of my fellows, but that I can endure to understand.... My humanity -is a perpetual process of self-mastery. But I need solitude--that is -to say, recovery, return to myself, the breathing of free, crisp, -bracing air.... The whole of my _Zarathustra_ is a dithyramb in honour -of solitude, or, if I have been understood, in honour of purity. Thank -Heaven, it is not in honour of "pure foolery"![3] He who has an eye for -colour will call him a diamond. The loathing of mankind, of the rabble, -was always my greatest danger.... Would you hearken to the words spoken -by Zarathustra concerning deliverance from loathing? - -"What forsooth hath come unto me? How did I deliver myself from -loathing? Who hath made mine eye younger? How did I soar to the height, -where there are no more rabble sitting about the well? - -"Did my very loathing forge me wings and the strength to scent -fountains afar off? Verily to the loftiest heights did I need to fly, -to find once more the spring of joyfulness. - -"Oh, I found it, my brethren! Up here, on the loftiest height, the -spring of joyfulness gusheth forth for me. And there is a life at the -well of which no rabble can drink with you. - -"Almost too fiercely dost thou rush, for me, thou spring of joyfulness! -And ofttimes dost thou empty the pitcher again in trying to fill it. - -"And yet must I learn to draw near thee more humbly. Far too eagerly -doth my heart jump to meet thee. - -"My heart, whereon my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, -over-blessed summer: how my summer heart yearneth for thy coolness! - -"Farewell, the lingering affliction of my spring! Past is the -wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and -summer noontide! - -"A summer in the loftiest heights, with cold springs and blessed -stillness: oh come, my friends, that the stillness may wax even more -blessed! - -"For this is our height and our home: too high and steep is our -dwelling for all the unclean and their appetites. - -"Do but cast your pure eyes into the well of my joyfulness, my friends! -How could it thus become muddy! It will laugh back at you with its -purity. - -"On the tree called Future do we build our nest: eagles shall bring -food in their beaks unto us lonely ones! - -"Verily not the food whereof the unclean might partake. They would -think they ate fire and would burn their mouths! - -"Verily, no abodes for the unclean do we here hold in readiness! To -their bodies our happiness would seem an ice-cavern, and to their -spirits also! - -"And like strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the -eagles, companions of the snow, and playmates of the sun: thus do -strong winds live. - -"And like a wind shall I one day blow amidst them, and take away their -soul's breath with my spirit: thus my future willeth it. - -"Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low lands; and this is -his counsel to his foes and to all those who spit and spew: 'Beware of -spitting against the wind!'" - - -[Footnote 1: The right which every Polish deputy, whether a great or an -inferior nobleman, possessed of forbidding the passing of any measure -by the Diet, was called in Poland the _liberum veto_ (in Polish _nie -pozwalam_), and brought all legislation to a standstill.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Eugen Dübring is a philosopher and political economist -whose general doctrine might be characterised as a sort of abstract -Materialism with an optimistic colouring.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: This, of course, is a reference to Wagner's _Parsifal._ -See my note on p. 96 of _The Will to Power_ vol. i.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I AM SO CLEVER - - - -1 - - -Why do I know more things than other people? Why, in fact, am I so -clever? I have never pondered over questions that are not questions. I -have never squandered my strength. Of actual religious difficulties, -for instance, I have no experience. I have never known what it is to -feel "sinful." In the same way I completely lack any reliable criterion -for ascertaining what constitutes a prick of conscience: from all -accounts a prick of conscience does not seem to be a very estimable -thing.... Once it was done I should hate to leave an action of mine -in the lurch; I should prefer completely to omit the evil outcome, -the consequences, from the problem concerning the value of an action. -In the face of evil consequences one is too ready to lose the proper -standpoint from which one's deed ought to be considered. A prick of -conscience strikes me as a sort of "evil eye." Something that has -failed should be honoured all the more jealously, precisely because -it has failed--this is much more in keeping with my morality.--"God," -"the immortality of the soul," "salvation," a "beyond"--to all these -notions, even as a child, I never paid any attention whatsoever, nor -did I waste any time upon them,--maybe I was never _naif_ enough for -that?--I am quite unacquainted with atheism as a result, and still -less as an event in my life: in me it is inborn, instinctive. I am -too inquisitive, too incredulous, too high spirited, to be satisfied -with such a palpably clumsy solution of things. God is a too palpably -clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy -towards us thinkers--at bottom He is really no more than a coarse -and rude _prohibition_ of us: ye shall not think!... I am much more -interested in another question,--a question upon which the "salvation -of humanity" depends to a far greater degree than it does upon any -piece of theological curiosity: I refer to nutrition. For ordinary -purposes, it may be formulated as follows: "How precisely must _thou_ -feed thyself in order to attain to thy maximum of power, or _virtù_ -in the Renaissance style,--of virtue free from moralic acid?" My -experiences in regard to this matter have been as bad as they possibly -could be; I am surprised that I set myself this question so late in -life, and that it took me so long to draw "rational" conclusions -from my experiences. Only the absolute worth-_1_ lessness of German -culture--its "idealism"--can to some extent explain how it was that -precisely in this matter I was so backward that my ignorance was almost -saintly. This "culture," which from first to last teaches one to lose -sight of actual things and to hunt after thoroughly problematic and -so-called ideal aims, as, for instance, "classical culture"--as if it -were not hopeless from the start to try to unite "classical" and -"German" in one concept. It is even a little comical--try and imagine -a "classically cultured" citizen of Leipzig!--Indeed, I can say, that -up to a very mature age, my food was entirely bad--expressed morally, -it was "impersonal," "selfless," "altruistic," to the glory of cooks -and all other fellow-Christians. It was through the cooking in vogue -at Leipzig, for instance, together with my first study of Schopenhauer -(1865), that I earnestly renounced my "Will to Live." To spoil one's -stomach by absorbing insufficient nourishment--this problem seemed to -my mind solved with admirable felicity by the above-mentioned cookery. -(It is said that in the year 1866 changes were introduced into this -department.) But as to German cookery in general--what has it not got -on its conscience! Soup _before_ the meal (still called _alla tedesca_ -in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled -to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of -pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely -bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the _ancients,_ and not alone -of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect -took its origin--that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.... -German intellect is indigestion; it can assimilate nothing. But even -English diet, which in comparison with German, and indeed with French -alimentation, seems to me to constitute a "return to Nature,"--that is -to say, to cannibalism,--is profoundly opposed to my own instincts. It -seems to me to give the intellect heavy feet, in fact, Englishwomen's -feet.... The best cooking is that of Piedmont. Alcoholic drinks do -not agree with me; a single glass of wine or beer a day is amply -sufficient to turn life into a valley of tears for me;--in Munich live -my antipodes. Although I admit that this knowledge came to me somewhat -late, it already formed part of my experience even as a child. As a boy -I believed that the drinking of wine and the smoking of tobacco were at -first but the vanities of youths, and later merely bad habits. Maybe -the poor wine of Naumburg was partly responsible for this poor opinion -of wine in general. In order to believe that wine was exhilarating, I -should have had to be a Christian--in other words, I should have had to -believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity. Strange to say, whereas -small quantities of alcohol, taken with plenty of water, succeed in -making me feel out of sorts, large quantities turn me almost into a -rollicking tar. Even as a boy I showed my bravado in this respect. To -compose a long Latin essay in one night, to revise and recopy it, to -aspire with my pen to emulating the exactitude and the terseness of my -model, Sallust, and to pour a few very strong grogs over it all--this -mode of procedure, while I was a pupil at the venerable old school of -Pforta, was not in the least out of keeping with my physiology, nor -perhaps with that of Sallust, however much it may have been alien to -dignified Pforta. Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more -and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, -who have experienced what vegetarianism is,--just as Wagner, who -converted me back to meat, experienced it,--cannot with sufficient -earnestness advise all more _spiritual_ natures to abstain absolutely -from alcohol. Water answers the purpose.... I have a predilection in -favour of those places where in all directions one has opportunities -of drinking from running brooks (Nice, Turin, Sils). _In vino Veritas_: -it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the -world about the concept "Truth"--with me spirit moves on the face of -the waters.... Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A -heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first -principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active -as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. -For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call -interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table -d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between -meals, coffee should be given up--coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is -beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, -but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the -whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own -standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate -limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which -to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to -drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as -possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to -the accompaniment of free bodily motion--nor in one in which even the -muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in -the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is -the real sin against the Holy Spirit. - - - -2. - - -To the question of nutrition, that of locality and climate is next of -kin. Nobody is so constituted as to be able to live everywhere and -anywhere; and he who has great duties to perform, which lay claim -to all his strength, has, in this respect, a very limited choice. -The influence of climate upon the bodily functions, affecting their -acceleration or retardation, extends so far, that a blunder in the -choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from -his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that -he never even comes face to face with it. Animal vigour never acquires -enough strength in him in order to reach that pitch of artistic freedom -which makes his own soul whisper to him: I, alone, can do that.... Ever -so slight a tendency to laziness in the intestines, once it has become -a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something -"German" out of a genius; the climate of Germany, alone, is enough to -discourage the strongest and most heroically disposed intestines. The -tempo of the body's functions is closely bound up with the agility or -the clumsiness of the spirit's feet; spirit itself is indeed only a -form of these organic functions. Let anybody make a list of the places -in which men of great intellect have been found, and are still found; -where wit, subtlety, and malice constitute happiness; where genius -is almost necessarily at home: all of them rejoice in exceptionally -dry air. Paris, Provence, Florence, Jerusalem, Athens--these names -prove something, namely: that genius is conditioned by dry air, by a -pure sky--that is to say, by rapid organic functions, by the constant -and ever-present possibility of procuring for one's self great and -even enormous quantities of strength. I have a certain case in mind -in which a man of remarkable intellect and independent spirit became -a narrow, craven specialist and a grumpy old crank, simply owing to -a lack of subtlety in his instinct for climate. And I myself might -have been an example of the same thing, if illness had not compelled -me to reason, and to reflect upon reason realistically. Now that I -have learnt through long practice to read the effects of climatic and -meteorological influences, from my own body, as though from a very -delicate and reliable instrument, and that I am able to calculate the -change in degrees of atmospheric moisture by means of physiological -observations upon myself, even on so short a journey as that from -Turin to Milan; I think with horror of the ghastly fact that my -whole life, until the last ten years,--the most perilous years,--has -always been spent in the wrong, and what to me ought to have been -the most forbidden, places. Naumburg, Pforta, Thuringia in general, -Leipzig, Bâle, Venice--so many ill-starred places for a constitution -like mine. If I cannot recall one single happy reminiscence of my -childhood and youth, it is nonsense to suppose that so-called "moral" -causes could account for this--as, for instance, the incontestable -fact that I lacked companions that could have satisfied me; for this -fact is the same to-day as it ever was, and it does not prevent me -from being cheerful and brave. But it was ignorance in physiological -matters--that confounded "Idealism"--that was the real curse of my -life. This was the superfluous and foolish element in my existence; -something from which nothing could spring, and for which there can be -no settlement and no compensation. As the outcome of this "Idealism" -I regard all the blunders, the great aberrations of instinct, and -the "modest specialisations" which drew me aside from the task of my -life; as, for instance, the fact that I became a philologist--why -not at least a medical man or anything else which might have opened -my eyes? My days at Bâle, the whole of my intellectual routine, -including my daily time-table, was an absolutely senseless abuse of -extraordinary powers, without the slightest compensation for the -strength that I spent, without even a thought of what I was squandering -and how its place might be filled. I lacked all subtlety in egoism, -all the fostering care of an imperative instinct; I was in a state -in which one is ready to regard one's self as anybody's equal, a -state of "disinterestedness," a forgetting of one's distance from -others--something, in short, for which I can never forgive myself. -When I had well-nigh reached the end of my tether, simply because I -had almost reached my end, I began to reflect upon the fundamental -absurdity of my life--"Idealism." It was _illness_ that first brought -me to reason. - - - -3 - - -After the choice of nutrition, the choice of climate and locality, the -third matter concerning which one must not on any account make a -blunder, is the choice of the manner in which one _recuperates one's -strength._ Here, again, according to the extent to which a spirit is -_sui generis,_ the limits of that which he can allow himself--in other -words, the limits of that which is beneficial to him--become more and -more confined. As far as I in particular am concerned, _reading_ in -general belongs to my means of recuperation; consequently it belongs -to that which rids me of myself, to that which enables me to wander -in strange sciences and strange souls--to that, in fact, about which -I am no longer in earnest. Indeed, it is while reading that I recover -from _my_ earnestness. During the time that I am deeply absorbed in -my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur -to me to allow any one to speak or even to think in my presence. -For that is what reading would mean.... Has any one ever actually -noticed, that, during the period of profound tension to which the -state of pregnancy condemns not only the mind, but also, at bottom, -the whole organism, accident and every kind of external stimulus acts -too acutely and strikes too deep? Accident and external stimuli must, -as far as possible, be avoided: a sort of walling-of-one's-self-in is -one of the primary instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy. -Shall I allow a strange thought to steal secretly over the wall? -For that is what reading would mean.... The periods of work and -fruit-fulness are followed by periods of recuperation: come hither, -ye delightful, intellectual, intelligent books! Shall I read German -books?... I must go back six months to catch myself with a book in -my hand. What was it? An excellent study by Victor Brochard upon the -Greek sceptics, in which my Laertiana[1] was used to advantage. The -sceptics!--the only _honourable_ types among that double-faced and -sometimes quintuple-faced throng, the philosophers!.... Otherwise I -almost always take refuge in the same books: altogether their number -is small; they are books which are precisely my proper fare. It is -not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library -makes me ill. Neither is it my nature to love much or many kinds of -things. Suspicion or even hostility towards new books is much more -akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration," _largeur de cœur,_ -and other forms of "neighbour-love." ... It is to a small number of -old French authors, that I always return again and again; I believe -only in French culture, and regard everything else in Europe which -calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take -the German kind into consideration.... The few instances of higher -culture with which I have met in Germany were all French in their -origin. The most striking example of this was Madame Cosima Wagner, -by far the most decisive voice in matters of taste that I have ever -heard. If I do not read, but literally love Pascal? as the most -instinctive sacrifice to Christianity, killing himself inch by inch, -first bodily, then spiritually, according to the terrible consistency -of this most appalling form of inhuman cruelty; if I have something -of Montaigne's mischievousness in my soul, and--who knows?--perhaps -also in my body; if my artist's taste endeavours to defend the names -of Molière, Corneille, and Racine, and not without bitterness, against -such a wild genius as Shakespeare--all this does not prevent me from -regarding even the latter-day Frenchmen also as charming companions. -I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of -more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could -be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day. Let me -mention a few at random--for their number is by no means small--Paul -Bourget, Pierre Loti, Gyp, Meilhac, Anatole France, Jules Lemaitre; -or, to point to one of strong race, a genuine Latin, of whom I am -particularly fond, Guy de Maupassant. Between ourselves, I prefer this -generation even to its masters, all of whom were corrupted by German -philosophy (Taine, for instance, by Hegel, whom he has to thank for -his misunderstanding of great men and great periods). Wherever Germany -extends her sway, she _ruins_ culture. It was the war which first saved -the spirit of France.... Stendhal is one of the happiest accidents of -my life--for everything that marks an epoch in it has been brought -to me by accident and never by means of a recommendation. He is quite -priceless, with his psychologist's eye, quick at forestalling and -anticipating; with his grasp of facts, which is reminiscent of the same -art in the greatest of all masters of facts (_ex ungue Napoleonem_); -and, last but not least, as an honest atheist--a specimen which is -both rare and difficult to discover in France--all honour to Prosper -Mérimée!... Maybe that I am even envious of Stendhal? He robbed -me of the best atheistic joke, which I of all people could have -perpetrated: "God's only excuse is that He does not exist" ... I myself -have said somewhere--What has been the greatest objection to Life -hitherto?--God.... - - - -4 - - -It was Heinrich Heine who gave me the most perfect idea of what a -lyrical poet could be. In vain do I search through all the kingdoms of -antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and -passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which -perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me,--I estimate the value of -men, of races, according to the extent to which they are unable to -conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him. And with -what mastery he wields his native tongue! One day it will be said of -Heine and me that we were by far the greatest artists of the German -language that have ever existed, and that we left all the efforts that -mere Germans made in this language an incalculable distance behind -us. I must be profoundly related to Byron's _Manfred:_ of all the -dark abysses in this work I found the counterparts in my own soul--at -the age of thirteen I was ripe for this book. Words fail me, I have -only a look, for those who dare to utter the name of _Faust_ in the -presence of _Manfred._ The Germans are _incapable_ of conceiving -anything sublime: for a proof of this, look at Schumann! Out of anger -for this mawkish Saxon, I once deliberately composed a counter-overture -to _Manfred,_ of which Hans von Bülow declared he had never seen the -like before on paper: such compositions amounted to a violation of -Euterpe. When I cast about me for my highest formula of Shakespeare, -I find invariably but this one: that he conceived the type of Cæsar. -Such things a man cannot guess--he either is the thing, or he is not. -The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. -This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he -can no longer endure his own work.... After casting a glance between -the pages of my _Zarathustra,_ I pace my room to and fro for half -an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears. -I know of no more heartrending reading than Shakespeare: how a man -must have suffered to be so much in need of playing the clown! Is -Hamlet _understood_? It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one -mad.... But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be -an abyss, a philosopher.... We all fear the truth.... And, to make a -confession; I feel instinctively certain and convinced that Lord Bacon -is the originator, the self-torturer, of this most sinister kind of -literature: what do I care about the miserable gabble of American -muddlers and blockheads? But the power for the greatest realism in -vision is not only compatible with the greatest realism in deeds, -with the monstrous in deeds, with crime--_it actually presupposes the -latter._ ... We do not know half enough about Lord Bacon--the first -realist in all the highest acceptation of this word--to be sure of -everything he did, everything he willed, and everything he experienced -in his inmost soul.... Let the critics go to hell! Suppose I had -christened my _Zarathustra_ with a name not my own,--let us say with -Richard Wagner's name,--the acumen of two thousand years would not have -sufficed to guess that the author of _Human, all-too-Human_ was the -visionary of _Zarathustra._ - - - -5 - - -As I am speaking here of the recreations of my life, I feel I must -express a word or two of gratitude for that which has refreshed me by -far the most heartily and most profoundly. This, without the slightest -doubt, was my intimate relationship with Richard Wagner. All my other -relationships with men I treat quite lightly; but I would not have the -days I spent at Tribschen--those days of confidence, of cheerfulness, -of sublime flashes, and of profound moments--blotted from my life -at any price. I know not what Wagner may have been for others; but -no cloud ever darkened _our_ sky. And this brings me back again to -France,--I have no arguments against Wagnerites, and _hoc genus omne_ -who believe that they do honour to Wagner by believing him to be -like themselves; for such people I have only a contemptuous curl of -my lip. With a nature like mine, which is so strange to everything -Teutonic, that even the presence of a German retards my digestion, my -first meeting with Wagner was the first moment in my life in which I -breathed freely: I felt him, I honoured him, as a foreigner, as the -opposite and the incarnate contradiction of all "German virtues." We -who as children breathed the marshy atmosphere of the fifties, are -necessarily pessimists in regard to the concept "German"; we cannot -be anything else than revolutionaries--we can assent to no state of -affairs which allows the canting bigot to be at the top. I care not -a jot whether this canting bigot acts in different colours to-day, -whether he dresses in scarlet or dons the uniform of a hussar.[2] Very -well, then! Wagner was a revolutionary--he fled from the Germans.... -As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris; that subtlety -of all the five senses which Wagner's art presupposes, those fingers -that can detect slight gradations, psychological morbidity--all these -things can be found only in Paris. Nowhere else can you meet with -this passion for questions of form, this earnestness in matters of -_mise-en-scène,_ which is the Parisian earnestness _par excellence._ -In Germany no one has any idea of the tremendous ambition that fills -the heart of a Parisian artist. The German is a good fellow. Wagner was -by no means a good fellow.... But I have already said quite enough -on the subject of Wagner's real nature (see _Beyond Good and Evil,_ -Aphorism 269), and about those to whom he is most closely related. -He is one of the late French romanticists, that high-soaring and -heaven-aspiring band of artists, like Delacroix and Berlioz, who in -their inmost nacres are sick and incurable, and who are all fanatics -of _expression,_ and virtuosos through and through.... Who, in sooth, -was the first intelligent follower of Wagner? Charles Baudelaire, the -very man who first understood Delacroix--that typical decadent, in whom -a whole generation of artists saw their reflection; he was perhaps the -last of them too.... What is it that I have never forgiven Wagner? -The fact that he condescended to the Germans--that he became a German -Imperialist.... Wherever Germany spreads, she _ruins_ culture. - - - -6 - - -Taking everything into consideration, I could never have survived my -youth without Wagnerian music. For I was condemned to the society -of Germans. If a man wish to get rid of a feeling of insufferable -oppression, he has to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner. -Wagner is the counter-poison to everything essentially German--the fact -that he is a poison too, I do not deny. From the moment that _Tristan_ -was arranged for the piano--all honour to you, Herr von Bülow!--I was -a Wagnerite. Wagner's previous works seemed beneath me--they were too -commonplace, too "German." ... But to this day I am still seeking for a -work which would be a match to _Tristan_ in dangerous fascination, and -possess the same gruesome and dulcet quality of infinity; I seek among -all the arts in vain. All the quaint features of Leonardo da Vinci's -work lose their charm at the sound of the first bar in _Tristan._ -This work is without question Wagner's _non plus ultra_; after its -creation, the composition of the _Mastersingers_ and of the _Ring_ was -a relaxation to him. To become more healthy--this in a nature like -Wagner's amounts to going backwards. The curiosity of the psychologist -is so great in me, that I regard it as quite a special privilege -to have lived at the right time, and to have lived precisely among -Germans, in order to be ripe for this work. The world must indeed be -empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for this "infernal -voluptuousness": it is allowable, it is even imperative, to employ a -mystic formula for this purpose. I suppose I know better than any one -the prodigious feats of which Wagner was capable, the fifty worlds of -strange ecstasies to which no one else had wings to soar; and as I am -alive to-day and strong enough to turn even the most suspicious and -most dangerous things to my own advantage, and thus to grow stronger, -I declare Wagner to have been the greatest benefactor of my life. The -bond which unites us is the fact that we have suffered greater agony, -even at each other's hands, than most men are able to bear nowadays, -and this will always keep our names associated in the minds of men. -For, just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among Germans, so, in -truth, am I, and ever will be. Ye lack two centuries of psychological -and artistic discipline, my dear countrymen!... But ye can never -recover the time lost. - - - -7 - - -To the most exceptional of my readers I should like to say just one -word about what I really exact from music. It must be cheerful and yet -profound, like an October afternoon. It must be original, exuberant, -and tender, and like a dainty, soft woman in roguishness and grace ... I -shall never admit that a German _can_ understand what music is. Those -musicians who are called German, the greatest and most famous foremost, -are all foreigners, either Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen--or Jews; -or else, like Heinrich Schütz, Bach, and Händel, they are Germans of -a strong race which is now extinct. For my own part, I have still -enough of the Pole left in me to let all other music go, if only I -can keep Chopin. For three reasons I would except Wagner's _Siegfried -Idyll,_ and perhaps also one or two things of Liszt, who excelled all -other musicians in the noble tone of his orchestration; and finally -everything that has been produced beyond the Alps_--this side_ of the -Alps.[3] I could not possibly dispense with Rossini, and still less -with my Southern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro, Pietro -Gasti. And when I say beyond the Alps, all I really mean is Venice. -If I try to find a new word for music, I can never find any other -than Venice. I know not how to draw any distinction between tears -and music. I do not know how to think either of joy, or of the south, -without a shudder of fear. - -On the bridge I stood -Lately, in gloomy night. -Came a distant song: -In golden drops it rolled -Over the glittering rim away. -Music, gondolas, lights-- -Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom.... - -A stringed instrument, my soul, -Sang, imperceptibly moved, -A gondola song by stealth, -Gleaming for gaudy blessedness. ---Hearkened any thereto? - - - -8 - - -In all these things--in the choice of food, place, climate, and -recreation--the instinct of self-preservation is dominant, and this -instinct manifests itself with least ambiguity when it acts as an -instinct of defence. To close one's eyes to much, to seal one's ears to -much, to keep certain things at a distance--this is the first principle -of prudence, the first proof of the fact that a man is not an accident -but a necessity. The popular word for this instinct of defence is -_taste._ A man's imperative command is not only to say "no" in cases -where "yes" would be a sign of "disinterestedness," but also to say -"no" _as seldom as possible._ One must part with all that which compels -one to repeat "no," with ever greater frequency. The rationale of this -principle is that all discharges of defensive forces, however slight -they may be, involve enormous and absolutely superfluous losses when -they become regular and habitual. Our greatest expenditure of strength -is made up of those small and most frequent discharges of it. The act -of keeping things off, of holding them at a distance, amounts to a -discharge of strength,--do not deceive yourselves on this point!--and -an expenditure of energy directed at purely negative ends. Simply by -being compelled to keep constantly on his guard, a man may grow so weak -as to be unable any longer to defend himself. Suppose I were to step -out of my house, and, instead of the quiet and aristocratic city of -Turin, I were to find a German provincial town, my instinct would have -to brace itself together in order to repel all that which would pour in -upon it from this crushed-down and cowardly world. Or suppose I were -to find a large German city--that structure of vice in which nothing -grows, but where every single thing, whether good or bad, is squeezed -in from outside. In such circumstances should I not be compelled to -become a hedgehog? But to have prickles amounts to a squandering of -strength; they even constitute a twofold luxury, when, if we only chose -to do so, we could dispense with them and open our hands instead.... - -Another form of prudence and self-defence consists in trying to -react as seldom as possible, and to keep one's self aloof from those -circumstances and conditions wherein one would be condemned, as it -were, to suspend one's "liberty" and one's initiative, and become a -mere reacting medium. As an example of this I point to the intercourse -with books. The scholar who, in sooth, does little else than handle -books--with the philologist of average attainments their number may -amount to two hundred a day--ultimately forgets entirely and completely -the capacity of thinking for himself. When he has not a book between -his fingers he cannot think. When he thinks, he responds to a stimulus -(a thought he has read),--finally all he does is to react. The scholar -exhausts his whole strength in saying either "yes" or "no" to matter -which has already been thought out, or in criticising it--he is no -longer capable of thought on his own account.... In him the instinct -of self-defence has decayed, otherwise he would defend himself against -books. The scholar is a decadent. With my own eyes I have seen gifted, -richly endowed, and free-spirited natures already "read to ruins" at -thirty, and mere wax vestas that have to be rubbed before they can give -off any sparks--or "thoughts." To set to early in the morning, at the -break of day, in all the fulness and dawn of one's strength, and to -read a book--this I call positively vicious! - - - -9 - - -At this point I can no longer evade a direct answer to the question, -_how one becomes what one is._ And in giving it, I shall have to -touch upon that masterpiece in the art of self-preservation, which is -_selfishness._ ... Granting that one's life-task--the determination and -the fate of one's life-task--greatly exceeds the average measure of -such things, nothing more dangerous could be conceived than to come -face to face with one's self by the side of this life-task. The fact -that one becomes what one is, presupposes that one has not the remotest -suspicion of what one is. From this standpoint even the blunders of -one's life have their own meaning and value, the temporary deviations -and aberrations, the moments of hesitation and of modesty, the -earnestness wasted upon duties which lie outside the actual life-task. -In these matters great wisdom, perhaps even the highest wisdom, comes -into activity: in these circumstances, in which _nosce teipsum_ would -be the sure road to ruin, forgetting one's self, misunderstanding -one's self, belittling one's self, narrowing one's self, and making -one's self mediocre, amount to reason itself. Expressed morally, to -love one's neighbour and to live for others and for other things -_may_ be the means of protection employed to maintain the hardest -kind of egoism. This is the exceptional case in which I, contrary -to my principle and conviction, take the side of the altruistic -instincts; for here they are concerned in subserving selfishness -and self-discipline. The whole surface of consciousness--for -consciousness _is_ a surface--must be kept free from any one of the -great imperatives. Beware even of every striking word, of every -striking attitude! They are all so many risks which the instinct runs -of "understanding itself" too soon. Meanwhile the organising "idea," -which is destined to become master, grows and continues to grow into -the depths,--it begins to command, it leads you slowly back from your -deviations and aberrations, it prepares individual qualities and -capacities, which one day will make themselves felt as indispensable -to the whole of your task,--step by step it cultivates all the -serviceable faculties, before it ever whispers a word concerning the -dominant task, the "goal," the "object," and the "meaning" of it all. -Looked at from this standpoint my life is simply amazing. For the task -of _transvaluing values,_ more capacities were needful perhaps than -could well be found side by side in one individual; and above all, -antagonistic capacities which had to be free from the mutual strife -and destruction which they involve. An order of rank among capacities; -distance; the art of separating without creating hostility; to refrain -from confounding things; to keep from reconciling things; to possess -enormous multifariousness and yet to be the reverse of chaos--all -this was the first condition, the long secret work, and the artistic -mastery of my instinct. Its superior guardianship manifested itself -with such exceeding strength, that not once did I ever dream of what -was growing within me--until suddenly all my capacities were ripe, and -one day burst forth in all the perfection of their highest bloom. I -cannot remember ever having exerted myself, I can point to no trace of -_struggle_ in my life; I am the reverse of a heroic nature. To "will" -something, to "strive" after something, to have an "aim" or a "desire" -in my mind--I know none of these things from experience. Even at this -moment I look out upon my future--a _broad_ future!--as upon a calm -sea: no sigh of longing makes a ripple on its surface. I have not the -slightest wish that anything should be otherwise than it is: I myself -would not be otherwise.... But in this matter I have always been the -same. I have never had a desire. A man who, after his four-and-fortieth -year, can say that he has never bothered himself about _honours, -women,_ or _money_!--not that they did not come his way.... It was -thus that I became one day a University Professor--I had never had -the remotest idea of such a thing; for I was scarcely four-and-twenty -years of age. In the same way, two years previously, I had one day -become a philologist, in the sense that my _first_ philological work, -my start in every way, was expressly obtained by my master Ritschl for -publication in his _Rheinisches Museum._[4] (Ritschl--and I say it -in all reverence--was the only genial scholar that I have ever met. -He possessed that pleasant kind of depravity which distinguishes us -Thuringians, and which makes even a German sympathetic--even in the -pursuit of truth we prefer to avail ourselves of roundabout ways. In -saying this I do not mean to underestimate in any way my Thuringian -brother, the intelligent Leopold von Ranke....) - - - -10 - - -You may be wondering why I should actually have related all these -trivial and, according to traditional accounts, insignificant details -to you; such action can but tell against me, more particularly if I -am fated to figure in great causes. To this I reply that these trivial -matters--diet, locality, climate, and one's mode of recreation, the -whole casuistry of; self-love--are inconceivably more important than, -all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem! It is precisely -in this quarter that we must begin to learn afresh. All those things -which mankind has valued with such earnestness heretofore are not even -real; they are mere creations of fancy, or, more strictly speaking, -_lies_ born of the evil instincts of diseased and, in the deepest -sense, noxious natures--all the concepts, "God," "soul," "virtue," -"sin," "Beyond," "truth," "eternal life." ... But the greatness of -human nature, its "divinity," was sought for in them.... All questions -of politics, of social order, of education, have been falsified, root -and branch, owing to the fact that the most noxious men have been -taken for great men, and that people were taught to despise the small -things, or rather the fundamental things, of life. If I now choose to -compare myself with those creatures who have hitherto been honoured as -the first among men, the difference becomes obvious. I do not reckon -the so-called "first" men even as human beings--for me they are the -excrements of mankind, the products of disease and of the instinct -of revenge: they are so many monsters laden with rottenness, so many -hopeless incurables, who avenge themselves on life.... I wish to be -the opposite of these people: it is my privilege to have the very -sharpest discernment for every sign of healthy instincts. There is no -such thing as a morbid trait in me; even in times of serious illness -I have never grown morbid, and you might seek in vain for a trace of -fanaticism in my nature. No one can point to any moment of my life -in which I have assumed either an arrogant or a pathetic attitude. -Pathetic attitudes are not in keeping with greatness; he who needs -attitudes is false.... Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy--in -fact easiest--to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest -duties from me. Whoever could have seen me during the seventy days of -this autumn, when, without interruption, I did a host of things of -the highest rank--things that no man can do nowadays--with a sense of -responsibility for all the ages yet to come, would have noticed no sign -of tension in my condition, but rather a state of overflowing freshness -and good cheer. Never have I eaten with more pleasant sensations, -never has my sleep been better. I know of no other manner of dealing -with great tasks, than as _play_: this, as a sign of greatness, is -an essential prerequisite. The slightest constraint, a sombre mien, -any hard accent in the voice--all these things are objections to a -man, but how much more to his work!... One must not have nerves.... -Even to _suffer_ from solitude is an objection--the only thing I have -always suffered from is "multitude."[5] At an absurdly tender age, in -fact when I was seven years old, I already knew that no human speech -would ever reach me: did any one ever see me sad on that account? At -present I still possess the same affability towards everybody, I am -even full of consideration for the lowest: in all this there is not -an atom of haughtiness or of secret contempt. He whom I despise soon -guesses that he is despised by me: the very fact of my existence is -enough to rouse indignation in all those who have polluted blood in -their veins. My formula for greatness in man is! _amor fati_: the fact -that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or -behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, -and on no account concealed,--all idealism is falsehood in the face of -necessity,--but it must also be _loved...._ - - -[Footnote 1: Nietzsche, as is well known, devoted much time when a -student at Leipzig to the study of three Greek philosophers, Theognis, -Diogenes Laertius, and Democritus. This study first bore fruit in the -case of a paper, _Zur Geschichte der Theognideischen Spruchsammlung_, -which was subsequently published by the most influential journal of -classical philology in Germany. Later, however, it enabled Nietzsche to -enter for the prize offered by the University of Leipzig for an essay, -_De fontibus Diogenis Laertii._ He was successful in gaining the prize, -and the treatise was afterwards published in the _Rheinisches Museum,_ -and is still quoted as an authority. It is to this essay, written when -he was twenty-three years of age, that he here refers.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: The favourite uniform of the German Emperor, William -II.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: In the latter years of his life, Nietzsche practically -made Italy his home.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: See note on page 37.] - -[Footnote 5: The German words are, _Einsamkeit_ and _Vielsamkeit._ The -latter was coined by Nietzsche. The English word "multitude" should, -therefore, be understood as signifying multifarious instincts and -gifts, which in Nietzsche strove for ascendancy and caused him more -suffering than any solitude. Complexity of this sort, held in check -by a dominant instinct, as in Nietzsche's case, is of course the only -possible basis of an artistic nature.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS - - - -1 - - -I am one thing, my creations are another. Here, before I speak of the -books themselves, I shall touch upon the question of the understanding -and misunderstanding with which they have met. I shall proceed to -do this in as perfunctory a manner as the occasion demands; for the -time has by no means come for this question. My time has not yet -come either; some are born posthumously. One s day institutions will -be needed in which men will live and teach, as I understand living -and teaching; maybe, also, that by that time, chairs will be founded -and endowed for the interpretation of _Zarathustra. _ But I should -regard it as a complete contradiction of myself, if I expected to -find ears and eyes for my truths to-day: the fact that no one listens -to me, that no one knows how to receive at my hands to-day, is not -only comprehensible, it seems to me quite the proper thing. I do not -wish to be mistaken for another--and to this end I must not mistake -myself. To repeat what I have already said, I can point to but few -instances of ill-will in my life: and as for literary ill-will, I -could mention scarcely a single example of it. On the other hand, I -have met with far too much _pure foolery_!... It seems to me that to -take up one of my books is one of the rarest honours that a man can -pay himself--even supposing that he put his shoes from off his feet -beforehand, not to mention boots.... When on one occasion Dr. Heinrich -von Stein honestly complained that he could not understand a word of -my _Zarathustra,_ I said to him that this was just as it should be: to -have understood six sentences in that book--that is to say, to have -lived them--raises a man to a higher level among mortals than "modern" -men can attain. With this feeling of distance how could I even wish to -be read by the "moderns" whom I know! My triumph is just the opposite -of what Schopenhauer's was--I say "_Non_ legor, _non_ legar."--Not -that I should like to underestimate the pleasure I have derived from -the innocence with which my works have frequently been contradicted. -As late as last summer, at a time when I was attempting, perhaps by -means of my weighty, all-too-weighty literature, to throw the rest of -literature off its balance, a certain professor of Berlin University -kindly gave me to understand that I ought really to make use of a -different form: no one could read such stuff as I wrote.--Finally, it -was not Germany, but Switzerland that presented me with the two most -extreme cases. An essay on _Beyond Good and Evil,_ by Dr. V. Widmann in -the paper called the _Bund,_ under the heading "Nietzsche's Dangerous -Book," and a general account of all my works, from the pen of Herr -Karl Spitteler, also in the _Bund,_ constitute a maximum in my life--I -shall not say of what.... The latter treated my _Zarathustra,_ for -instance as "_advanced exercises in style_," and expressed the wish -that later on I might try and attend to the question of substance as -well; Dr. Widmann assured me of his respect for the courage I showed -in endeavouring to abolish all decent feeling. Thanks to a little -trick of destiny, every sentence in these criticisms seemed, with -a consistency that I could but admire, to be an inverted truth. In -fact it was most remarkable that all one had to do was to "transvalue -all values," in order to hit the nail on the head with regard to me, -instead of striking my head with the nail.... I am more particularly -anxious therefore to discover an explanation. After all, no one can -draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man -has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access. To -take an extreme case, suppose a book contains simply incidents which -lie quite outside the range of general or even rare experience--suppose -it to be the _first_ language to express a whole series of experiences. -In this case nothing it contains will really be heard at all, and, -thanks to an acoustic delusion, people will believe that where nothing -is heard there is nothing to hear.... This, at least, has been my -usual experience, and proves, if you will, the originality of my -experience. He who thought he had understood something in my work, had -as a rule adjusted something in it to his own image--not infrequently -the very opposite of myself, an "idealist," for instance. He who -understood nothing in my work, would deny that I was worth considering -at all.--The word "Superman," which designates a type of man that -would be one of nature's rarest and luckiest strokes, as opposed to -"modern" men, to "good" men, to Christians and other Nihilists,--a -word which in the mouth of Zarathustra, the annihilator of morality, -acquires a very profound meaning,--is understood almost everywhere, and -with perfect innocence, in the light of those values to which a flat -contradiction was made manifest in the figure of Zarathustra--that is -to say, as an "ideal" type, a higher kind of man, half "saint" and half -"genius." ... Other learned cattle have suspected me of Darwinism on -account of this word: even the "hero cult" of that great unconscious -and involuntary swindler, Carlyle,--a cult which I repudiated with -such roguish malice,--was recognised in my doctrine. Once, when I -whispered to a man that he would do better I to seek for the Superman -in a Cæsar Borgia than in a Parsifal, he could not believe his ears. -The fact that I am quite free from curiosity in regard to criticisms of -my books, more particularly when they appear in newspapers, will have -to be forgiven me. My friends and my publishers know this, and never -speak to me of such things. In one particular case, I once saw all the -sins that had been committed against a single book--it was _Beyond Good -and Evil;_ I could tell you a nice story about it. Is it possible that -the _National-Zeitung_--a Prussian paper (this comment is for the sake -of my foreign readers--for my own part, I beg to state, I read only _Le -Journal des Débats_)--really and seriously regarded the book as a "sign -of the times," or a genuine and typical example of Tory philosophy,[1] -for which the _Kreuz-Zeitung_ had not sufficient courage?... - - - -2 - - -This was said for the benefit of Germans: for everywhere else I have -my readers--all of them exceptionally intelligent men, characters that -have won their spurs and that have been reared in high offices and -superior duties; I have even real geniuses among my readers. In Vienna, -in St Petersburg, in Stockholm, in Copenhagen, in Paris, and New -York--I have been discovered everywhere: I have not yet been discovered -in Europe's flatland--Germany.... And, to make a confession, I rejoice -much more heartily over those who do not read me, over those who have -neither heard of my name nor of the word philosophy. But whithersoever -I go, here in Turin, for instance, every face brightens and softens -at the sight of me. A thing that has flattered me more than anything -else hitherto, is the fact that old market-women cannot rest until -they have picked out the sweetest of their grapes for me. To this -extent must a man be a philosopher.... It is not in vain that the -Poles are considered as the French among the Slavs. A charming Russian -lady will not be mistaken for a single moment concerning my origin. -I am not successful at being pompous, the most I can do is to appear -embarrassed.... I can think in German, I can feel in German--I can do -most things; but this is beyond my powers.... My old master Ritschl -went so far as to declare that I planned even my philological treatises -after the manner of a Parisian novelist--that I made them absurdly -thrilling. In Paris itself people are surprised at "_toutes mes audaces -et finesses_";--the words are Monsieur Taine's;--I fear that even in -the highest forms of the dithyramb, that salt will be found pervading -my work which never becomes insipid, which never becomes "German"--and -that is, wit.... I can do nought else. God help me! Amen.--We all know, -some of us even from experience, what a "long-ears" is. Well then, I -venture to assert that I have the smallest ears that have ever been -seen. This fact is not without interest to women--it seems to me they -feel that I understand them better!... I am essentially the anti-ass, -and on this account alone a monster in the world's history--in Greek, -and not only in Greek, I am the _Antichrist._ - - - -3 - - -I am to a great extent aware of my privileges as a writer: in one -or two cases it has even been brought home to me how very much the -habitual > reading of my works "spoils" a man's taste. Other books -simply cannot be endured after mine, and least of all philosophical -ones. It is an incomparable distinction to cross the threshold of -this noble and subtle world--in order to do so one must certainly -not be a German; it is, in short, a distinction which one must have -deserved. He, however, who is related to me through loftiness of -will, experiences genuine raptures of understanding in my books: -for I swoop down from heights into which no bird has ever soared; I -know abysses into which no foot has ever slipped. People have told -me that it is impossible to lay down a book of mine--that I disturb -even the night's rest.... There is no prouder or at the same time more -subtle kind of books: they sometimes attain to the highest pinnacle -of earthly endeavour, cynicism; to capture their thoughts a man must -have the tenderest fingers as well as the most intrepid fists. Any -kind of spiritual decrepitude utterly excludes all intercourse with -them--even any kind of dyspepsia: a man must have no nerves, but he -must have a cheerful belly. Not only the poverty of a man's soul and -its stuffy air excludes all intercourse with them, but also, and to a -much greater degree, cowardice, uncleanliness, and secret intestinal -revengefulness; a word from my lips suffices to make the colour of -all evil instincts rush into a face. Among my acquaintances I have -a number of experimental subjects, in whom I see depicted all the -different, and instructively different, reactions which follow upon -a perusal of my works. Those who will have nothing to do with the -contents of my books, as for instance my so-called friends, assume an -"impersonal" tone concerning them: they wish me luck, and congratulate -me for having produced another work; they also declare that my writings -show progress, because they exhale a more cheerful spirit.... The -thoroughly vicious people, the "beautiful souls," the false from top to -toe, do not know in the least what to do with my books--consequently, -with the beautiful consistency of all beautiful souls, they regard -my work as beneath them. The cattle among my acquaintances, the mere -Germans, leave me to understand, if you please, that they are not -always of my opinion, though here and there they agree with me.... I -have heard this said even about _Zarathustra._ "Feminism," whether in -mankind or in man, is likewise a barrier to my writings; with it, no -one could ever enter into this labyrinth of fearless knowledge. To -this end, a man must never have spared himself, he must have been hard -in his habits, in order to be good-humoured and merry among a host of -inexorable truths. When I try to picture the character of a perfect -reader, I always imagine a monster of courage and curiosity, as well as -of suppleness, cunning, and prudence--in short, a born adventurer and -explorer. After all, I could not describe better than _Zarathustra_ has -done unto whom I really address myself: unto whom alone would he reveal -his riddle? - -"Unto you, daring explorers and experimenters, and unto all who have -ever embarked beneath cunning sails upon terrible seas; - -"Unto you who revel in riddles and in twilight, whose souls are lured -by flutes unto every treacherous abyss: - -"For ye care not to grope your way along a thread with craven fingers; -and where ye are able to _guess,_ ye hate to _argue_?" - - - -4 - - -I will now pass just one or two general remarks about my _art of -style._ To communicate a state an inner tension of pathos by means -of signs, including the tempo of these signs,--that is the meaning of -every style; and in view of the fact that the multiplicity of inner -states in me is enormous, I am capable of many kinds of style--in -short, the most multifarious art of style that any man has ever had at -his disposal. Any style is _good_ which genuinely communicates an inner -condition, which does not blunder over the signs, over the tempo of the -signs, or over _moods_--all the laws of phrasing are the outcome of -representing moods artistically. Good style, in itself, is a piece of -sheer foolery, mere idealism, like "beauty in itself," for instance, -or "goodness in itself," or "the thing-in-itself." All this takes for -granted, of course, that there exist ears that can hear, and such men -as are capable and worthy of a like pathos, that those are not wanting -unto whom one may communicate one's self. Meanwhile my Zarathustra, -for instance, is still in quest of such people--alas! he will have to -seek a long while yet! A man must be worthy of listening to him.... -And, until that time, there will be no one who will understand the art -that has been squandered in this book. No one has ever existed who has -had more novel, more strange, and purposely created art forms to fling -to the winds. The fact that such things were possible in the German -language still awaited proof; formerly, I myself would have denied -most emphatically that it was possible. Before my time people did not -know what could be done with the German language--what could be done -with language in general. The art of grand rhythm, of grand style in -periods, for expressing the tremendous fluctuations of sublime and -superhuman passion, was first discovered by me: with the dithyramb -entitled "The Seven Seals," which constitutes the last discourse of -the third part of _Zarathustra,_ I soared miles above all that which -heretofore has been called poetry. - - - -5 - - -The fact that the voice which speaks in my works is that of a -psychologist who has not his peer, is perhaps the first conclusion -at which a good reader will arrive--a reader such as I deserve, and -one who reads me just as the good old philologists used to read their -Horace. Those propositions about which all the world is fundamentally -agreed--not to speak of fashionable philosophy, of moralists and -other empty-headed and cabbage-brained people--are to me but ingenuous -blunders: for instance, the belief that "altruistic" and "egoistic"; -are opposites, while all the time the "ego" itself is merely a "supreme -swindle," an "ideal." ... There are no such things as egoistic or -altruistic actions: both concepts are psychological nonsense. Or -the proposition that "man pursues happiness"; or the proposition -that "happiness is the reward of virtue." ... Or the proposition -that "pleasure and pain are opposites." ... Morality, the Circe of -mankind, has falsified everything psychological, root and branch--it -has demoralised everything, even to the terribly nonsensical point -of calling love "unselfish." A man must first be firmly poised, he -must stand securely on his two legs, otherwise he cannot love at -all. This indeed the girls know only too well: they don't care two -pins about unselfish and merely objective men.... May I venture to -suggest, incidentally, that I know women? This knowledge is part of my -Dionysian patrimony. Who knows? maybe I am the first psychologist of -the eternally feminine. Women all like me.... But that's an old story: -save, of course, the abortions among them, the emancipated ones, those -who lack the where-withal to have children. Thank goodness I am not -willing to let myself be torn to pieces! the perfect woman tears you -to pieces when she loves you: I know these amiable Mænads.... Oh! what -a dangerous, creeping, subterranean little beast of prey she is! And -so agreeable withal! ... A little woman, pursuing her vengeance, would -force open even the iron gates of Fate itself. Woman is incalculably -more wicked than man, she is also cleverer. Goodness in a woman is -already a sign of _degeneration._ All cases of "beautiful souls" in -women may be traced to a faulty physiological condition--but I go no -further, lest I should become medicynical. The struggle for equal -rights is even a symptom of disease; every doctor knows this. The more -womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail against rights -in general: the natural order of things, the eternal war between the -sexes, assigns to her by far the foremost rank. Have people had ears -to hear my definition of love? It is the only definition worthy of a -philosopher. Love, in its means, is war; in its foundation, it is the -mortal hatred of the sexes. Have you heard my reply to the question -how a woman can be cured, "saved" in fact?--Give her a child! A woman -needs children, man is always only a means, thus spake Zarathustra. -"The emancipation of women,"--this is the instinctive hatred of -physiologically botched--that is to say, barren--women for those of -their sisters who are well constituted: the fight against "man" is -always only a means, a pretext, a piece of strategy. By trying to rise -to "Woman _per se_," to "Higher Woman," to the "Ideal Woman," all they -wish to do is to lower the general level of women's rank: and there are -no more certain means to this end than university education, trousers, -and the rights of voting cattle. Truth to tell, the emancipated are -the anarchists in the "eternally feminine" world, the physiological -mishaps, the most deep-rooted instinct of whom is revenge. A whole -species of the most malicious "idealism"--which, by the bye, also -manifests itself in men, in Henrik Ibsen for instance, that typical -old maid--whose object is to poison the clean conscience, the natural -spirit, of sexual love.... And in order to leave no doubt in your minds -in regard to my opinion, which, on this matter, is as honest as it -is severe, I will reveal to you one more clause out of my moral code -against vice--with the word "vice" I combat every kind of! opposition -to Nature, or, if you prefer fine words, idealism. The clause reads: -"Preaching of chastity is a public incitement to unnatural practices. -All depreciation of the sexual life, all the sullying of it by means -of the concept 'impure,' is the essential crime against Life--is the -essential crime against the Holy Spirit of Life." - -In order to give you some idea of myself as a psychologist, let me -take this curious piece of psychological analysis out of the book -_Beyond Good and Evil,_ in which it appears. I forbid, by the bye, any -guessing as to whom I am describing in this passage. "The genius of -the heart, as that great anchorite possesses it, the divine tempter -and born Pied Piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to sink into -the inmost depths of every soul, who neither utters a word nor casts a -glance, in which some seductive motive or trick does not lie: a part -of whose masterliness is that he understands the art of seeming--not -what he is, but that which will place a fresh constraint upon his -followers to press ever more closely upon him, to follow him ever more -enthusiastically and whole-heartedly.... The genius of the heart, -which makes all loud and self-conceited things hold their tongues and -lend their ears, which polishes all rough souls and makes them taste a -new longing--to lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be -reflected in them.... The genius of the heart which teaches the clumsy -and too hasty hand to hesitate and grasp more tenderly; which scents -the hidden and forgotten treasure, the pearl of goodness and sweet -spirituality, beneath thick black ice, and is a divining rod for every -grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in heaps of mud and sand.... -The genius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away -richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, not as though favoured and crushed -by the good things of others; but richer in himself, fresher to -himself than before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing -wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more fragile, more -bruised; but full of hopes which as yet lack names, full of a new will -and striving, full of a new unwillingness and counter-striving." ... - - -[Footnote 1: _Junker-Philosophie._ The landed proprietors constitute -the dominating class in Prussia, and it is from this class that all -officers and higher officials are drawn. The _Kreuz-Zeitung_ is the -organ of the Junker party.--TR.] - - - - -"THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY" - - - -1 - - -In order to be fair to the _Birth of Tragedy_ (1872) it is necessary -to forget a few things. It created a sensation and even fascinated by -means of its mistakes--by means of its application to Wagnerism, as -if the latter were the sign of an ascending tendency. On that account -alone, this treatise was an event in Wagner's life: thenceforward -great hopes surrounded the name of Wagner. Even to this day, people -remind me, sometimes in the middle of _Parsifal,_ that it rests on -my conscience if the opinion, that this movement is of great value -to culture, at length became prevalent I have often seen the book -quoted as "The Second Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music": -people had ears only for new formulæ for Wagner's art, his object -and his mission--and in this way the real hidden value of the book -was overlooked. "Hellenism and Pessimism"--this would have been a -less equivocal title, seeing that the book contains the first attempt -at showing how the Greeks succeeded in disposing: of pessimism--in -what manner they overcame it. ... Tragedy itself is the proof of -the fact that the Greeks were not pessimists: Schopenhauer blundered -here as he blundered in everything else.--Regarded impartially, -_The Birth of Tragedy_ is a book quite strange to its age: no one -would dream that it was begun in the thunder of the battle of Wörth. -I thought out these problems on cold September nights beneath the -walls of Metz, in the midst of my duties as nurse to the wounded; it -would be easier to think that it was written fifty years earlier. Its -attitude towards politics is one of indifference,--"un-German,"[1] -as people would say to-day,--it smells offensively of Hegel; only in -one or two formulæ is it infected with the bitter odour of corpses -which is peculiar to Schopenhauer. An idea--the antagonism of the two -concepts Dionysian and Apollonian--is translated into metaphysics; -history itself is depicted as the development of this idea; in tragedy -this antithesis has become unity; from this standpoint things which -theretofore had never been face to face are suddenly confronted, and -understood and illuminated by each other.... Opera and revolution, -for instance.... The two decisive innovations in the book are, first, -the comprehension of the Dionysian phenomenon among the Greeks--it -provides the first psychological analysis of this phenomenon, and -sees in it the single root of all Greek art; and, secondly, the -comprehension of Socraticism--Socrates being presented for the first -time as the instrument of Greek dissolution, as a typical decadent. -"Reason" _versus_ Instinct. "Reason" at any cost, as a dangerous, -life-undermining force. The whole book is profoundly and politely -silent concerning Christianity: the latter is neither Apollonian nor -Dionysian; it denies all æsthetic values, which are the only values -that _The Birth of Tragedy_ recognises. Christianity is most profoundly -nihilistic, whereas in the Dionysian symbol, the most extreme limits of -a yea-saying attitude to life are attained. In one part of the book the -Christian priesthood is referred to as a "perfidious order of goblins," -as "subterraneans." - -This start of mine was remarkable beyond measure. As a confirmation of -my inmost personal experience I had discovered the only example of this -fact that history possesses,--with this I was the first to understand -the amazing Dionysian phenomenon. At the same time, by recognising -Socrates as a decadent, I proved most conclusively that the certainty -of my psychological grasp of things ran very little risk at the hands -of any sort of moral idiosyncrasy: to regard morality itself as a -symptom of degeneration is an innovation, a unique event of the first -order in the history of knowledge. How high I had soared above the -pitifully foolish gabble about Optimism and Pessimism with my two new -doctrines! I was the first to see the actual contrast: the degenerate -instinct which turns upon life with a subterranean lust of vengeance -(Christianity, Schopenhauer's philosophy, and in some respects too -even Plato's philosophy--in short, the whole of idealism in its typical -forms), as opposed to a formula of the highest yea-saying to life, -born of an abundance and a superabundance of life--a I yea-saying free -from all reserve, applying even to suffering, and guilt, and all that -is questionable and strange in existence.... This last, most joyous, -most exuberant and exultant yea to life, is not only the highest, -but also the profoundest conception, and one which is most strictly -confirmed and supported by truth and science. Nothing that exists must -be suppressed, nothing can be dispensed with. Those aspects of life -which Christians and other Nihilists reject, belong to an incalculably -higher order in the hierarchy of values, than that which the instinct -of degeneration calls good, and _may_ call good. In order to understand -this, a certain courage is necessary, and, as a prerequisite of this, -a certain superfluity of strength: for a man can approach only as near -to truth as he has the courage to advance--that is to say, everything -depends strictly upon the measure of his strength. Knowledge, and -the affirmation of reality, are just as necessary to the strong man -as cowardice, the flight from reality--in fact, the "ideal"--are -necessary to the weak inspired by weakness.... These people are not -at liberty to "know,"--decadents stand in need of lies,--it is one of -their self-preservative measures. He who not only understands the word -"Dionysian," but understands _himself_ in that term, does not require -any refutation of Plato, or of Christianity, or of Schopenhauer--for -his nose _scents decomposition._ - - - -3 - - -The extent to which I had by means of these doctrines discovered the -idea of "tragedy," the ultimate explanation of what the psychology of -tragedy is, I discussed finally in _The Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. -5, part 10).... "The saying of yea to life, and even to its weirdest -and most difficult problems: the will to life rejoicing at its own -infinite vitality in the sacrifice of its highest types--that is what I -called Dionysian, that is what I meant as the bridge to the psychology -of the tragic poet. Not to cast out terror and pity, or to purge one's -self of dangerous passion by discharging it with vehemence,--this was -Aristotle's[2] misunderstanding of it,--but to be far beyond terror -and pity and to be the eternal lust of Becoming itself--that lust -which also involves the joy of destruction." ... In this sense I have -the right to regard myself as the first _tragic philosopher_--that is -to say, the most extreme antithesis and antipodes of a pessimistic -philosopher. Before my time no such thing existed as this translation -of the Dionysian phenomenon into philosophic emotion: tragic wisdom was -lacking; in vain have I sought for signs of it even among the great -Greeks in philosophy--those belonging to the two centuries before -Socrates. I still remained a little doubtful about Heraclitus, in whose -presence, alone, I felt warmer and more at ease than anywhere else. -The yea-saying to the impermanence and annihilation of things, which -is the decisive feature of a Dionysian philosophy; the yea-saying to -contradiction and war, the postulation of Becoming, together with the -radical rejection even of the concept _Being_-- in all these things, at -all events, I must recognise him who has come nearest to me in thought -hither to. The doctrine of the "Eternal Recurrence"--that is to say, -of the absolute and eternal repetition of all things in periodical -cycles--this doctrine of Zarathustra's might, it is true, have been -taught before. In any case, the Stoics, who derived nearly all their -fundamental ideas from Heraclitus, show traces of it. - -A tremendous hope finds expression in this work. After all, I have -absolutely no reason to renounce the hope for a Dionysian future of -music. Let us look a century ahead, and let us suppose that my attempt -to destroy two millenniums of hostility to Nature and of the violation -of humanity be crowned with success That new party of life-advocates, -which will undertake the greatest of all tasks, the elevation and -perfection of mankind, as well as the relentless destruction of all -degenerate and parasitical elements, will make that _superabundance -of life_ on earth once more possible, out of which the Dionysian -state will perforce arise again. I promise the advent of a tragic -age: the highest art in the saying of yea to life, "tragedy," will be -born again when mankind has the knowledge of the hardest, but most -necessary of wars, behind it, without, however, suffering from that -knowledge.... A psychologist might add that what I heard in Wagnerian -music in my youth and early manhood had nothing whatsoever to do with -Wagner; that when I described Dionysian music, I described merely -what _I_ personally had heard--that I was compelled instinctively to -translate and transfigure everything into the new spirit which filled -my breast. A proof of this, and as strong a proof as you could have, -is my essay, _Wagner in Bayreuth_: in all its decisive psychological -passages I am the only person concerned--without any hesitation you may -read my name or the word "Zarathustra" wherever the text contains the -name of Wagner. The whole panorama of the _dithyrambic_ artist is the -representation of the already existing author of _Zarathustra,_ and -it is drawn with an abysmal depth which does not even once come into -contact with the real Wagner. Wagner himself had a notion of the truth; -he did not recognise himself in the essay.--In this way, "the idea of -Bayreuth" was changed into something which to those who are acquainted -with my _Zarathustra_ will be no riddle--that is to say, into the -Great Noon when the highest of the elect will consecrate themselves -for the greatest of all duties--who knows? the vision of a feast which -I may live to see.... The pathos of the first few pages is universal -history; the look which is discussed on page 105[3] of the book, is the -actual look of _Zarathustra;_ Wagner, Bayreuth, the whole of this petty -German wretchedness, is a cloud upon which an infinite Fata Morgana -of the future is reflected. Even from the psychological standpoint, -all the decisive traits in my character are introduced into Wagner's -nature--the juxtaposition of the most brilliant and most fatal forces, -a Will to Power such as no man has ever possessed--inexorable bravery -in matters spiritual, an unlimited power of learning unaccompanied by -depressed powers for action. Everything in this essay is a prophecy: -the proximity of the resurrection of the Greek spirit, the need of men -who will be counter-Alexanders, who will once more tie the Gordian knot -of Greek culture, after it has been cut. Listen to the world-historic -accent with which the concept "sense for the tragic" is introduced -on page 180: there are little else but world-historic accents in -this essay. This is the strangest kind of "objectivity" that ever -existed: my absolute certainty in regard to what I _am,_ projected -itself into any chance reality--truth about myself was voiced from out -appalling depths. On pages 174 and 175 the style of _Zarathustra_ is -described and foretold with incisive certainty, and no more magnificent -expression will ever be found than that on pages 144-147 for the event -for which _Zarathustra_ stands--that prodigious act of the purification -and consecration of mankind. - - -[Footnote 1: Those Germans who, like Nietzsche or Goethe, recognised -that politics constituted a danger to culture, and who appreciated the -literature of maturer cultures, such as that of France, are called -_un-deutsch_ (un-German) by Imperialistic Germans.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 2: Aristotle's _Poetics_, c. vi.--Tr.] - -[Footnote 3: This number and those which follow refer to _Thoughts out -of Season,_ Part I. in this edition of Nietzsche's Works.--TR.] - - - - -"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON" - - - -1 - - -The four essays composing the _Thoughts out of Season_ are thoroughly -warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight -in drawing the sword--and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously -supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, -upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt -Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public -opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to -suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of -German culture--and still less the triumph of this culture; over -that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which -is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of -pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised -piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of -the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The -object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity -as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the -"historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first -time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the -third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher -concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; -and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are -presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign -contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," -"Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"--these two types -were Schopenhauer and Wagner, _or,_ in a word, Nietzsche.... - - - -2 - - -Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The -stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger -on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation--I had told it that its -victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something -very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not -only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous -as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug -self-content--in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, -called _The Old and the New Faith_ (the term "Philistine of Culture" -passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my -book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians -I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird -of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as -grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they -contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was -assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious _Grentzboten_; and it cost me -some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action -against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for -very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, -Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had -been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that -time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he -liked to refer to me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von -Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could -obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von -T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my -book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor -Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made -him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a -sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, -of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical -advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review -which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most -bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of -my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last -_humane_ German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in -the _Augsburg Gazette,_ and it can be read to-day, couched in rather -more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was -referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign -of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival -of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. -Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of -the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in -discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the -best polemical work in the German language,--the best performance in -the art of polemics, which for Germans is so dangerous and so strongly -to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even -greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of -language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists[1] -and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for -the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his -admiration for my courage--that "greatest courage of all which places -the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects -of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has -ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany -I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the -privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, -least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise -is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put -one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's -entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my -opponent!--the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, -quite a novel kind of free thought found its expression in this way: -up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my -blood than the whole of that European and American species known as -_litres penseurs._ Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" -that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than -with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, -after their own fashion--that is to say, in their own image; against -that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, -if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an -"ideal." ... I am the first _Immoralist_. - - - -3 - - -I should not like to say that the last two essays in the _Thoughts -out of Season,_ associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner -respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these -two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of -course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the -second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I -already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a -theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws -its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do -something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented -educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and -self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness -and to world-historic duties, yearned to find expression. Roughly -speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined -types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes -opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, -in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression -at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly -sagacity, on page 183 of _Schopenhauer as Educator._ Plato made use -of Socrates in the same way--that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. -Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of -which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they -refer simply to me. The essay _Wagner in Bayreuth_ is a vision of my -own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, -is written down in _Schopenhauer as Educator._ But, above all, the -_vow_ I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold--at a height from -which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!--oh, how -far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land--I did not -deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger--_and_ -success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future -which must not remain only a promise!--In this book every word has -been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not -lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with -blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its -wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being -a philosopher,--that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence -of which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the -philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a -Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of -philosophy,--concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable -information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as -Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in -it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, -and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere -scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is -not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my -profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were -merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists -in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become -one thing--in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of -my fate to be a scholar for a while. - - -[Footnote 1: The Purists constitute a definite body in Germany, which -is called the _Deutscher Sprach-Verein._ Their object is to banish -every foreign word from the language, and they carry this process of -ostracism even into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at -rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical. Strange -to say, their principal organ, and their other publications, are by -no means free either from solecisms or faults of style, and it is -doubtless to this curious anomaly that Nietzsche here refers.--TR.] - - - - -"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN" - - - -1 - - -_Human all-too-Human,_ with its two sequels, is the memorial of a -crisis. It is called a book for free spirits: almost every sentence in -it is the expression of a triumph--by means of it I purged myself of -everything in me which was foreign to my nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title of the book means: "Where ye see ideal things I -see--human, alas! all-too-human things!" ... I know men better. The -word "free spirit" in this book must not be understood as anything -else than a spirit that has become free, that has once more taken -possession of itself. My tone, the pitch of my voice, has completely -changed; the book will be thought clever, cool, and at times both -hard and scornful. A certain spirituality, of noble taste, seems to -be ever struggling to dominate a passionate torrent at its feet. In -this respect there is some sense in the fact that it was the hundredth -anniversary of Voltaire's death that served, so to speak, as an excuse -for the publication of the book as early as 1878. For Voltaire, as the -opposite of every one who wrote after him, was above all a grandee of -the intellect; precisely what I am also. The name of Voltaire on one -of my writings--that was verily a step forward--in my direction.... -Looking into this book a little more closely, you perceive a pitiless -spirit who knows all the secret hiding-places in which ideals are wont -to skulk--where they find their dungeons, and, as it were, their last -refuge. With a torch in my hand, the light of which is not by any -means a flickering one, I illuminate this nether world with beams that -cut like blades. It is war, but war without powder and smoke, without -warlike attitudes, without pathos and contorted limbs--all these things -would still be "idealism." One error after the other is quietly laid -upon ice; the ideal is not refuted,--it freezes. Here, for instance, -"genius" freezes; round the corner the "saint" freezes; under a thick -icicle the "hero" freezes; and in the end "faith" itself freezes. -So-called "conviction" and also "pity" are considerably cooled--and -almost everywhere the "thing in itself" is freezing to death. - - - -2 - - -This book was begun during the first musical festival at Bayreuth; a -feeling of profound strangeness towards everything that surrounded -me there, is one of its first conditions. He who has any notion of -the visions which even at that time had flitted across my path, will -be able to guess what I felt when one day I came to my senses in -Bayreuth. It was just as if I had been dreaming. Where on earth was I? -I recognised nothing that I saw; I scarcely recognised Wagner. It was -in vain that I called up reminiscences. Tribschen--remote island of -bliss: not the shadow of a resemblance! The incomparable days devoted -to the laying of the first stone, the small group of the initiated -who celebrated them, and who were far from lacking fingers for the -handling of delicate things: not the shadow of a resemblance! _What -had happened?_--Wagner had been translated into German! The Wagnerite -had become master of Wagner!_--German_ art! the German master! German -beer!... We who know only too well the kind of refined artists and -cosmopolitanism in taste, to which alone Wagner's art can appeal, were -beside ourselves at the sight of Wagner bedecked with German virtues. -I think I know the Wagnerite, I have experienced three generations -of them, from Brendel of blessed memory, who confounded Wagner with -Hegel, to the "idealists" of the _Bayreuth Gazette,_ who confound -Wagner with themselves,--I have been the recipient of every kind of -confession about Wagner, from "beautiful souls." My kingdom for just -one intelligent word I--In very truth, a blood-curdling company! Nohl, -Pohl, and _Kohl_[1] and others of their kidney to infinity! There -was not a single abortion that was lacking among them--no, not even -the anti-Semite.--Poor Wagner! Into whose hands had he fallen? If -only he had gone into a herd of swine! But among Germans! Some day, -for the edification of posterity, one ought really to have a genuine -Bayreuthian stuffed, or, better still, preserved in spirit,--for -it is precisely spirit that is lacking in this quarter,--with this -inscription at the foot of the jar: "A sample of the spirit whereon -the 'German Empire' was founded." ... But enough! In the middle of -the festivities I suddenly packed my trunk and left the place for a -few weeks, despite the fact that a charming Parisian lady sought to -comfort me; I excused myself to Wagner simply by means of a fatalistic -telegram. In a little spot called Klingenbrunn, deeply buried in the -recesses of the Bohmerwald, I carried my melancholy and my contempt of -Germans about with me like an illness--and, from time to time, under -the general title of "The Plough-share," I wrote a sentence or two down -in my note-book, nothing but severe psychological stuff, which it is -possible may have found its way into _Human, all-too-Human._ - - - -3 - - -That which had taken place in me, then, was not only a breach with -Wagner--I was suffering from a general aberration of my instincts, -of which a mere isolated blunder, whether it were Wagner or my -professorship at Bâle, was nothing more than a symptom. I was seized -with a fit of impatience with myself; I saw that it was high time that -I should turn my thoughts upon my own lot. In a trice I realised, with -appalling clearness, how much time had already been squandered--how -futile and how senseless my whole existence as a philologist appeared -by the side of my life-task. I was ashamed of this false modesty.... -Ten years were behind me, during which, to tell the truth, the -nourishment of my spirit had been at a standstill, during which I had -added not a single useful fragment to my knowledge, and had forgotten -countless things in the pursuit of a hotch-potch of dry-as-dust -scholarship. To crawl with meticulous care and short-sighted eyes -through old Greek metricians--that is what I had come to!... Moved to -pity I saw myself quite thin, quite emaciated: realities were only too -plainly absent from my stock of knowledge, and what the "idealities" -were worth the devil alone knew! A positively burning thirst overcame -me: and from that time forward I have done literally nothing else than -study physiology, medicine, and natural science--I even returned to -the actual study of history only when my life-task compelled me to. It -was at that time, too, that I first divined the relation between an -instinctively repulsive occupation, a so-called vocation, which is the -last thing to which one is "called" and that need of lulling a feeling -of emptiness and hunger, by means of an art which is a narcotic--by -means of Wagner's art, for instance. After looking carefully about -me, I have discovered that a large number of young men are all in the -same state of distress: one kind of unnatural practice perforce leads -to another. In Germany, or rather, to avoid all ambiguity, in the -Empire,[2] only too many are condemned to determine their choice too -soon, and then to pine away beneath a burden that they can no longer -throw off.... Such creatures crave for Wagner as for an opiate,--they -are thus able to forget themselves, to be rid of themselves for a -moment.... What am I saying!--for five or six hours. - - - -4 - - -At this time my instincts turned resolutely against any further -yielding or following on my part, and any further misunderstanding -of myself. Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, -illness, poverty--anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified -"selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my -ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to -laziness--the so-called "sense of duty." At this juncture there came to -my help, in a way that I cannot sufficiently admire, and precisely at -the right time, that evil heritage which I derive from my father's side -of the family, and which, at bottom, is no more than a predisposition -to die young. Illness slowly liberated me from the toils, it spared me -any sort of sudden breach, any sort of violent and offensive step. At -that time I lost not a particle of the good will of others, but rather -added to my store. Illness likewise gave me the right completely to -reverse my mode of life; it not only allowed, it actually commanded, -me to forget; it bestowed upon me the necessity of lying still, of -having leisure, of waiting, and of exercising patience.... But all -this means thinking!... The state of my eyes alone put an end to all -book-wormishness, or, in plain English--philology: I was thus delivered -from books; for years I ceased from reading, and this was the greatest -boon I ever conferred upon myself! That nethermost self, which was, -as it were, entombed, and which had grown dumb because it had been -forced to listen perpetually to other selves (for that is what reading -means!), slowly awakened; at first it was shy and doubtful, but at -last it _spoke again_ Never have I rejoiced more over my condition -than during the sickest and most painful moments of my life. You have -only to examine _The Dawn of Day,_ or, perhaps, _The Wanderer and -his Shadow,_[3] in order to understand what this "return to myself" -actually meant: in itself it was the highest kind of recovery!... My -cure was simply the result of it. - - - -5 - - -_Human, all-too-Human,_ this monument of a course of vigorous -self-discipline, by means of which I put an abrupt end to all the -"Superior Bunkum," "Idealism," "Beautiful Feelings," and other -effeminacies that had percolated into my being, was written principally -in Sorrento; it was finished and given definite shape during a winter -at Bâle, under conditions far less favourable than those in Sorrento. -Truth to tell, it was Peter Gast, at that time a student at the -University of Bâle, and a devoted friend of mine, who was responsible -for the book. With my head wrapped in bandages, and extremely painful, -I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along--to be -accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author. -When the completed book ultimately reached me,--to the great surprise -of the serious invalid I then was,--I sent, among others, two copies -to Bayreuth. Thanks to a miraculous flash of intelligence on the part -of chance, there reached me precisely at the same time a splendid copy -of the _Parsifal_ text, with the following inscription from Wagner's -pen: "To his dear friend Friedrich Nietzsche, from Richard Wagner, -Ecclesiastical Councillor." At this crossing of the two books I seemed -to hear an ominous note. Did it not sound as if two swords had crossed? -At all events we both felt this was so, for each of us remained silent. -At about this time the first Bayreuth Pamphlets appeared: and I then -understood the move on my part for which it was high time. Incredible! -Wagner had become pious. - - - -6 - - -My attitude to myself at that time (1876), and the unearthly certitude -with which I grasped my life-task and all its world-historic -consequences, is well revealed throughout the book, but more -particularly in one very significant passage, despite the fact that, -with my instinctive cunning, I once more circumvented the use of -the little word "I,"--not however, this time, in order to shed -world-historic glory on the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but on -that of another of my friends, the excellent Dr. Paul Rée--fortunately -much too acute a creature to be deceived--others were less subtle. -Among my readers I have a number of hopeless people, the typical -German professor for instance, who can always be recognised from the -fact that, judging from the passage in question, he feels compelled to -regard the whole book as a sort of superior Realism. As a matter of -fact it contradicts five or six of my friend's utterances: only read -the introduction to _The Genealogy of Morals_ on this question.--The -passage above referred to reads: "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_" (read Nietzsche, the first -Immoralist), "has attained by means of his incisive and decisive -analysis of human actions? 'The moral man,' he says is no nearer to the -intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the physical man, for there -is no intelligible world.' This theory, hardened and sharpened under -the hammer-blow of historical knowledge" (read _The Transvaluation -of all Values_), "may some time or other, perhaps in some future -period,--1890!--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."[4] - - -[Footnote 1: Nohl and Pohl were both writers on music; Kohl, however, -which literally means cabbage, is a slang expression, denoting superior -nonsense.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Needless to say, Nietzsche distinguishes between -Bismarckian Germany and that other Germany--Austria, Switzerland, and -the Baltic Provinces--where the German language is also spoken.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: _Human, all-too-Human,_ Part II. in this edition.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: _Human, all-too-Human,_ vol. i. Aph. 37.] - - - - -"THE DAWN OF DAY: - -THOUGHTS ABOUT MORALITY AS A PREJUDICE" - - - -1 - - -With this book I open my campaign against morality. Not that it is at -all redolent of powder--you will find quite other and much nicer smells -in it, provided that you have any keenness in your nostrils. There -is nothing either of light or of heavy artillery in its composition, -and if its general end be a negative one, its means are not so--means -out of which the end follows like a logical conclusion, _not_ like a -cannon-shot. And if the reader takes leave of this book with a feeling -of timid caution in regard to everything which has hitherto been -honoured and even worshipped under the name of morality, it does not -alter the fact that there is not one negative word, not one attack, -and not one single piece of malice in the whole work--on the contrary, -it lies in the sunshine, smooth and happy, like a marine animal, -basking in the sun between two rocks. For, after all, I was this marine -animal: almost every sentence in the book was thought out, or rather -_caught,_ among that medley of rocks in the neighbourhood of Genoa, -where I lived quite alone, and exchanged secrets with the ocean. Even -to this day, when by chance I happen to turn over the leaves of this -book, almost every sentence seems to me like a hook by means of which I -draw something incomparable out of the depths; its whole skin quivers -with delicate shudders of recollection. This book is conspicuous for no -little art in gently catching things which whisk rapidly and silently -away, moments which I call godlike lizards--not with the cruelty of -that young Greek god who simply transfixed the poor little beast; -but nevertheless with something pointed--with a pen. "There are so -many dawns which have not yet shed their light"--this Indian maxim is -written over the doorway of this book. Where does its author seek that -new morning, that delicate red, as yet undiscovered, with which another -day--ah! a whole series of days, a whole world of new days!--will -begin? In the _Transvaluation of all Values,_ in an emancipation from -all moral values, in a saying of yea, and in an attitude of trust, to -all that which hitherto has been forbidden, despised, and damned. This -yea-saying book projects its light, its love, its tenderness, over all -evil things, it restores to them their soul, their clear conscience, -and their superior right and privilege to exist on earth. Morality is -not assailed, it simply ceases to be considered. This book closes with -the word "or?"--it is the only book which closes with an "or?". - - - -2 - - -My life-task is to prepare for humanity one supreme moment in which it -can come to its senses, a Great Noon in which it will turn its gaze -backwards and forwards, in which it will step from under the yoke -of accident and of priests, and for the first time set the question -of the Why and Wherefore of humanity as a whole--this life-task -naturally follows out of the conviction that mankind does _not_ get -on the right road of its own accord, that it is by no means divinely -ruled, but rather that it is precisely under the cover of its most -holy valuations that the instinct of negation, of corruption, and of -degeneration has held such a seductive sway. The question concerning -the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest -importance to me because it determines the future of mankind. The -demand made upon us to believe that everything is really in the best -hands, that a certain book, the Bible, gives us the definite and -comforting assurance that there is a Providence that wisely rules the -fate of man,--when translated back into reality amounts simply to this, -namely, the will to stifle the truth which maintains the reverse of -all this, which is that hitherto man has been in the _worst possible_ -hands, and that he has been governed by the physiologically botched, -the men of cunning and burning revengefulness, and the so-called -"saints"--those slanderers of the world and traducers of humanity. -The definite proof of the fact that the priest (including the priest -in disguise, the philosopher) has become master, not only within a -certain limited religious community, but everywhere, and that the -morality of decadence, the will to nonentity, has become morality -_per se,_ is to be found in this: that altruism is now an absolute -value, and egoism is regarded with hostility everywhere. He who -disagrees with me on this point, I regard as infected. But all the -world disagrees with me. To a physiologist a like antagonism between -values admits of no doubt. If the most insignificant organ within the -body neglects, however slightly, to assert with absolute certainty its -self-preservative powers, its recuperative claims, and its egoism, the -whole system degenerates. The physiologist insists upon the removal of -degenerated parts, he denies all fellow-feeling for such parts, and -has not the smallest feeling of pity for them. But the desire of the -priest is precisely the degeneration of the whole of mankind; hence his -preservation of that which is degenerate--this is what his dominion -costs humanity. What meaning have those lying concepts, those handmaids -of morality, "Soul," "Spirit," "Free will," "God," if their aim is not -the physiological ruin of mankind? When earnestness is diverted from -the instincts that aim at self-preservation and an increase of bodily -energy, _i.e._ at an _increase of life_; when anæmia is raised to an -ideal and the contempt of the body is construed as "the salvation of -the soul," what is all this if it is not a recipe for decadence? Loss -of ballast, resistance offered to natural instincts, selflessness, -in fact--this is what has hitherto been known as morality. With _The -Dawn of Day_ I first engaged in a struggle against the morality of -self-renunciation. - - - - -"JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA" - - - -1 - - -_Dawn of Day_ is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The -same applies once more and in the highest degree to _La Gaya Scienza:_ -in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go -gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most -wonderful month of January which I have ever lived--the whole book is a -gift--sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has -here become joyful. - - "Thou who with cleaving fiery lances - The stream of my soul from its ice dost free, - Till with a rush and a roar it advances - To enter with glorious hoping the sea: - Brighter to see and purer ever, - Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,-- - So it praises thy wondrous endeavour, - January, thou beauteous saint!"[1] - -Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when -he has realised the diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's -words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth -book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third -book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs -of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in -Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "_Gaya -Scienza,_" of that union of _singer, knight, and free spirit,_ which -distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from -all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"--an -exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances -freely upon the corpse of morality,--is a perfect Provençalism. - - -[Footnote 1: Translated for _Joyful Wisdom_ by Paul V. Cohn.--TR.] - - - - -"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA: A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE" - - - -1 - - -I now wish to relate the history of _Zarathustra._ The fundamental -idea of the work, the _Eternal Recurrence,_ the highest formula of -a Yea-saying to life that can ever be attained, was first conceived -in the month of August 1881. I made a note of the idea on a sheet of -paper, with the postscript: "Six thousand feet beyond man and time." -That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the -Lake of Silvaplana, and I halted not far from Surlei, beside a huge -rock that towered aloft like a pyramid. It was then that the thought -struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months before -this inspiration I had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden -and decisive change in my tastes--more particularly in music. The -whole of _Zarathustra_ might perhaps be classified under the rubric -music. At all events, the essential condition of its production was -a second birth within me of the art of hearing. In Recoaro, a small -mountain resort near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and -my friend and maestro, Peter Gast--who was also one who had been born -again, discovered that the phœnix music hovered over us, in lighter -and brighter plumage than it had ever worn before. If, therefore, I -now calculate from that day forward the sudden production of the book, -under the most unlikely circumstances, in February 1883,--the last -part, out of which I quoted a few lines in my preface, was written -precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost -in Venice,--I come to the conclusion that the period of gestation -covered eighteen months. This period of exactly eighteen months, -might suggest, at least to Buddhists, that I am in reality a female -elephant The interval was devoted to the _Gaya Scienza,_ which contains -hundreds of indications of the proximity of something unparalleled; -for, after all, it shows the beginning of _Zarathustra,_ since it -presents _Zarathustra's_ fundamental thought in the last aphorism -but one of the fourth book. To this interval also belongs that _Hymn -to Life_ (for a mixed choir and orchestra), the score of which was -published in Leipzig two years ago by E. W. Fritsch, and which gave -perhaps no slight indication of my spiritual state during this year, -in which the essentially yea-saying pathos, which I call the tragic -pathos, completely filled me heart and limb. One day people will sing -it to my memory. The text, let it be well understood, as there is -some misunderstanding abroad on this point, is not by me; it was the -astounding inspiration of a young Russian lady, Miss Lou von Salome, -with whom I was then on friendly terms. He who is in any way able -to make some sense of the last words of the poem, will divine why I -preferred and admired it: there is greatness in them. Pain is not -regarded as an objection to existence: "And if thou hast no bliss now -left to crown me--Lead on! Thou hast thy Sorrow still." - -Maybe that my music is also great in this passage. (The last note of -the oboe, by the bye, is C sharp, not C. The latter is a misprint.) -During the following winter, I was living on that charmingly peaceful -Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, which cuts inland between Chiavari -and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold -and exceptionally rainy; and the small _albergo_ in which I lived -was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if -the sea was rough. These circumstances were surely the very reverse -of favourable; and yet, in spite of it all, and as if in proof of my -belief that everything decisive comes to life in defiance of every -obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these -unfavourable circumstances that my _Zarathustra_ originated. In the -morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious -road to Zoagli, which rises up through a forest of pines and gives -one a view far out to sea. In the afternoon, or as often as my health -allowed, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond -Porto Fino. This spot affected me all the more deeply because it was -so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I -chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small forgotten -world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that -all _Zarathustra_ came to me, above all, Zarathustra himself as a -type--I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that _he waylaid -me_. - - - -2 - - -In order to understand this type, you must first be quite clear -concerning its fundamental physiological condition: this condition -is what I call _great healthiness._ In regard to this idea I cannot -make my meaning more plain or more personal than I have done already -in one of the last aphorisms (No. 382) of the fifth book of the _Gaya -Scienza_: "We new, nameless, and unfathomable creatures," so reads -the passage, "we firstlings of a future still unproved--we who have a -new end in view also require new means to that end, that is to say, -a new healthiness, a stronger, keener, tougher, bolder, and merrier -healthiness than any that has existed heretofore. He who longs to -feel in his own soul the whole range of values and aims that have -prevailed on earth until his day, and to sail round all the coasts -of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea'; who, from the adventures of his -own inmost experience, would fain know how it feels to be a conqueror -and discoverer of the ideal;--as also how it is with the artist, the -saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the man of piety and the -godlike anchorite of yore;--such a man requires one thing above all -for his purpose, and that is, _great healthiness_--such healthiness as -he not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, -because he is continually sacrificing it again, and is compelled to -sacrifice it! And now, therefore, after having been long on the way, -we Argonauts of the ideal, whose pluck is greater than prudence would -allow, and who are often shipwrecked and bruised, but, as I have said, -healthier than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, and for -ever recovering our health--it would seem as if we had before us, as -a reward for all our toils, a country still undiscovered, the horizon -of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to every country and every -refuge of the ideal that man has ever known, a world so overflowing -with beauty, strangeness, doubt, terror, and divinity, that both our -curiosity and our lust of possession are frantic with eagerness. Alas! -how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our -conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with _the man -of the present day_? This is bad indeed; but, that we should regard -his worthiest aims and hopes with ill-concealed amusement, or perhaps -give them no thought at all, is inevitable. Another ideal now leads -us on, a wonderful, seductive ideal, full of danger, the pursuit of -which we should be loath to urge upon any one, because we are not so -ready to acknowledge any one's _right to it:_ the ideal of a spirit who -plays ingenuously (that is to say, involuntarily, and as the outcome -of superabundant energy and power) with everything that, hitherto, -has been called holy, good, inviolable, and divine; to whom even the -loftiest thing that the people have with reason made their measure of -value would be no better than a danger, a decay, and an abasement, or -at least a relaxation and temporary forgetfulness of self: the ideal -of a humanly superhuman well-being and goodwill, which often enough -will seem inhuman--as when, for instance, it stands beside all past -earnestness on earth, and all past solemnities in hearing, speech, -tone, look, morality, and duty, as their most lifelike and unconscious -parody--but with which, nevertheless, _great earnestness_ perhaps alone -begins, the first note of interrogation is affixed, the fate of the -soul changes, the hour hand moves, and tragedy begins." - - - -3 - - -Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion -of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? -If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of -superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible completely to -set aside the idea that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece, or -medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation, in the sense -that something which profoundly convulses and upsets one becomes -suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and -accuracy--describes the simple fact. One hears--one does not seek; one -takes--one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like -lightning, it comes with necessity, without faltering--I have never had -any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy so great that the immense -strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, during which -one's steps now involuntarily rush and anon involuntarily lag. There -is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct -consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations -descending to one's very toes;--there is a depth of happiness in which -the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, -but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an -overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which -embraces a whole world of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing -rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort -of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens -quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, -of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntary nature of -the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all -perception of what is imagery and metaphor; everything seems to present -itself as the readiest, the truest, and simplest means of expression. -It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's own phrases, as if all -things came to one, and offered themselves as similes. ("Here do all -things come caressingly to thy discourse and flatter thee, for they -would fain ride upon thy back. On every simile thou ridest here unto -every truth. Here fly open unto thee all the speech and word shrines -of the world, here would all existence become speech, here would -all Becoming learn of thee how to speak.") This is my experience of -inspiration. I do not doubt but that I should have to go back thousands -of years before I could find another who could say to me: "It is mine -also!" - - - -4 - - -For a few weeks afterwards I lay an invalid in Genoa. Then followed -a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live--and -this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to -the poet-author of _Zarathustra,_ and for the choice of which I was -not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. -I wanted to go to Aquila--the opposite of Rome in every respect, and -actually founded in a spirit of hostility towards that city, just as -I also shall found a city some day, as a memento of an atheist and -genuine enemy of the Church, a person very closely related to me, the -great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it -all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be -satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in -vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, -to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the -Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for -a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from -which one obtained a general view of Rome, and could hear the fountains -plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed--"The -Night-Song." About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad -melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the affords, "dead through -immortality," ... In the summer, finding myself once more in the sacred -place where the first thought of _Zarathustra_ flashed like a light -across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither -for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day -longer. In the ensuing winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which -then for the first time poured its light into my life, I found the -third _Zarathustra_--and came to the end of my task: the whole having -occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the -country round about Nice are hallowed for me by moments that I can -never forget. That decisive chapter, entitled "Old and New Tables," -was composed during the arduous ascent from the station to Eza--that -wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. During those moments when my -creative energy flowed most plentifully, my muscular activity was -always greatest. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of -"soul." I might often have been seen dancing in those days, and I could -then walk for seven or eight hours on end over the hills without a -suggestion of fatigue. I slept well and laughed a good deal--I was -perfectly robust and patient. - - - -5 - - -With the exception of these periods of industry lasting ten days, the -years I spent during the production of _Zarathustra,_ and thereafter, -were for me years of unparalleled distress. A man pays dearly for -being immortal: to this end he must die many times over during his -life. There is such a thing as what I call the rancour of greatness: -everything great, whether a work or a deed, once it is completed, turns -immediately against its author. The very fact that he is its author -makes him weak at this time. He can no longer endure his deed. He can -no longer look it full in the face. To have something at one's back -which one could never have willed, something to which the knot of human -destiny is attached--and to be forced thenceforward to bear it on one's -shoulders! Why, it almost crushes one! The rancour of greatness! A -somewhat different experience is the uncanny silence that reigns about -one. Solitude has seven skins which nothing can penetrate. One goes -among men; one greets friends: but these things are only new deserts, -the looks of those one meets no longer bear a greeting. At the best -one encounters a sort of revolt. This feeling of revolt, I suffered, -in varying degrees of intensity, at the hands of almost every one who -came near me; it would seem that nothing inflicts a deeper wound than -suddenly to make one's distance felt. Those noble natures are scarce -who know not how to live unless they can revere. A third thing is -the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of -helplessness in the presence of all small things. This seems to me a -necessary outcome of the appalling expenditure of all defensive forces, -which is the first condition of every _creative_ act, of every act -which proceeds from the most intimate, most secret, and most concealed -recesses of a man's being. The small defensive forces are thus, as it -were, suspended, and no fresh energy reaches them. I even think it -probable that one does not digest so well, that one is less willing -to move, and that one is much too open to sensations of coldness and -suspicion; for, in a large number of cases, suspicion is merely a -blunder in etiology. On one occasion when I felt like this I became -conscious of the proximity of a herd of cows, some time before I could -possibly have seen it with my eyes, simply owing to a return in me of -milder and more humane sentiments: _they_ communicated warmth to me.... - - - -6 - - -This work stands alone. Do not let us mention the poets in the -same breath; nothing perhaps has ever been produced out of such a -superabundance of strength. My concept "Dionysian" here became the -_highest_ deed; compared with it everything that other men have done -seems poor and limited. The fact that a Goethe or a Shakespeare would -not for an instant have known how to take breath in this atmosphere of -passion and of the heights; the fact that by the side of Zarathustra, -Dante is no more than a believer, and not one who first _creates_ the -truth--that is to say, not a world-ruling spirit, a _Fate_; the fact -that the poets of the Veda were priests and not even fit to unfasten -Zarathustra's sandal--all this is the least of things, and gives no -idea of the distance, of the azure solitude, in which this work dwells. -Zarathustra has an eternal right to say: "I draw around me circles and -holy boundaries. Ever fewer are they that mount with me to ever loftier -heights. I build me a mountain range of ever holier mountains." If all -the spirit and goodness of every great soul were collected together, -the whole could not create a single one of Zarathustra's discourses. -The ladder upon which he rises and descends is of boundless length; -he has seen further, he has willed further, and _gone_ further than -any other man. There is contradiction in every word that he utters, -this most yea-saying of all spirits. Through him all contradictions -are bound up into a new unity. The loftiest and the basest powers of -human nature, the sweetest, the lightest, and the most terrible, rush -forth from out one spring with everlasting certainty. Until his coming -no one knew what was height, or depth, and still less what was truth. -There is not a single passage in this revelation of truth which had -already been anticipated and divined by even the greatest among men. -Before Zarathustra there was no wisdom, no probing of the soul, no art -of speech: in his book, the most familiar and most vulgar thing utters -unheard-of words. The sentence quivers with passion. Eloquence has -become music. Forks of lightning are hurled towards futures of which -no one has ever dreamed before. The most powerful use of parables that -has yet existed is poor beside it, and mere child's-play compared with -this return of language to the nature of imagery. See how Zarathustra -goes down from the mountain and speaks the kindest words to every -one! See with what delicate fingers he touches his very adversaries, -the priests, and how he suffers with them from themselves! Here, at -every moment, man is overcome, and the concept "Superman" becomes the -greatest reality,--out of sight, almost far away beneath him, lies -all that which heretofore has been called great in man. The halcyonic -brightness, the light feet, the presence of wickedness and exuberance -throughout, and all that is the essence of the type Zarathustra, was -never dreamt of before as a prerequisite of greatness. In precisely -these limits of space and in this accessibility to opposites -Zarathustra feels himself the _highest of all living things_: and when -you hear how he defines this highest, you will give up trying to find -his equal. - -"The soul which hath the longest ladder and can step down deepest, - -"The vastest soul that can run and stray and rove furthest in its own -domain, - -"The most necessary soul, that out of desire flingeth itself to chance, - -"The stable soul that plungeth into Becoming, the possessing soul that -must needs taste of willing and longing, - -"The soul that flyeth from itself, and over-taketh itself in the widest -circle, - -"The wisest soul that folly exhorteth most sweetly, - -"The most self-loving soul, in whom all things have their rise, their -ebb and flow." - -But this is the very idea of Dionysus. Another consideration leads -to this idea. The psychological problem presented by the type of -Zarathustra is, how can he, who in an unprecedented manner says -no, and _acts_ no, in regard to all that which has been affirmed -hitherto, remain nevertheless a yea-saying spirit? how can he who -bears the heaviest destiny on his shoulders and whose very life-task -is a fatality, yet be the brightest and the most transcendental -of spirits--for Zarathustra is a dancer? how can he who has the -hardest and most terrible grasp of reality, and who has thought the -most "abysmal thoughts," nevertheless avoid conceiving these things -as objections to existence, or even as objections to the eternal -recurrence of existence?--how is it that on the contrary he finds -reasons for _being himself_ the eternal affirmation of all things, "the -tremendous and unlimited saying of Yea and Amen"?... "Into every abyss -do I bear the benediction of my yea to Life." ... But this, once more, -is precisely the idea of Dionysus. - - - -7 - - -What language will such a spirit speak, when he speaks unto his soul? -The language of the _dithyramb._ I am the inventor of the dithyramb. -Hearken unto the manner in which Zarathustra speaks to his soul _Before -Sunrise_ (iii. 48). Before my time such emerald joys and divine -tenderness had found no tongue. Even the profoundest melancholy of -such a Dionysus takes shape as a dithyramb. As an example of this I -take "The Night-Song,"--the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his -superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is -condemned never to love. - -"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring. - -"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover. - -"Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise -its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the -language of love. - -"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I -am begirt with light. - -"Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I -then suck at the breasts of light! - -"And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on -high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light. - -"But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the -flames I send forth. - -"I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft -have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking. - -"Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate -is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing. - -"Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover -the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the -end of the feast! - -"They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there -'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be -bridged. - -"An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to -them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I -have given:--thus do I thirst for wickedness. - -"To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the -waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:--thus do I thirst for -wickedness. - -"For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my -loneliness give birth. - -"My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue -grow weary of itself. - -"He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing -groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom. - -"Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's -shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden -hands. - -"Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my -heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons! - -"Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do -they speak with their light--to me alone are they silent. - -"Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it -runneth its course. - -"Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward -suns,--thus doth every sun go its way. - -"Like a tempest do the suns fly over their course: for such is their -way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness. - -"Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, -that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk -and comfort from the udders of light. - -"Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice! - -"Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst! - -"It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after -darkness! And loneliness! - -"It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,--for -speech do I long. - -"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring. - -"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover." - - - -8 - - -Such things have never been written, never been felt, never been -_suffered:_ only a God, only Dionysus suffers in this way. The reply -to such a dithyramb on the sun's solitude in light would be Ariadne. -... Who knows, but I, who Ariadne is! To all such riddles no one -heretofore had ever found an answer; I doubt even whether any one had -ever seen a riddle here. One day Zarathustra severely determines his -life-task--and it is also mine. Let no one misunderstand its meaning. -It's a yea-saying to the point of justifying, to the point of redeeming -even all that is past. - -"I walk among men as among fragments of the future: of that future -which I see. - -"And all my creativeness and effort is but this, that I may be able to -think and recast all these fragments and riddles and dismal accidents -into one piece. - -"And how could I bear to be a man, if man were not also a poet, a -riddle reader, and a redeemer of chance! - -"To redeem all the past, and to transform every 'it was' into 'thus -would I have it'--that alone would be my salvation!" - -In another passage he defines as strictly as possible what to him alone -"man" can be,--not a subject for love nor yet for pity--Zarathustra -became master even of his loathing of man: man is to him a thing -unshaped, raw material, an ugly stone that needs the sculptor's chisel. - -"No longer to will, no longer to value, no longer to create! Oh, that -this great weariness may never be mine! - -"Even in the lust of knowledge, I feel only the joy of my will to beget -and to grow; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because -my procreative will is in it. - -"Away from God and gods did this will lure me: what would there be to -create if there were gods? - -"But to man doth it ever drive me anew, my burning, creative will. -Thus driveth it the hammer to the stone. - -"Alas, ye men, within the stone there sleepeth an image for me, the -image of all my dreams! Alas, that it should have to sleep in the -hardest and ugliest stone! - -"_Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison._ From the stone -the fragments fly: what's that to me? - -"I will finish it: for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightest -thing on earth once came unto me! - -"The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Alas, my -brethren! What are the--gods to me now?" - -Let me call attention to one last point of view. The line in italics is -my pretext for this remark. A Dionysian life-task needs the hardness of -the hammer, and one of its first essentials is without doubt the _joy -even of destruction._ The command, "Harden yourselves!" and the deep -conviction that _all creators are hard,_ is the really distinctive sign -of a Dionysian nature. - - - - -BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL: - - -"THE PRELUDE TO A PHILOSOPHY OF THE FUTURE" - - - -1 - - -My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly -as possible. Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was -accomplished, there came the turn of the negative portion, both in -word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed -hitherto, the great war,--the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal -outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had slowly to -look about me for my peers, for those who, _out of strength,_ would -proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time -onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much -about fishing as most people? If nothing was _caught,_ it was not I who -was at fault _There were no fish to come and bite._ - - - -2 - - -In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of -_modernity,_ embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, -together with certain indications as to a type which would be the -reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble -and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a _school -for gentlemen_--the term _gentleman_ being understood here in a -much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. -All those things of which the age is proud,--as, for instance, -far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the -historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its -lying-in-the-dust before _petits faits,_ and the rage for science,--are -shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are -regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows -upon _Zarathustra,_ you may possibly guess to what system of diet it -owes its life. The eye which, owing to tremendous constraint, has -become accustomed to see at a great distance,--_Zarathustra_ is even -more far-sighted than the Tsar,--is here forced to focus sharply that -which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about -him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this -book, the reader will find the same _voluntary_ turning away from those -instincts which made a _Zarathustra_ a possible feat. Refinement in -form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or -less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness -and cruelty,--the whole book does not contain one single good-natured -word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind -of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness -as is to be found in _Zarathustra_? From a theological standpoint--now -pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a -theologian--it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, -coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of -knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had -made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of -idleness, on that seventh day. - - - - -"THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS: A POLEMIC" - - -The three essays which constitute this genealogy are, as regards -expression, aspiration, and the art of the unexpected, perhaps the -most curious things that have ever been written. Dionysus, as you know, -is also the god of darkness. In each case the beginning is calculated -to mystify; it is cool, scientific, even ironical, intentionally -thrust to the fore, intentionally reticent. Gradually less calmness -prevails; here and there a flash of lightning defines the horizon; -exceedingly unpleasant truths break upon your ears from out remote -distances with a dull, rumbling sound,--until very soon a fierce tempo -is attained in which everything presses forward at a terrible degree -of tension. At the end, in each case, amid fearful thunderclaps, a new -truth shines out between thick clouds. The truth of the first essays -the psychology of Christianity: the birth of Christianity out of the -spirit of resentment, not, as is supposed, out of the "Spirit,"--in -all its essentials, a counter-movement, the great insurrection against -the dominion of noble values. The second essay contains the psychology -of conscience: this is not, as you may believe, "the voice of God in -man"; it is the instinct of cruelty, which turns inwards once it is -unable to discharge itself outwardly. Cruelty is here exposed, for the -first time, as one of the oldest and most indispensable elements in the -foundation of culture. The third essay replies to the question as to -the origin of the formidable power of the ascetic ideal, of the priest -ideal, despite the fact that this ideal is essentially detrimental, -that it is a will to nonentity and to decadence. Reply: it flourished -not because God was active behind the priests, as is generally -believed, but because it was a _faute de mieux_--from the fact that -hitherto it has been the only ideal and has had no competitors. "For -man prefers to aspire to nonentity than not to aspire at all." But -above all, until the time of _Zarathustra_ there was no such thing -as a counter-ideal. You have understood my meaning. Three decisive -overtures on the part of a psychologist to a _Transvaluation of all -Values._--This book contains the first psychology of the priest. - - - - -"THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS: - -HOW TO PHILOSOPHISE WITH THE HAMMER" - - - -1 - - -This work--which covers scarcely one hundred and fifty pages, with its -cheerful and fateful tone, like a laughing demon, and the production -of which occupied so few days that I hesitate to give their number--is -altogether an exception among books: there is no work more rich in -substance, more independent, more upsetting--more wicked. If any one -should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how everything, before my -time, was standing on its head, he should begin reading me in this -book. That which is called "Idols" on the title page is simply the -old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain English, _The -Twilight of the Idols_ means that the old truth is on its last legs. - - - -2 - - -There is no reality, no "ideality," which has not been touched in -this book (touched! what a cautious euphemism!). Not only the eternal -idols, but also the youngest--that is to say, the most senile: modern -ideas, for instance. A strong wind blows between the trees and in -all directions fall the fruit--the truths. There is the waste of an -all-too-rich autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush -some to death, there are too many of them. Those things that you can -grasp, however, are quite unquestionable; they are irrevocable decrees. -I alone have the criterion of "truths" in my possession. I alone _can_ -decide. It would seem as if a second consciousness had grown up in me, -as if the "life-will" in me had thrown a light upon the downward path -along which it has been running throughout the ages. The _downward -path_--hitherto this had been called the road to "Truth." All obscure -impulse--"darkness and dismay"--is at an end, the "_good man_" was -precisely he who was least aware of the proper way.[1] And, speaking -in all earnestness, no one before me knew the proper way, the way -upwards: only after my time could men once more find hope, life-tasks, -and roads mapped out that lead to culture--_I am the joyful harbinger -of this culture._ ... On this account alone I am also a fatality. - - - -3 - - -Immediately after the completion of the above-named work, and without -letting even one day go by, I tackled the formidable task of the -_Transvaluation_ with a supreme feeling of pride which nothing could -equal; and, certain at each moment of my immortality, I cut sign after -sign upon tablets of brass with the sureness of Fate. The Preface -came into being on 3rd September 1888. When, after having written it -down, I went out into the open that morning, I was greeted by the most -beautiful day I had ever seen in the Upper Engadine--clear, glowing -with colour, and presenting all the contrasts and all the intermediary -gradations between ice and the south. I left Sils-Maria only on the -20th of September. I had been forced to delay my departure owing to -floods, and I was very soon, and for some days, the only visitor in -this wonderful spot, on which my gratitude bestows the gift of an -immortal name. After a journey that was full of incidents, and not -without danger to life,--as for instance at Como, which was flooded -when I reached it in the dead of night,--I got to Turin on the -afternoon of the 21 st. Turin is the only suitable place for me, and -it shall be my home henceforward. I took the same lodgings as I had -occupied in the spring, 6111 Via Carlo Alberto, opposite the mighty -Palazzo Carignano, in which Vittorio Emanuele was born; and I had a -view of the Piazza Carlo Alberto and above it across to the hills. -Without hesitating, or allowing myself to be disturbed for a single -moment, I returned to my work, only the last quarter of which had still -to be written. On the 30th September, tremendous triumph; the seventh -day; the leisure of a god on the banks of the Po.[2] On the same day, -I wrote the Preface to _The Twilight of the Idols,_ the correction of -the proofs of which provided me with recreation during the month of -September. Never in my life have I experienced such an autumn; nor -had I ever imagined that such things were possible on earth--a Claude -Lorrain extended to infinity, each day equal to the last in its wild -perfection. - - -[Footnote 1: A witty reference to Goethe's well-known passage in the -Prologue to _Faust_:-- - -"A good man, though in darkness and dismay, -May still be conscious of the proper way." - -The words are spoken by the Lord.--TR. ] - -[Footnote 2: There is a wonderful promenade along the banks of the Po, -for which Turin is famous, and of which Nietzsche was particularly -fond.--TR.] - - - - -"THE CASE OF WAGNER: A MUSICIAN'S PROBLEM" - - - -1 - - -In order to do justice to this essay a man ought to suffer from the -fate of music as from an open wound.--From what do I suffer when I -suffer from the fate of music? From the fact that music has lost -its world-transfiguring, yea-saying character--that it is decadent -music and no longer the flute of Dionysus. Supposing, however, that -the fate of music be as dear to man as his own life, because joy and -suffering are alike bound up with it; then he will find this pamphlet -comparatively mild and full of consideration. To be cheerful in -such circumstances, and laugh good-naturedly with others at one's -self,--_ridendodicere severum_[1] when the _verum dicere_ would -justify every sort of hardness,--is humanity itself. Who doubts that -I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to point my -_heavy_ guns at Wagner?--Everything decisive in this question I kept -to myself--I have loved Wagner.--After all, an attack upon a more than -usually subtle "unknown person" whom another would not have divined -so easily, lies in the meaning and path of my life-task. Oh, I have -still quite a number of other "unknown persons" to unmask besides a -Cagliostro of Music! Above all, I have to direct an attack against -the German people, who, in matters of the spirit, grow every day -more indolent, poorer in instincts, and more _honest_ who, with an -appetite for which they are to be envied, continue to diet themselves -on contradictions, and gulp down "Faith" in company with science, -Christian love together with anti-Semitism, and the will to power (to -the "Empire"), dished up with the gospel of the humble, without showing -the slightest signs of indigestion. Fancy this absence of party-feeling -in the presence of opposites! Fancy this gastric neutrality and -"disinterestedness"! Behold this sense of justice in the German palate, -which can grant equal rights to all,--which finds everything tasteful! -Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans are idealists. When I was last -in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant Wagner and the -_Trumpeter of Sakkingen_[2] equal rights; while I myself witnessed -the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most -genuine and most German of musicians,--using German here in the old -sense of the word,--a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the -master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of -which was to cultivate and spread artful (_listige_[3]) Church music. -Without a shadow of doubt the Germans are idealists. - - - -2 - - -But here nothing shall stop me from being rude, and from telling the -Germans one or two unpleasant home truths: who else would do it if I -did not? I refer to their laxity in matters historical. Not only have -the Germans entirely lost the _breadth of vision_ which enables one -to grasp the course of culture and the values of culture; not only -are they one and all political (or Church) puppets; but they have -also actually _put a ban upon_ this very breadth of vision. A man -must first and foremost be "German," he must belong to "_the_ race"; -then only can he pass judgment upon all values and lack of values -in history--then only can he establish them.... To be German is in -itself an argument, "Germany, Germany above all,"[4] is a principle; -the Germans stand for the "moral order of the universe" in history; -compared with the Roman Empire, they are the up-holders of freedom; -compared with the eighteenth century, they are the restorers of -morality, of the "Categorical Imperative." There is such a thing as -the writing of history according to the lights of Imperial Germany; -there is, I fear, anti-Semitic history--there is also history written -with an eye to the Court, and Herr von Treitschke is not ashamed -of himself. Quite recently an idiotic opinion _in historicis,_ an -observation of Vischer the Swabian æsthete, since happily deceased, -made the round of the German newspapers as a "truth" to which every -German _must assent_ The observation was this: "The Renaissance _and_ -the Reformation only together constitute a whole--the æsthetic -rebirth, and the moral rebirth." When I listen to such things, I lose -all patience, and I feel inclined, I even feel it my duty, to tell the -Germans, for once in a way, all that they have on their conscience. -_Every great crime against culture for the last four centuries lies -on their conscience...._ And always for the same reason, always owing -to their bottomless cowardice in the face of reality, which is also -cowardice in the face of truth; always owing to the love of falsehood -which has become almost instinctive in them--in short, "idealism." -It was the Germans who caused Europe to lose the fruits, the whole -meaning of her last period of greatness--the period of the Renaissance. -At a moment when a higher order of values, values that were noble, -that said yea to life, and that guaranteed a future, had succeeded -in triumphing over the opposite values, the values of degeneration, -in the very seat of Christianity itself,--and _even in the hearts of -those sitting there,_--Luther, that cursed monk, not only restored the -Church, but, what was a thousand times worse, restored Christianity, -and at a time too when it lay defeated. Christianity, the _Denial of -the Will to Live,_ exalted to a religion! Luther was an impossible -monk who, thanks to his own "impossibility," attacked the Church, -and in so doing restored it! Catholics would be perfectly justified -in celebrating feasts in honour of Luther, and in producing festival -plays[5] in his honour. Luther and the "rebirth of morality"! May all -psychology go to the devil! Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans -are idealists. On two occasions when, at the cost of enormous courage -and self-control, an upright, unequivocal, and perfectly scientific -attitude of mind had been attained, the Germans were able to discover -back stairs leading down to the old "ideal" again, compromises between -truth and the "ideal," and, in short, formulæ for the right to reject -science and to perpetrate falsehoods. Leibniz and Kant--these two -great breaks upon the intellectual honesty of Europe! Finally, at a -moment when there appeared on the bridge that spanned two centuries -of decadence, a superior force of genius and will which was strong -enough to consolidate Europe and to convert it into a political and -economic unit, with the object of ruling the world, the Germans, with -their Wars of Independence, robbed Europe of the significance--the -marvellous significance, of Napoleon's life. And in so doing they laid -on their conscience everything that followed, everything that exists -to-day,--this sickliness and want of reason which is most opposed to -culture, and which is called Nationalism,--this _névrose nationale_ -from which Europe is suffering acutely; this eternal subdivision of -Europe into petty states, with politics on a municipal scale: they have -robbed Europe itself of its significance, of its reason,--and have -stuffed it into a cul-de-sac. Is there any one except me who knows the -way out of this cul-de-sac? Does anyone except me know of an aspiration -which would be great enough to bind the people of Europe once more -together? - - - -3 - - -And after all, why should I not express my suspicions? In my case, -too, the Germans will attempt to make a great fate give birth merely -to a mouse. Up to the present they have compromised themselves with -me; I doubt whether the future will improve them. Alas! how happy I -should be to prove a false prophet in this matter! My natural readers -and listeners are already Russians, Scandinavians, and Frenchmen--will -they always be the same? In the history of knowledge, Germans are -represented only by doubtful names, they have been able to produce only -"_unconscious_" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, -Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or -Leibniz; they were all mere _Schleiermachers_).[6] The Germans must -not have the honour of seeing the first upright intellect in their -history of intellects, that intellect in which truth ultimately got the -better of the fraud of four thousand years, reckoned as one with the -German intellect. "German intellect" is my foul air: I breathe with -difficulty in the neighbourhood of this psychological uncleanliness -that has now become instinctive--an uncleanliness which in every -word and expression betrays a German. They have never undergone a -seventeenth century of hard self-examination, as the French have,--a -La Rochefoucauld, a Descartes, are a thousand times more upright -than the very first among Germans,--the latter have not yet had any -psychologists. But psychology is almost the standard of measurement -for the cleanliness or uncleanliness of a race.... For if a man is -not even clean, how can he be deep? The Germans are like women, you -can scarcely ever I fathom their depths--they haven't any, and that's -the end of it. Thus they cannot even be called shallow. That which is -called "deep" in Germany, is precisely this instinctive uncleanliness -towards one's self, of which I have just spoken: people refuse to be -clear in regard to their own natures. Might I be allowed, perhaps, to -suggest the word "German" as an international epithet denoting this -psychological depravity?--At the moment of writing, for instance, the -German Emperor is declaring it to be his Christian duty to liberate -the slaves in Africa; among us Europeans, then, this would be called -simply "German." ... Have the Germans ever produced even a book that -had depth? They are lacking in the mere idea of what constitutes a -book. I have known scholars who thought that Kant was deep. At the -Court of Prussia I fear that Herr von Treitschke is regarded as deep. -And when I happen to praise Stendhal as a deep psychologist, I have -often been compelled, in the company of German University Professors, -to spell his name aloud. - - - -4 - - -And why should I not proceed to the end? I am fond of clearing the -air. It is even part of my ambition to be considered as essentially a -despiser of Germans. I expressed my suspicions of the German character -even at the age of six-and-twenty (see _Thoughts out of Season,_ -vol. ii. pp. 164, 165),--to my mind the Germans are impossible. -When I try to think of the kind of man who is opposed to me in all -my instincts, my mental image takes the form of a German. The first -thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a -feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order -everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for -this is what constitutes a gentleman. Otherwise he belongs hopelessly -to that open-hearted, open-minded--alas! and always very good-natured -species, _la canaille_! But the Germans are _canaille_--alas! they are -so good-natured! A man lowers himself by frequenting the society of -Germans: the German places every one on an equal footing. With the -exception of my intercourse with one or two artists, and above all -with Richard Wagner, I cannot say that I have spent one pleasant hour -with Germans. Suppose, for one moment, that the profoundest spirit -of all ages were to appear among Germans, then one of the saviours -of the Capitol would be sure to arise and declare that his own ugly -soul was just as great. I can no longer abide this race with which -a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances--woe -to me! I am a nuance--and which has not _esprit_ in its feet, and -cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, -they simply have legs. The Germans have not the faintest idea of how -vulgar they are--but this in itself is the acme of vulgarity,--they are -not even ashamed of being merely Germans. They will have their say in -everything, they regard themselves as fit to decide all questions; I -even fear that they have decided about me. My whole life is essentially -a proof of this remark. In vain have I sought among them for a sign of -tact and delicacy towards myself. Among Jews I did indeed find it, but -not among Germans. I am so constituted as to be gentle and kindly to -every one,--I have the right not to draw distinctions,--but this does -not prevent my eyes from being open. I except no one, and least of all -my friends,--I only trust that this has not prejudiced my reputation -for humanity among them? There are five or six things which I have -always made points of honour. Albeit, the truth remains that for many -years I have considered almost every letter that has reached me as a -piece of cynicism. There is more cynicism in an attitude of goodwill -towards me than in any sort of hatred. I tell every friend to his face -that he has never thought it worth his while to _study_ any one of my -writings: from the slightest hints I gather that they do not even know -what lies hidden in my books. And with regard even to my _Zarathustra,_ -which of my friends would have seen more in it than a piece of -unwarrantable, though fortunately harmless, arrogance? Ten years have -elapsed, and no one has yet felt it a duty to his conscience to defend -my name against the absurd silence beneath which it has been entombed. -It was a foreigner, a Dane, who first showed sufficient keenness of -instinct and of courage to do this, and who protested indignantly -against my so-called friends. At what German University to-day would -such lectures on my philosophy be possible, as those which Dr. Brandes -delivered last spring in Copenhagen, thus proving once more his right -to the title psychologist? For my part, these things have never caused -me any pain; that which is _necessary_ does not offend me. _Amor fati_ -is the core of my nature. This, however, does not alter the fact that -I love irony and even world-historic irony. And thus, about two years -before hurling the destructive thunderbolt of the _Transvaluation,_ -which will send the whole of civilisation into convulsions, I sent -my _Case of Wagner_ out into the world. The Germans were given the -chance of blundering and immortalising their stupidity once more on my -account, and they still have just enough time to do it in. And have -they fallen in with my plans? Admirably! my dear Germans. Allow me to -congratulate you. - - - -[Footnote 1: The motto of _The Case of Wagner._--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: An opera by Nessler which was all the rage in Germany -twenty years ago.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: Unfortunately it is impossible to render this play on the -words in English.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: The German National Song (_Deutschland, Deutschland über -alles_).--TR.] - -[Footnote 5: Ever since the year 1617 such plays have been produced by -the Protestants of Germany.--TR.] - -[Footnote 6: _Schleiermacher_ literally means a weaver or maker of -veils.--TR.] - - - - -WHY I AM A FATALITY - - - -1 - - -I know my destiny. There will come a day when my name will recall -the memory of something formidable--a crisis the like of which has -never been known on earth, the memory of the most profound clash -of consciences, and the passing of a sentence upon all that which -theretofore had been believed, exacted, and hallowed. I am not a -man, I am dynamite. And with it all there is nought of the founder -of a religion in me. Religions are matters for the mob; after coming -in contact with a religious man, I always feel that I must wash my -hands.... I require no "believers," it is my opinion that I am too -full of malice to believe even in myself; I never address myself to -masses. I am horribly frightened that one day I shall be pronounced -"holy." You will understand why I publish this book beforehand--it is -to prevent people from wronging me. I refuse to be a saint; I would -rather be a clown. Maybe I am a clown. And I am notwithstanding, or -rather not _not_withstanding, the mouthpiece of truth; for nothing -more blown-out with falsehood has ever existed, than a saint. But -my truth is terrible: for hitherto _lies_ have been called truth. -_The Transvaluation of all Values,_ this is my formula for mankind's -greatest step towards coming to its senses--a step which in me became -flesh and genius. My destiny ordained that I should be the first decent -human being, and that I should feel myself opposed to the falsehood -of millenniums. I was the first to discover truth, and for the simple -reason that I was the first who became conscious of falsehood as -falsehood--that is to say, I smelt it as such. My genius resides in -my nostrils. I contradict as no one has contradicted hitherto, and am -nevertheless the reverse of a negative spirit. I am the harbinger of -joy, the like of which has never existed before; I have discovered -tasks of such lofty greatness that, until my time, no one had any idea -of such things. Mankind can begin to have fresh hopes, only now that I -have lived. Thus, I am necessarily a man of Fate. For when Truth enters -the lists against the falsehood of ages, shocks are bound to ensue, -and a spell of earthquakes, followed by the transposition of hills and -valleys, such as the world has never yet imagined even in its dreams. -The concept "politics" then becomes elevated entirely to the sphere -of spiritual warfare. All the mighty realms of the ancient order of -society are blown into space--for they are all based on falsehood: -there will be wars, the like of which have never been seen on earth -before. Only from my time and after me will politics on a large scale -exist on earth. - - - -2 - - -If you should require a formula for a destiny of this kind that has -taken human form, you will find it in my _Zarathustra_. - -"And he who would be a creator in good and evil--verily, he must first -be a destroyer, and break values into pieces. - -"Thus the greatest evil belongeth unto the greatest good: but this is -the creative good." - -I am by far the most terrible man that has ever existed; but this does -not alter the fact that I shall become the most beneficent. I know the -joy of _annihilation_ to a degree which is commensurate with my power -to annihilate. In both cases I obey my Dionysian nature, which knows -not how to separate the negative deed from the saying of yea. I am the -first immoralist, and in this sense I am essentially the annihilator. - - - -3 - - -People have never asked me as they should have done, what the name -of Zarathustra precisely meant in my mouth, in the mouth of the -first immoralist; for that which distinguishes this Persian from all -others in the past is the very fact that he was the exact reverse -of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle -between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. -The translation of morality into the realm of metaphysics, as force, -cause, end-in-itself, is his work. But the very question suggests -its own answer. Zarathustra created this most portentous of all -errors,--morality; therefore he must be the first to expose it. Not -only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject -than any other thinker,--all history is indeed the experimental -refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things,--but -because of the more important fact that Zarathustra was the most -truthful of thinkers. In his teaching alone is truthfulness upheld as -the highest virtue--that is to say, as the reverse of the cowardice -of the "idealist" who takes to his heels at the sight of reality. -Zarathustra has more pluck in his body than all other thinkers put -together. To tell the truth and to aim straight: that is the first -Persian virtue. Have I made myself clear? ... The overcoming of -morality by itself, through truthfulness, the moralist's overcoming of -himself in his opposite--in me--that is what the name Zarathustra means -in my mouth. - - - -4 - - -In reality two negations are involved in my title Immoralist. I first -of all deny the type of man that has hitherto been regarded as the -highest--the _good,_ the _kind,_ and the _charitable_; and I also -deny that kind of morality which has become recognised and paramount -as morality-in-itself--I speak of the morality of decadence, or, to -use a still cruder term, Christian morality. I would agree to the -second of the two negations being regarded as the more decisive, for, -reckoned as a whole, the overestimation of goodness and kindness seems -to me already a consequence of decadence, a symptom of weakness, and -incompatible with any ascending and yea-saying life. Negation and -annihilation are inseparable from a yea-saying attitude towards life. -Let me halt for a moment at the question of the psychology of the -good man. In order to appraise the value of a certain type of man, the -cost of his maintenance must be calculated,--and the conditions of his -existence must be known. The condition of the existence of the _good_ -is falsehood: or, otherwise expressed, the refusal at any price to -see how reality is actually constituted. The refusal to see that this -reality is not so constituted as always to be stimulating beneficent -instincts, and still less, so as to suffer at all moments the intrusion -of ignorant and good-natured hands. To consider distress of all kinds -as an objection, as something which must be done away with, is the -greatest nonsense on earth; generally speaking, it is nonsense of the -most disastrous sort, fatal in its stupidity--almost as mad as the will -to abolish bad weather, out of pity for the poor, so to speak. In the -great economy of the whole universe, the terrors of reality (in the -passions, in the desires, in the will to power) are incalculably more -necessary than that form of petty happiness which is called "goodness"; -it is even needful to practise leniency in order so much as to allow -the latter a place at all, seeing that it is based upon a falsification -of the instincts. I shall have an excellent opportunity of showing the -incalculably calamitous consequences to the whole of history, of the -credo of optimism, this monstrous offspring of the _homines optimi._ -Zarathustra,[1] the first who recognised that the optimist is just as -degenerate as the pessimist, though perhaps more detrimental, says: -"_Good men never speak the truth. False shores and false harbours -were ye taught by the good. In the lies of the good were ye born and -bred. Through the good everything hath become false and crooked from -the roots._" Fortunately the world is not built merely upon those -instincts which would secure to the good-natured herd animal his paltry -happiness. To desire everybody to become a "good man," "a gregarious -animal," "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul," or--as Herbert -Spencer wished--a creature of altruism, would mean robbing existence of -its greatest character, castrating man, and reducing humanity to a sort -of wretched Chinadom. _And this some have tried to do! It is precisely -this that men called morality._ In this sense Zarathustra calls "the -good," now "the last men," and anon "the beginning of the end"; and -above all, he considers them as _the most detrimental kind of men,_ -because they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and at the -cost of the Future. - -"The good--they cannot create; they are ever the beginning of the end. - -"They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables; they sacrifice -_unto themselves_ the future; they crucify the whole future of humanity! - -"The good--they are ever the beginning of the end. - -"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world may do, _the harm of the -good is the most calamitous of all harm._" - - - -5 - - -Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good man, is perforce the -friend of the evil man. When a degenerate kind of man has succeeded -to the highest rank among the human species, his position must have -been gained at the cost of the reverse type--at the cost of the strong -man who is certain of life. When the gregarious animal stands in -the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be -degraded to the rank of the evil. If falsehood insists at all costs on -claiming the word "truth" for its own particular standpoint, the really -truthful man must be sought out among the despised. Zarathustra allows -of no doubt here; he says that it was precisely the knowledge of the -good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute horror of men. And -it was out of this feeling of repulsion that he grew the wings which -allowed him to soar into remote futures. He does not conceal the fact -that his type of man is one which is relatively superhuman--especially -as opposed to the "good" man, and that the good and the just would -regard his superman as the _devil._ - -"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this is the doubt that ye -wake in my breast, and this is my secret laughter: methinks ye would -call my Superman--the devil! So strange are ye in your souls to all -that is great, that the Superman would be terrible in your eyes for his -goodness." - -It is from this passage, and from no other, that you must set out to -understand the goal to which Zarathustra aspires--the kind of man that -he conceives sees reality _as it is;_ he is strong enough for this--he -is not estranged or far removed from it, he is that reality himself, in -his own nature can be found all the terrible and questionable character -of reality: _only thus can man have greatness._ - - - -6 - - -But I have chosen the title of Immoral is t as a surname and as a badge -of honour in yet another sense; I am very proud to possess this name -which distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No one hitherto -has felt Christian morality beneath him; to that end there were needed -height, a remoteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological depth, not -believed to be possible hitherto. Up to the present Christian morality -has been the Circe of all thinkers--they stood at her service. What -man, before my time, had descended into the underground caverns from -out of which the poisonous fumes of this ideal--of this slandering -of the world--burst forth? What man had even dared to suppose that -they were underground caverns? Was a single one of the philosophers -who preceded me a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a -psychologist--that is to say, a "superior swindler," an "Idealist"? -Before my time there was no psychology. To be the first in this new -realm may amount to a curse; at all events, it is a fatality: _for one -is also the first to despise._ My danger is the loathing of mankind. - - - -7 - - -Have you understood me? That which defines me, that which makes me -stand apart from the whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that -I _unmasked_ Christian morality. For this reason I was in need of a -word which conveyed the idea of a challenge to everybody. Not to have -awakened to these discoveries before, struck me as being the sign -of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has on its conscience, -as self-deception become instinctive, as the fundamental will to -be blind to every phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in -fact, as an almost criminal fraud _in psychologicis._ Blindness in -regard to Christianity is the essence of criminality--for it is the -crime _against_ life. Ages and peoples, the first as well as the -last, philosophers and old women, with the exception of five or six -moments in history (and of myself, the seventh), are all alike in -this. Hitherto the Christian has been _the_ "moral being," a peerless -oddity, and, _as_ "a moral being," he was more absurd, more vain, more -thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage to himself, than the greatest -despiser of humanity could have deemed possible. Christian morality -is the most malignant form of all false too the actual Circe of -humanity: that which has corrupted mankind. It is not error as error -which infuriates me at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the -millenniums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of decency, and -of bravery in spiritual things, which betrays itself in the triumph of -Christianity; it is rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly -ghastly fact that _anti-nature_ itself received the highest honours as -morality and as law, and remained suspended over man as the Categorical -Imperative. Fancy blundering in this way, _not_ as an individual, -_not_ as a people, but as a whole species! as _humanity_! To teach the -contempt of all the principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the -existence of a "soul," of a "spirit," in order to be able to defy the -body; to spread the feeling that there is something impure in the very -first prerequisite of life--in sex; to seek the principle of evil in -the profound need of growth and expansion--that is to say, in severe -self-love (the term itself is slanderous); and conversely to see a -higher moral value--but what am I talking about?--I mean the _moral -value per se,_ in the typical signs of decline, in the antagonism of -the instincts, in "selflessness," in the loss of ballast, in "the -suppression of the personal element," and in "love of one's neighbour" -(neighbouritis!). What! is humanity itself in a state of degeneration? -Has it always been in this state? One thing is certain, that ye are -taught only the values of decadence as the highest values. The morality -of self-renunciation is essentially the morality of degeneration; the -fact, "I am going to the dogs," is translated into the imperative," -Ye shall all go to the dogs"--and not only into the imperative. This -morality of self-renunciation, which is the only kind of morality that -has been taught hitherto, betrays the will to nonentity--it denies life -to the very roots. There still remains the possibility that it is not -mankind that is in a state of degeneration, but only that parasitical -kind of man--the priest, who, by means of morality and lies, has -climbed up to his position of determinator of values, who divined in -Christian morality his road to power. And, to tell the truth, this -is my opinion. The teachers and I leaders of mankind--including the -theologians--have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their) -transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards; life; hence -morality. _The definition of morality;_ Morality is the idiosyncrasy of -decadents, actuated by a desire _to avenge themselves with success upon -life._ I attach great value to this definition. - - - -8 - - -Have you understood me? I have not uttered a single word which I had -not already said five years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra. -The unmasking of Christian morality is an event which unequalled in -history, it is a real catastrophe. The man who throws light upon it -is a _force majeure,_ a fatality; he breaks the history of man into -two. Time is reckoned up before him and after him. The lightning -flash of truth struck precisely that which theretofore had stood -highest: he who understands what was destroyed by that flash should -look to see whether he still holds anything in his hands. Everything -which until then was called truth, has been revealed as the most -detrimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form of life; the -holy pretext, which was the "improvement" of man, has been recognised -as a ruse for draining life of its energy and of its blood. Morality -conceived as _Vampirism_.... The man who unmasks morality has also -unmasked the worthlessness of the values in which men either believe -or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be revered in the most -venerable man--even in the types of men that have been pronounced -holy; all he can see in them is the most fatal kind of abortions, -fatal, _because they fascinate._ The concept "God" was invented as -the opposite of the concept life--everything detrimental, poisonous, -and slanderous, and all deadly hostility to life, wad bound together -in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts "beyond" and "true world" -were invented in order to depreciate the only world that exists--in -order that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left to earthly -reality. The concepts "soul," "spirit," and last of all the concept -"immortal soul," were invented in order to throw contempt on the body, -in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to cultivate an attitude -of appalling levity towards all things in life which deserve to be -treated seriously, _i.e._ the questions of nutrition and habitation, -of intellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanliness, and -weather. Instead of health, we find the "salvation of the soul"--that -is to say, a _folie circulate_ fluctuating between convulsions and -penitence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept "sin," together -with the torture instrument appertaining to it, which is the concept -"free will," was invented in order to confuse and muddle our instincts, -and to render the mistrust of them man's second nature! In the concepts -"disinterestedness" and "self-denial," the actual signs of decadence -are to be found. The allurement of that which is detrimental, the -inability to discover one's own advantage and self-destruction, are -made into absolute qualities, into the "duty," the "holiness," and -the "divinity" of man. Finally--to keep the worst to the last--by the -notion of the _good_ man, all that is favoured which is weak, ill, -botched, and sick-in-itself, which _ought to be wiped out._ The law -of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of opposition to the -proud, well-constituted man, to him who says yea to life, to him who -is certain of the future, and who guarantees the future--this man is -henceforth called the _evil_ one. And all this was believed in as -_morality!--Ecrasez l'infâme!_ - - - -9 - - -Have you understood me? _Dionysus_ versus _Christ._ - - -[Footnote 1: Needless to say this is Nietzsche, and no longer the -Persian.--TR.] - - - - -EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY - - -The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in -the Editorial Note to _The Joyful Wisdom,_ in which he declared -his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has -nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. -This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an -injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an -author, as it were, in his _négligé,_ or, in plain English, "in his -shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and -rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage -of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not -readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, -contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small -notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress -everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, -more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. -He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the _Songs -and Epigrams,_ nearly all of which are to be found translated here, -and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half -have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs appear in this -volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated -in the Fourth Part of _Zarathustra._ These Dionysus Dithyrambs were -prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final -manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual -composition, however, belongs to an earlier date. - -All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. -Paul Victor Cohn. - - - - -SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. - - -SONGS - - - - TO MELANCHOLY[1] - - - O Melancholy, be not wroth with me - That I this pen should point to praise thee only, - And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee, - Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely. - Thus oft thou saw'st me,--yesterday, at least,-- - Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming, - While, visioning the carrion of his feast, - The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming. - - Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I, - So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning! - Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy - Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening. - What though they did not soar unto thine height, - or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices, - For _that_ they sank the deeper so they might - Within themselves light Destiny's abysses. - - Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free, - Bent hideous like a savage at his altar, - There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee, - A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter. - - So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span, - The thunder of the avalanche's paces, - Thou spakest to me--nor wast false like man, - Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces. - - Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark, - Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me, - To point me out the vulture's airy are - And laughing avalanches, to repel me. - Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill, - The torment to win life in all its changes; - Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill, - Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges. - - All this am I--shuddering I feel it all-- - O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower, - The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall, - The moaning storm--all symbols of thy power,-- - Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed, - With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting, - I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud - For Life, for Life, for Life--forever thirsting! - - O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask, - That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven. - He trembles who beholds thine awful mask; - He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given. - Song upon trembling song by starts and fits - I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding, - The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits, - O goddess, goddess--leave me to my scolding! - - - - - AFTER A NIGHT STORM[2] - - - To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly, - Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane. - Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly - Roars the swollen brook unto the plain. - - Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring, - 'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll, - 'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing-- - Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl. - - Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking - Raptures of thy voice--and howls of pain. - Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking - With the mace of thunder hurled amain. - - Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes - Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam, - Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes, - And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am! - - The immortal Amazon they call me; - All things weak and womanish I shun; - Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me; - Victress I and tigress all in one! - - Where I tread there corpses fall before me; - From mine eyes the furious torches fly, - And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me! - Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp--or die!" - - - - - HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP - - - (_Two Fragments_) - - - 1 - - Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song - That we sing in friendship's honour! - Where the eye of friendship glances, - Filled with all the joy of friendship - Come thou nigh to aid me, - Rosy dawn in thy gaze and - In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal. - - - 2 - - Morning's past: the sun of noonday - Scorches with hot ray our heads. - Let us sit beneath the arbour - Singing songs in praise of friendship. - Friendship was our life's red dawning, - And its sunset red shall be. - - - - - THE WANDERER[3] - - - All through the night a wanderer walks - Sturdy of stride, - With winding vale and sloping height - E'er at his side. - Fair is the night: - On, on he strides, nor slackens speed, - And knows not where his path will lead. - - A bird's song in the night is heard, - "Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird, - How dost thou grip my sense and feet - And pourest heart-vexation sweet - Into mine ear--I must remain, - To hearken fain: - Why lure me with inviting strain?" - - The good bird speaks, staying his song: - "I lure not thee,--no, thou art wrong-- - With these my trills - I lure my mate from off the hills-- - Nor heed thy plight. - To me alone the night's not fair. - What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare, - On, onward ever, resting ne'er. - - Why stand'st thou now? - What has my piping done to thee, - Thou roaming wight?" - The good bird pondered, silent quite, - "Why doth my piping change his plight? - Why stands he now, - That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?" - - - - - TO THE GLACIER - - - At noontide hour, when first, - Into the mountains Summer treads, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, - Then too he speaks, - Yet we can only see his speech. - - His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath - On fevered couch. - The glacier and the fir tree and the spring - Answer his call - --Yet we their answer only see. - For faster from the rock leaps down - The torrent stream, as though to greet, - And stands, like a white column trembling, - All yearning there. - And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree - Than e'er before. - And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone - A sudden light breaks forth-- - Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign. - - Even the dead man's eye - Surely once more grows light, - When, sorrowful, his child - Gives him embrace and kiss: - Surely once more the flame of light - Wells out, and glowing into life - The dead eye speaks: "My child! - Ah child, you know I love you true!" - - So all things glow and speak--the glacier speaks, - The brook, the fir, - Speak with their glance the selfsame words: - We love you true, - Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true! - - And he, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, - Woe-worn, gives kisses - More ardent ever, - And will not go: - But like to veils he blows his words - From out his lips, - His cruel words: - "My greeting's parting, - My coming going, - In youth I die." - - All round they hearken - And scarcely breathe - (No songster sings), - And shuddering run - Like gleaming ray - Over the mountain; - All round they ponder,-- - Nor speak-- - - Twas at the noon, - At noontide hour, when first - Into the mountains Summer treads, - Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary. - - - - - AUTUMN[4] - - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away!-- - The sun creeps 'gainst the hill - And climbs and climbs - And rests at every step. - - How faded grew the world! - On weary, slackened strings the wind - Playeth his tune. - Fair Hope fled far-- - He waileth after. - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away! - O fruit of the tree, - Thou tremblest, fallest? - What secret whispered unto thee - The Night, - That icy shudders deck thy cheek, - Thy cheek of purple hue? - - Silent art thou, nor dost reply-- - Who speaketh still?-- - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away!-- - "I am not fair,"-- - So speaks the lone star-flower,-- - "Yet men I love - And comfort men-- - Many flowers shall they behold, - And stoop to me, - And break me, ah!-- - So that within their eyes shall gleam - Remembrance swift, - _Remembrance of far fairer things than I_:-- - I see it--see it--and I perish so." - - 'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! - Fly away! fly away! - - - - - CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO[5] - - - Maiden, in gentle wise - You stroke your lamb's soft fleece, - Yet flashing from your eyes - Both light and flame ne'er cease. - Creature of merry jest - And favourite near and far, - Pious with kindness blest, - Amorosissima! - - What broke so soon the chain, - What does your heart deplore? - And who, pray, would not fain, - If you loved him, adore?-- - You're mute, but from your eye, - The tear-drop is not far, - You're mute: you'll yearn and die, - Amorosissima? - - - - - THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6] - - - "Little Angel" call they me!-- - Now a ship, but once a girl, - Ah, and still too much a girl! - My steering-wheel, so bright to see, - But for sake of love doth whirl. - - "Little Angel" call they me, - With hundred flags to ornament, - A captain smart, on glory bent, - Steers me, puffed with vanity - (He himself's an ornament). - - "Little Angel" call they me, - And where'er a little flame - Gleams for me, I, like a lamb, - Go my journey eagerly - (I was always such a lamb!). - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Think you I can bark and whine - Like a dog, this mouth of mine - Throwing smoke and flame full free? - Ah, a devil's mouth is mine. - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Once I spoke a bitter word, - That my lover, when he heard, - Fast and far away did flee: - Yes, I killed him with that word! - - "Little Angel" call they me: - Hardly heard, I sprang so glib - From the cliff and broke a rib: - From my frame my soul went free, - Yes, escaped me through that rib. - - "Little Angel" call they me-- - Then my soul, like cat in flight - Straight did on this ship alight - Swiftly bounding--one, two, three! - Yes, its claws are swift to smite. - - "Little Angel" call they me!-- - Now a ship, but once a girl, - Ah, and still too much a girl! - My steering-wheel, so bright to see, - For sake of love alone doth whirl. - - - - - MAIDEN'S SONG - - - Yesterday with seventeen years - Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair, - I am grey-haired, it appears, - Now in all things--save my hair. - - Yesterday, I had a thought, - Was't a thought?--you laugh and scorn! - Did you ever have a thought? - Rather was a feeling born. - - Dare a woman think? This screed - Wisdom long ago begot: - "Follow woman must, not lead; - If she thinks, she follows not." - - Wisdom speaks--I credit naught: - Rather hops and stings like flea: - "Woman seldom harbours thought; - If she thinks, no good is she!" - - To this wisdom, old, renowned, - Bow I in deep reverence: - Now my wisdom I'll expound - In its very quintessence. - - A voice spoke in me yesterday - As ever--listen if you can: - "Woman is more beauteous aye, - But more interesting--man!" - - - - - "PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"[7] - - - Cave where the dead ones rest, - O marble falsehood, thee - I love: for easy jest - My soul thou settest free. - - To-day, to-day alone, - My soul to tears is stirred, - At thee, the pictured stone, - At thee, the graven word. - - This picture (none need wis) - I kissed the other day. - When there's so much to kiss - Why did I kiss the--clay? - - Who knows the reason why? - "A tombstone fool!" you laugh: - I kissed--I'll not deny-- - E'en the long epitaph. - - - - - TO FRIENDSHIP - - - Hail to thee, Friendship! - My hope consummate, - My first red daybreak! - Alas, so endless - Oft path and night seemed, - And life's long road - Aimless and hateful! - Now life I'd double - In thine eyes seeing - Dawn-glory, triumph, - Most gracious goddess! - - - - - PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING - - - O'er man and beast I grew so high, - And speak--but none will give reply. - - Too lone and tall my crest did soar: - I wait: what am I waiting for? - - The clouds are grown too nigh of late, - 'Tis the first lightning I await. - - - - - TREE IN AUTUMN - - - Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken - While I in blissful blindness stood? - Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken-- - Vanished my golden dreaming mood. - - Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy, - Knock first! Where have your manners fled? - I threw--and fear has made me speedy-- - Dishes of ripe fruit--at your head. - - - - - AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS) - - - (_After a Gipsy Proverb_) - - - Here the gallows, there the cord, - And the hangman's ruddy beard. - Round, the venom-glancing horde:-- - Nothing new to me's appeared. - Many times I've seen the sight, - Now laughing in your face I cry, - "Hanging me is useless quite: - Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!" - - Beggars all! Ye envy me - Winning what ye never won! - True, I suffer agony, - But for you--your life is done. - Many times I've faced death's plight, - Yet steam and light and breath am I. - Hanging me is useless quite: - Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die! - - - - - THE NEW COLUMBUS[8] - - - "Dearest," said Columbus, "never - Trust a Genoese again. - At the blue he gazes ever, - Distance doth his soul enchain. - - Strangeness is to me too dear-- - Genoa has sunk and passed-- - Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! - Sea before me: land--at last? - - Firmly let us plant our feet, - Ne'er can we give up this game-- - From the distance what doth greet? - One death, one happiness, one fame. - - - - - IN LONESOMENESS[9] - - - The cawing crows - Townwards on whirring pinions roam; - Soon come the snows-- - Thrice happy now who hath a home! - - Fast-rooted there, - Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long! - Thou fool, why dare - Ere winter come, this world of wrong? - - This world--a gate - To myriad deserts dumb and hoar! - Who lost through fate - What thou hast lost, shall rest no more. - - Now stand'st thou pale, - A frozen pilgrimage thy doom, - Like smoke whose trail - Cold and still colder skies consume. - - Fly, bird, and screech, - Like desert-fowl, thy song apart! - Hide out of reach, - Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart. - - Firmly let us plant our feet, - Ne'er can we give up this game-- - From the distance what doth greet? - One death, one happiness, one fame. - - The cawing crows - Townwards on whirring pinions roam: - Soon come the snows-- - Woe unto him who hath no home! - - _My Answer_ - - The man presumes-- - Good Lord!--to think that I'd return - To those warm rooms - Where snug the German ovens burn - - My friend, you see - 'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-- - Pity for _thee_ - And all that German blockheads are! - - - - - VENICE - - - ON the bridge I stood, - Mellow was the night, - Music came from far-- - Drops of gold outpoured - On the shimmering waves. - Song, gondolas, light, - Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk. - - The chords of my soul, moved - By unseen impulse, throbbed - Secretly into a gondola song, - With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy. - Had I a listener there? - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 2: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 3: This poem was written on the betrothal of one of -Nietzsche's Bâle friends.--TR.] - -[Footnote 4: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - -[Footnote 5: Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, -near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl -with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath-- -"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."] - -[Footnote 6: Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired -by a ship that was christened _Angiolina,_ in memory of a -love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.--TR.] - -[Footnote 7: See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same -tombstone.--TR.] - -[Footnote 8: The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great -part of his life at Genoa.--TR.] - -[Footnote 9: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.] - - - - - -EPIGRAMS - - - - CAUTION: POISON![1] - - - He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading; - - For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing! - - - - - HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY - - - With jesters it is good to jest: - Who likes to tickle, is tickled best. - - - - - THE WORD - - - I dearly love the living word, - That flies to you like a merry bird, - Ready with pleasant nod to greet, - E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet, - Yet it has blood, can pant you deep: - Then to the dove's ear it will creep: - And curl itself, or start for flight-- - Whate'er it does, it brings delight. - - Yet tender doth the word remain, - Soon it is ill, soon well again: - So if its little life you'd spare, - O grasp it lightly and with care, - Nor heavy hand upon it lay, - For e'en a cruel glance would slay! - There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing! - All stark, all formless, and all cold, - Its little body changed and battered, - By death and dying rudely shattered. - - A dead word is a hateful thing, - A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting. - A curse on ugly trades I cry - That doom all little words to die! - - - - - THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW - - - _A Book_ - - - You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back? - Is e'en for chamois here no track? - - So here I wait and firmly clasp - What eye and hand will let me grasp! - - Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath, - And under me--world, man, and death! - - - - - JOYFUL WISDOM - - - This is no book--for such, who looks? - Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books! - What's dead and gone they make their prey, - Yet in my book lives fresh To-day. - - This is no book--for such, who looks? - Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks? - This is a promise, an act of will, - A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill; - A wind from sea, an anchor light, - A whirr of wheels, a steering right. - The cannon roars, white smokes its flame, - The sea--the monster--laughs and scents its game. - - - - - DEDICATION[2] - - - He who has much to tell, keeps much - Silent and unavowed. - He who with lightning-flash would touch - Must long remain a cloud! - - - - - THE NEW TESTAMENT[3] - - - Is this your Book of Sacred Lore, - For blessing, cursing, and such uses?-- - Come, come now: at the very door - God some one else's wife seduces? - - - - - THE "TRUE GERMAN" - - - "O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes, - To you I'm true, I wis." - He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff - Went to Cosmopolis. - - - - - TO THE DARWINIANS[4] - - - A fool this honest Britisher - Was not ... But a Philosopher! - As _that_ you really rate him? - Set Darwin up by Goethe's side? - But majesty you thus deride-- - _Genii majestatem_! - - - - - To HAFIZ - - - (_Toast Question of a Water-Drinker_) - - - What you have builded, yonder inn, - O'ertops all houses high: - The posset you have brewed therein - The world will ne'er drink dry. - The bird that once appeared on earth - As phœnix, is your, guest. - The mouse that gave a mountain birth - Is you yourself confessed! - You're all and naught, you're inn and wine, - You're phœnix, mountain, mouse. - Back to yourself to come you pine - Or fly from out your house. - Downward from every height you've sunk, - And in the depths still shine: - The drunkenness of all the drunk, - Why do you ask for--wine? - - - - - TO SPINOZA - - - Of "All in One" a fervent devotee - _Amore Dei,_ of reasoned piety, - Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!-- - Yet underneath this love there sate - A torch of vengeance, burning secretly - The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate. - Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee? - - - - - ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER - - - That which he taught, has had its day, - That which he lived, shall live for aye: - Look at the man! No bondsman he! - Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee! - - - - - TO RICHARD WAGNER - - - O You who chafe at every fetter's link, - A restless spirit, never free: - Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered, - Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured, - Till from each cup of balm you poison drink, - Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink, - You too, you too, among the overpowered! - - For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped, - Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread, - With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread, - And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped. - But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head, - For I escaped! - - - - - MUSIC OF THE SOUTH[5] - - - All that my eagle e'er saw clear, - I see and feel in heart to-day - (Although my hope was wan and gray) - Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear, - A balm to touch, a balm to hear, - As down from heaven it winged its way. - - So now for lands of southern fire - To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport! - Thither now turn the ship's desire-- - No ship e'er sped to fairer port. - - - - - A RIDDLE - - - A riddle here--can you the answer scent? - "When man discovers, woman must invent."---- - - - - - TO FALSE FRIENDS - - - You stole, your eye's not clear to-day. - You only stole a thought, sir? nay, - Why be so rudely modest, pray? - Here, take another handful--stay, - Take all I have, you swine--you may - Eat till your filth is purged away. - - - - - FRIEND YORICK - - - Be of good cheer, - Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain, - As now it does, I fear, - Is it not "God"? And though in error lain, - 'Tis but your own dear child, - Your flesh and blood, - That tortures you and gives you pain, - Your little rogue and do-no-good, - See if the rod will change its mood! - - In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear - Philosophy--and let me now - Whisper one word as medicine, - My own prescription, in your ear, - My remedy against such spleen-- - "Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween," - - - - - RESOLUTION - - - I should be wise to suit my mood, - Not at the beck of other men: - God made as stupid as he could - The world--well, let me praise him then. - - And if I make not straight my track, - But, far as may be, wind and bend, - That's how the sage begins his tack, - And that is how the fool will--end. - - * * * * * - - The world stands never still, - Night loves the glowing day-- - Sweet sounds to ear "I will!" - And sweeter still "I may!" - - - - - THE HALCYONIAN[6] - - - Addressing me most bashfully, - A woman to-day said this: - "What would you be like in ecstasy, - If sober you feel such bliss?" - - - - - FINALE[6] - - - Laughter is a serious art. - I would do it better daily. - Did I well to-day or no? - Came the spark right from the heart? - Little use though head wag gaily, - If the heart contain no glow. - - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 2: On the title-page of a copy of _Joyful Wisdom,_ dedicated -to Herr August Bungal.--TR.] - -[Footnote 3: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 4: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - -[Footnote 5: Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful -friend, and a musician whose "Southern" music Nietzsche -admired.--TR.] - -[Footnote 6: Translated by Francis Bickley.] - - - - -DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS - - -(1888) - - -These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to -himself so as to endure his last solitude. - - - - OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST - - - Ten years passed by-- - Not a drop reached me, - No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love - --A rainless land.... - Now entreat I my wisdom - Not to become stingy in this drought; - Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew, - Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness! - - I once bade the clouds - Depart from my mountains; - Once I said to them, - "More light, ye dark ones!" - To-day I entice them to come: - Make me dark with your udders: - --I would milk you, - Ye cows of the heights! - Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love - I pour over the land. - - Away, away, ye truths - That look so gloomy! - I will not have on my mountains - Bitter, impatient truths. - May truth approach me to-day - Gilded by smiles, - Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,-- - A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree. - - To-day I stretch my hands - Toward the tresses of chance, - Wise enough to lead, - To outwit chance like a child. - To-day I will be hospitable - 'Gainst the unwelcome, - 'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly.... - --Zarathustra is no hedgehog. - - My soul, - Insatiable with its tongue, - Has already tasted of all things good and evil, - And has dived into all depths. - But ever, like the cork, - It swims to the surface again, - And floats like oil upon brown seas: - Because of this soul men call me fortunate. - - Who are my father and mother? - Is not my father Prince Plenty? - And my mother Silent Laughter? - Did not the union of these two - Beget me, the enigmatic beast-- - Me, the monster of light-- - Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom? - - Sick to-day from tenderness, - A dewy wind, - Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains-- - Sweet and stewing - In his own juice, - Beneath his own summit, - Beneath his ice, - Weary and happy, - A Creator on his seventh day. - - --Silence! - A truth passes over me - Like a cloud,-- - With invisible lightnings it strikes me, - On broad, slow stairs, - Its happiness climbs to me: - Come, come, beloved truth! - - --Silence! - 'Tis _my_ truth! - From timid eyes, - From velvet shudders, - Her glance meets mine, - Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance. - She has guessed the reason of my happiness, - She has guessed me--ha! what is she thinking? - A purple dragon - Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance. - - --Silence! My truth is speaking!-- - - "Woe to thee, Zarathustra! - Thou lookest like one - That hath swallowed gold: - They will slit up thy belly yet! - - Thou art too rich, - Thou corrupter of many! - Thou makest too many jealous, - Too many poor.... - Even on me thy light casts a shadow-- - I feel chill: go away, thou rich one - Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun - - - - - BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY - - - Who would here descend, - How soon - Is he swallowed up by the depths! - But thou, Zarathustra, - Still lovest the abysses, - Lovest them as doth the fir tree! - - The fir flings its roots - Where the rock itself gazes - Shuddering at the depths,-- - The fir pauses before the abysses - Where all around - Would fain descend: - Amid the impatience - Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents - It waits so patient, stern and silent, - Lonely.... - - Lonely! - Who would venture - Here to be guest-- - To be thy guest? - - A bird of prey, perchance - Joyous at others' misfortune, - Will cling persistent - To the hair of the steadfast watcher, - With frenzied laughter, - A vulture's laughter.... - - Wherefore so steadfast? - --Mocks he so cruel: - He must have wings, who loves the abyss, - He must not stay on the cliff, - As thou who hangest there!-- - - O Zarathustra, - Cruellest Nimrod! - Of late still a hunter of God, - A spider's web to capture virtue, - An arrow of evil! - Now - Hunted by thyself, - Thine own prey - Caught in the grip of thine own soul. - - Now - Lonely to me and thee, - Twofold in thine own knowledge, - Mid a hundred mirrors - False to thyself, - Mid a hundred memories - Uncertain, - Weary at every wound, - Shivering at every frost, - Throttled in thine own noose, - Self-knower! - Self-hangman! - - Why didst bind thyself - With the noose of thy wisdom? - Why luredst thyself - Into the old serpent's paradise? - Why stolest into - Thyself, thyself?... - - A sick man now, - Sick of serpent's poison, - A captive now - Who hast drawn the hardest lot: - In thine own shaft - Bowed as thou workest, - In thine own cavern - Digging at thyself, - Helpless quite, - Stiff, - A cold corse - Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens, - Overburdened by thyself, - A knower! - A self-knower! - The wise Zarathustra!... - - Thou soughtest the heaviest burden, - So foundest thou thyself, - And canst not shake thyself off.... - - Watching, - Chewing, - One that stands upright no more! - Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave, - Deformed spirit! - - And of late still so proud - On all the stilts of thy pride! - Of late still the godless hermit, - The hermit with one comrade--the devil, - The scarlet prince of every devilment!... - - Now-- - Between two nothings - Huddled up, - A question-mark, - A weary riddle, - A riddle for vultures.... - They will "solve" thee, - They hunger already for thy "solution," - They flutter already about their "riddle," - About thee, the doomed one! - O Zarathustra, - Self-knower! - Self-hangman! - - - - - THE SUN SINKS - - - I - - Not much longer thirstest thou, - O burnt-up heart! - Promise is in the air, - From unknown mouths I feel a breath, - --The great coolness comes.... - My sun stood hot above me at noonday: - A greeting to you that are coming, - Ye sudden winds, - Ye cool spirits of afternoon! - - The air is strange and pure. - See how the night - Leers at me with eyes askance, - Like a seducer!... - Be strong, my brave heart, - And ask not "Why?" - - - 2 - - The day of my life! - The sun sinks, - And the calm flood - Already is gilded. - Warm breathes the rock: - Did happiness at noonday - Take its siesta well upon it? - In green light - Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss - - Day of my life! - Eventide's nigh, - Thy eye already - Glows half-broken, - Thy dew already - Pours out its tear-drops, - Already over the white seas - Walks the purple of thy love, - Thy last hesitating holiness.... - - - 3 - - Golden gaiety, come! - Thou, the sweetest foretaste-- - Foretaste of death! - --Went I my way too swiftly? - Now that the foot grows weary, - Thine eye still catches me, - Thy happiness still catches me. - - Around but waves and play. - Whatever was hard - --Sank into blue oblivion. - My boat now stands idle. - Storm and motion--how did it forget them! - Desire and Hope are drowned, - Sea and soul are becalmed. - - Seventh Solitude! - Never felt! - Sweet certainty nearer, - Or warmer the sun's ray. - --Glows not the ice of my summit yet? - Silvery, light, a fish - Now my vessel swims out.... - - - - - THE LAST DESIRE[1] - - - So would I die - As then I saw him die, - The friend, who like a god - Into my darkling youth - Threw lightning's light and fire: - Buoyant yet deep was he, - Yea, in the battle's strife - With the gay dancer's heart. - - Amid the warriors - His was the lightest heart, - Amid the conquerors - His brow was dark with thought-- - He was a fate poised on his destiny: - Unbending, casting thought into the past - And future, such was he. - - Fearful beneath the weight of victory, - Yet chanting, as both victory and death - Came hand and hand to him. - - Commanding even as he lay in death, - And his command that man annihilate. - - So would I die - As then I saw him die, - Victorious and destroying. - - - - - THE BEACON - - - Here, where the island grew amid the seas, - A sacrificial rock high-towering, - Here under darkling heavens, - Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires, - A beacon for ships that have strayed, - A beacon for them that have an answer!... - - These flames with grey-white belly, - In cold distances sparkle their desire, - Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights-- - A snake upreared in impatience: - This signal I set up there before me. - This flame is mine own soul, - Insatiable for new distances, - Speeding upward, upward its silent heat. - - Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men? - Why fled he swift from all continents? - Six solitudes he knows already-- - But even the sea was not lonely enough for him, - On the island he could climb, on the mount he - became flame, - At the seventh solitude - He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head. - - Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars - Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens! - At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod. - Give answer to the flame's impatience, - Let me, the fisher on high mountains, - Catch my seventh, last solitude!---- - - - - - FAME AND ETERNITY[2] - - - I - - Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood - Upon this adverse fate of thine? - Beware, lest from thy doleful mood - A countenance _90_ dark is brewed - That men in seeing thee divine - A hate more bitter than the brine. - * * * * - Speak, why does Zarathustra roam - Upon the towering mountain-height? - Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home - Is shut so long from human sight? - * * * * - See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash, - The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights - Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash - Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights, - Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love, - The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above - And looms with menace of a thundercloud. - * * * * - Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide! - To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud - Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride, - And bastions and ramparts sway and rock, - - The lightning sears the dusky face of night, - And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock - The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth - The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath. - - - 2 - - This fame, which all the wide world loves, - I touch with gloves, - And scorning beat - Beneath my feet. - * * * * - Who hanker after the pay of it? - Who cast themselves in the way of it? - These prostitutes to gold, - These merchant folk. They fold - Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame, - Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim. - * * * * - Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill. - They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep, - And let their greedy paws unhindered creep - Into its depths. So let them take their fill, - For if thou dost not offer them enough, - Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff. - * * * * - They are all virtuous, yea every one. - Virtue and fame are ever in accord - So long as time doth run, - - The tongues that prate of virtue as reward - Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd. - * * * * - Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be - One guilty of all vile and horrid sin! - And when I see fame's importunity - So advertise her shameless harlotry, - Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin - One place alone, the lowest, would I win. - * * * * - This fame, which all the wide world loves, - I touch with gloves, - And scorning beat - Beneath my feet. - - - 3 - - Hush! I see vastness!--and of vasty things - Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine - Them with his words? Then take the might which brings - The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine! - * * * * - I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea. - O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars! - And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars-- - A shining constellation falls towards me. - - - 4 - - O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being! - O carved tablets of Eternity! - And dost thou truly bend thy way to me? - Thy loveliness, to all--obscurity, - What? Fear'st not to unveil before _my_ seeing? - * * * * - O shield of Destiny! - O carven tablets of Eternity! - Yea, verily, thou knowest--what mankind doth hate, - What I alone do love: thou art inviolate - To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate! - 'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity, - Canst kindle everlasting love in me! - * * * * - O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate! - That no desire can reach to invocate, - That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay, - Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea: - For I love thee, Eternity! - - -[Footnote 1: Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.] - -[Footnote 2: Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.] - - - - -FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS - -(1882-88) - - -SPEECHES, PARABLES, AND SIMILES - - - 3 - - My home's in the highlands, - For the highlands I yearn not, - I raise not mine eyes aloft: - I am one that looks downward, - One that must bless,--All - blessers look downward. - - - 11 - - Thus I began, - I unlearned all self-pity! - - - 13 - - Not in shattering idols, - But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee, - Consisted thy valour. - - - 14 - - See, there stand - Those heavy cats of granite, - Those old, old Values. - Woe is me! How overthrow them? - * * * * - Scratching cats, - With paws that are fettered, - There they sit - And their glance is poison. - - - 17 - - A lightning-flash became my wisdom: - With sword of adamant it clove me every - darkness! - - - 19 - - A thought that still - Flows hot, like lava: - But all streams of lava - Build a fortress around them, - And every thought finally - Oppresses itself with laws. - - - 20 - - Such is my will: - And since 'tis my will, - All goes as I wish-- - That was my final wisdom: - I willed what I must, - And thus I forced every "must,"-- - Since then has been for me no "must." - - - 23 - - Deceit - Is war's whole art - The fox's skin - Is my secret shirt of mail - - - 25 - - We of the new underworld - Grub for new treasures. - Godless it seemed to the ancients - To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures - And once more this godlessness revives, - Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder? - - - 28 - - Looking for love and finding masks, - Finding accursed masks and having to break them! - - - 29 - - Do I love you? - Yes, as the rider loves his steed, - That carryeth him to his goal. - - - 30 - - His pity is cruel, - His loving hand-clasp bruises, - Give not a giant your hand! - - - 31 - - Ye fear me? - Ye fear the taut-strung bow? - Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow? - - - 33 - - I am naught but a word-maker. - What matter words? - What matter I? - - - 34 - - Ah, my friends, - Whither has flown all that is called "good"? - Whither all good people? - Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods? - I call all good, - Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain. - - - 35 - - Not through his sins and greatest follies. - Through his perfection I suffered, - As I suffered most from men.[1] - - - 36 - - "Man is evil." - So spake the wisest - For my consolement. - - - 37 - - And only when I to myself am a burden - Do ye fall heavy upon me! - - - 38 - - Too soon, already - I laugh again: - For a foe 'tis easy - To make me amends. - - - 39 - - Gentle am I towards man and chance; - Gentle with all men, and even with grasses: - A spot of sunshine on winter curtains, - Moist with tenderness, - A thawing wind to snow-bound souls: - * * * * - Proud-minded towards trifling - Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger, - 'Tis aye my pleasure - To be bamboozled: - Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste. - - - 40 - - A strange breath breathes and spits at me, - Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded? - - - 41 - - Little people, - Confiding, open-hearted, - But low-built portals, - Where only the low of stature can enter. - * * * * - How can I get through the city-gate - Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs? - - - 42 - - My wisdom was like to the sun, - I longed to give them light, - But I only deceived them. - The sun of my wisdom - Blinded the eyes - Of these poor bats.... - - - 43 - - Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever - a seer did: - Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever - journeyed. - - - 44 - - Back! on my heels too closely ye follow! - Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush - you! - - - 45 - - "He goes to hell who goes thy ways!" - So be it I to my hell - I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims. - - - 46 - - Your God, you tell me, - Is a God of love? - The sting of conscience - A sting from God? - A sting of love? - - - 48 - - They chew gravel, - They lie on their bellies - Before little round things, - They adore all that falleth not down-- - These last servants of God - Believers (in reality)! - - - 50 - - They made their God out of nothing, - What wonder if now he is naught? - - - 51 - - Ye loftier men! There have once been - More thoughtful times, more reflective, - Than is our to-day and to-morrow. - - - 52 - Our time is like a sick woman-- - Let her but shriek, rave, scold, - And break the tables and dishes! - - - 54 - - Ye mount? - Is it true that ye mount, - Ye loftier men? - - Are ye not, pray, - Like to a ball - Sped to the heights - By the lowest that's in you? - Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers? - - - 55 - - All that you thought - You had to despise, - Where you only renounced! - - - 56 - - All men repeat the refrain! - No, no, and thrice say No! - What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven? - We would not enter the kingdom of heaven, - The kingdom of earth shall be ours? - - - 57 - - The will redeemeth, - He that has nothing to do - In a Nothing finds food for trouble. - - - 58 - - You cannot endure it more, - Your tyrannous destiny, - Love it--you're given no choice! - - - 59 - - These alone free us from woes - (Choose now I) - Sudden death - Or long-drawn-out love. - - - 60 - - Of death we are sure, - So why not be merry? - - - 61 - - The worst of pleas - I have hidden from you--that life grew tedious! - Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste! - - - 62 - - Lonely days, - Ye must walk on valorous feet! - - - 63 - - Loneliness - Plants naught, it ripens.... - And even then you must have the sun for your - friend. - - - 64 - - Once more must ye plunge in the throng--In - the throng ye grow hard and smooth. - Solitude withers - And lastly destroys.-- - - - 65 - - When on the hermit comes the great fear; - When he runs and runs - And knows not whither; - When the storms roar behind - And the lightning bears witness against him, - And his cavern breeds spectres - And fills him with dread. - - - 67 - - Throw thy pain in the depths, - Man, forget! Man, forget! - Divine is the art of forgetting! - Wouldst fly? - Wouldst feel at home in the heights? - Throw thy heaviest load in the sea! - Here is the sea, hurl thyself in the sea! - Divine is the art of forgetting! - - - 69 - - Look forward, never look back! - We sink to the depths - If we peer ever into the depths. - - - 70 - - Beware, beware - Of warning the reckless! - Thy warning will drive them - To leap into every abyss! - - 71 - - Why hurled he himself from the heights? - What led him astray? - His pity for all that is lowly led him astray, - And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold. - - 72 - - Whither went he? Who knows? - We only know that he sank. - A star went out in the desolate void, - And lone was the void. - - - 73 - - What we have not - But need, - We must take. - And so a good conscience I took. - - - 74 - - Who is there that could bestow right upon thee? - So take thy right! - - - 75 - - O ye waves, - Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me? - Do ye raise me your crests in wrath? - With my rudder I smite - Your folly full square. - This bark ye yourselves - To immortal life will carry along. - - - 77 - - When no new voice was heard, - Ye made from old words - A law: - When life grows stark, there shoots up the law. - - - 78 - - What none can refute - Ye say must be true? - Oh, ye innocents! - - - 79 - - Art thou strong? - Strong as an ass? Strong as God? - Art thou proud? - So proud as to flaunt - Unashamed thy conceit? - - - 80 - - Beware, - And ne'er beat the drum - Of thy destiny I - Go out of the way - From all pom-pom of fame! - * * * * - Be not known too soon! - Be one that has hoarded renown! - - - 81 - - Wilt thou grasp at the thorns? - Thy fingers must pay. - Grasp at a poniard. - - - 85 - - Be a tablet of gold, - They will grave upon thee - In golden script. - - - 86 - - Upright he stands - With more sense of "justice" - In his outermost toe - Than I have in all my head. - A virtue-monster - Mantled in white. - - - 87 - - Already he mimics himself, - Already weary he grows, - Already he seeks the paths he has trod-- - Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden! - - Secretly burnt-- - Not for his faith, - Rather because he had lost the heart - To find new faith. - - - 88 - - Too long he sat in the cage, - That runaway! - Too long he dreaded - A gaoler! - - Timorous now he goeth his ways, - All things make him to stumble-- - The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble. - - - 89 - - Ye chambers smoky and musty, - Ye cages and narrow hearts, - How could your spirit be free? - - - 90 - - Narrow souls! - Huckster-souls! - When money leaps into the box - The soul leaps into it too![2] - - - 92 - - Are ye women, - That ye wish to suffer - From that which ye love? - - - 99 - - They are cold, these men of learning! - Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food, - And their mouths could learn to eat fire! - - - 101 - - Your false love - For the past, - A love for the graves of the dead, - Is a theft from life - That steals all the future. - * * * * - An antiquary - Is a craftsman of dead things, - Who lives among coffins and skeletons. - - - 103 - - Only the poet who can lie - Wilfully, skilfully, - Can tell the truth. - - - 104 - - Our chase after truth, - Is't a chase after happiness? - - - 105 - - Truth - Is a woman, no better, - Cunning in her shame: - Of what she likes best - She will know naught, - And covers her face.... - To what doth she yield - But to violence? - Violence she needs. - Be hard, ye sages! - Ye must compel her, - That shamefaced Truth.... - For her happiness - She needs constraint--She - is a woman, no better. - - - 106 - - We thought evil of each other? - We were too distant, - But now in this tiny hut, - Pinned to one destiny, - How could we still be foes? - We must needs love those - Whom we cannot escape. - - - 107 - - Love thy foe, - Let the robber rob thee: - The woman hears and--does it. - - - 110 - - A proud eye - With silken curtains, - Seldom clear, - Honours him that may see it unveiled. - - - 111 - - Sluggard eyes - That seldom love-- - But when they love, the levin flashes - As from shafts of gold - Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love. - - - 117 - - They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling. - Grasp them, they pinch you; - Leave them alone, and they walk backward. - - - 119 - - Crooked go great rivers and men, - Crooked, but turned to their goal; - That is their highest courage, - They dreaded not crooked paths. - - - 121 - - Wouldst catch them? - Then speak to them - As to stray sheep: - "Your path, your path - You have lost!" - They follow all - That flatter them so: - "What? had we a path?" - Each whispers the other: - "It really seems that we have a path." - - -[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, -several fragments having been omitted.--TR.] - - -[Footnote 1: Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he -considers equivalent to harmlessness.--TR.] - -[Footnote 2: Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, -who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money -leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"--TR.] - - - - -HYMN TO LIFE. - -_For Chorus and Orchestra._ -WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. -Trans. BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER. Arr. for Piano BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A. - -[Illustration: score and lyrics] - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ecce Homo, by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECCE HOMO *** - -***** This file should be named 52190-0.txt or 52190-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/9/52190/ - -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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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: Ecce Homo - Complete Works, Volume Seventeen - -Author: Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -Editor: Oscar Levy - -Translator: Anthony M. Ludovici - Paul V. Cohn - -Release Date: May 30, 2016 [EBook #52190] - -Most recently updated: February 24, 2023 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECCE HOMO *** - - - - -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>ECCE HOMO</h1> - -<h4>(<i>NIETZSCHES AUTOBIOGRAPHY</i>)</h4> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</h2> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI</h4> - - -<h4>POETRY RENDERED BY</h4> - -<h4>PAUL V. COHN — FRANCIS BICKLEY</h4> - -<h4>HERMAN SCHEFFAUER — DR. G. T. WRENCH</h4> - -<h4>HYMN TO LIFE (<i>composed by F. NIETZSCHE</i>)</h4> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;"> -<img src="images/ill_niet.jpg" width="175" 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 Seventeen</h4> - -<h5>T.N. FOULIS</h5> - -<h5>13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET</h5> - -<h5>EDINBURGH: AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1911</h5> -<hr class="full" /> - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -CONTENTS<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION">TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION</a><br /> -<a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE">WHY I AM SO WISE</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER">WHY I AM SO CLEVER</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS">WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY">THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY</a><br /> -<a href="#THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON">THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON</a><br /> -<a href="#HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_DAWN_OF_DAY">THE DAWN OF DAY</a><br /> -<a href="#JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA">JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA</a><br /> -<a href="#THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE">THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA</a><br /> -<a href="#BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL">BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC">THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS">THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM">THE CASE OF WAGNER</a><br /> -<a href="#WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY">WHY I AM A FATALITY</a><br /> -<a href="#EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY">EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY</a><br /> -POETRY—<br /> -<a href="#SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC">SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.</a><br /> -<a href="#DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a><br /> -<a href="#FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a><br /> -<a href="#HYMN_TO_LIFE">HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE</a> -</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></p> -<h4><a name="TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION" id="TRANSLATORS_INTRODUCTION">TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION</a></h4> - - -<p><i>Ecce Homo</i> is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true -that the pamphlet <i>Nietzsche contra Wagner</i> was prepared a month -later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as -anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of -aphorisms drawn from such previous works as <i>Joyful Wisdom, Beyond -Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,</i> etc. Coming at the end of a -year in which he had produced the <i>Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the -Idols,</i> and <i>The Antichrist, Ecce Homo</i> is not only a coping-stone -worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting -conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his -character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement -as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end, -Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which, -in the <i>Twilight of the Idols</i> (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that -every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and -intimates when his time seems to have come—that is to say, while he -is still <i>himself</i> while he still knows what he is about, and is able -to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a -manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man -lying on his back, decrepit and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> exhausted, or to the moribund victim -of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole -life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly -and proudly,—sword in hand. War, which he—and he alone among all -the philosophers of Christendom—had praised so whole-heartedly, at -last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him -a victim on the battlefield—the terrible battlefield of thought, on -which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet -been established or even thought of.</p> - -<p>To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed -for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at -least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and -of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is -aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find -in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and -inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a -Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"—however much they may -have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of -certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only -in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation -and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be -preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of -thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only -as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a -like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices -against Nietzsche's lack of the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> virtue they so abundantly possess -or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous -remark: "<i>Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden</i>" (Only nobodies are ever modest).</p> - -<p>It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life. -Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday, -it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but -for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche -left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight -years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December -1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares -the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and -inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public -mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he -existed" ("<i>die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin</i>"). And, true to his -intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of -the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in -which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to -the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task, -and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, <i>Dionysus</i> versus -<i>Christ,</i>—everything comes straight from the shoulder, without -hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without -concealment. Only in one place does he appear to conceal something, and -then he actually leads one to understand that he is doing so. It is in -regard to Wagner, the greatest friend of his life. "Who doubts," he -says, "that I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to -point my heavy guns at Wagner?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>"—But he adds: "Everything decisive in -this question I kept to myself—I have loved Wagner" (p. 122).</p> - -<p>To point, as many have done, to the proximity of all Nietzsche's autumn -work of the year 1888 to his breakdown at the beginning of 1889, and -to argue that in all its main features it foretells the catastrophe -that is imminent, seems a little too plausible, a little too obvious -and simple to require refutation. That Nietzsche really was in a state -which in medicine is known as <i>euphoria</i>—that is to say, that state -of highest well-being and capacity which often precedes a complete -breakdown, cannot, I suppose, be questioned; for his style, his -penetrating vision, and his vigour, reach their zenith in the works -written in this autumn of 1888; but the contention that the matter, the -substance, of these works reveals any signs whatsoever of waning mental -health, or, as a certain French biographer has it, of an inability to -"hold himself and his judgments in check," is best contradicted by -the internal evidence itself. To take just a few examples at random, -examine the cold and calculating tone of self-analysis in Chapter I. of -the present work; consider the reserve and the restraint with which the -idea in Aphorism 7 of that chapter is worked out,—not to speak of the -restraint and self-mastery in the idea itself, namely:—</p> - -<p>"To be one's enemy's equal—this is the first condition of an -honourable duel. Where one despises one cannot wage war. Where one -commands, where one sees something beneath one, one ought not to wage -war. My war tactics can be reduced to four principles: First, I attack -only things that are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become -triumphant. Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find -no allies, against which I stand alone—against which I compromise -nobody but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> myself.... Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a -personality merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a -general, but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent.... -Fourthly, I attack only those things from which all personal -differences are excluded, in which any such thing as a background of -disagreeable experiences is lacking."</p> - -<p>And now notice the gentleness with which, in Chapter II., Wagner—the -supposed mortal enemy, the supposed envied rival to Nietzsche—is -treated. Are these the words and the thoughts of a man who Has lost, or -who is losing control?</p> - -<p>And even if we confine ourselves simply to the substance of this work -and put the question—Is it a new Nietzsche or the old Nietzsche that -we find in these pages? Is it the old countenance with which we are -familiar, or are the features distorted, awry, disfigured? What will -the answer be? Obviously there is no new or even deformed Nietzsche -here, because he is still faithful to the position which he assumed -in <i>Thus spake Zarathustra,</i> five years previously, and is perfectly -conscious of this fidelity (see p. 141); neither can he be even on the -verge of any marked change, because the whole of the third chapter, -in which he reviews his life-work, is simply a reiteration and a -confirmation of his old points of view, which are here made all the -more telling by additional arguments suggested, no doubt, by maturer -thought. In fact, if anything at all is new in this work, it is its -cool certainty, its severe deliberateness, and its extraordinarily -incisive vision, as shown, for instance, in the summing up of the -genuine import of the third and fourth essays in the <i>Thoughts out of -Season</i> (pp. 75-76, 80, 81, 82), a summing up which a most critical -analysis of the essays in question can but verify.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> Romanticism, -idealism, Christianity, are still scorned and despised; another -outlook, a nobler, braver, and more earthly outlook, is still upheld -and revered; the great yea to life, including all that it contains -that is terrible and questionable, is still pronounced in the teeth of -pessimists, nihilists, anarchists, Christians, and other decadents; and -Germany, "Europe's flatland," is still subjected to the most relentless -criticism. If there are any signs of change, besides those of mere -growth, in this work, they certainly succeed in eluding the most -careful search, undertaken with a full knowledge of Nietzsche's former -opinions, and it would be interesting to know precisely where they are -found by those writers whom the titles of the chapters, alone, seem so -radically to have perturbed.</p> - -<p>But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this -autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion -of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would -have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own. This -anchorite, who, in the last years of his life as a healthy human being, -suffered the experience of seeing even his oldest friends, including -Rhode, show the most complete indifference to his lot, this wrestler -with Fate, for whom recognition, in the persons of Brandes, Taine, and -Strindberg, had come all too late, and whom even support, sympathy, and -help, arriving as it did at last, through Deussen and from Madame de -Salis Marschlins, could no longer cheer or comfort,—this was the man -who was able notwithstanding to inscribe the device <i>amor fati</i> upon -his shield on the very eve of his final collapse as a victim of the -unspeakable suffering he had endured.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> - -<p>And this final collapse might easily have been foreseen. Nietzsche's -sensorium, as his autobiography proves, was probably the most delicate -instrument ever possessed by a human being; and with this fragile -structure—the prerequisite, by the bye, of all genius,—his terrible -will compelled him to confront the most profound and most recondite -problems. We happen to know from another artist and profound thinker, -Benjamin Disraeli, who himself had experienced a dangerous breakdown, -what the consequences precisely are of indulging in excessive activity -in the sphere of the spirit, more particularly when that spirit is -highly organised. Disraeli says in <i>Contarini Fleming</i> (Part iv. chap. -v.):—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"I have sometimes half believed, although the suspicion is -mortifying, that there is only one step between his state -who deeply indulges in imaginative meditation, and insanity; -for I well remember that at this period of my life, when -I indulged in meditation to a degree that would now be -impossible, and I hope unnecessary, my senses sometimes -appeared to be wandering."</p></blockquote> - -<p>And artists are the proper judges of artists,—not Oxford Dons, like -Dr. Schiller, who, in his imprudent attempt at dealing with something -for which his pragmatic hands are not sufficiently delicate, eagerly -av-ails himself of popular help in his article on Nietzsche in the -eleventh edition of the <i>Encyclopedia Britannica,</i> and implies the -hackneyed and wholly exploded belief that Nietzsche's philosophy is -madness in the making. As German philosophies, however, are said to -go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this -want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's -doctrine still is.</p> - -<p>Not that Nietzsche went mad so soon, but that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> went mad so late is -the wonder of wonders. Considering the extraordinary amount of work -he did, the great task of the transvaluation of all values, which he -actually accomplished, and the fact that he endured such long years -of solitude, which to him, the sensitive artist to whom friends were -everything, must have been a terrible hardship, we can only wonder at -his great health, and can well believe his sister's account of the -phenomenal longevity and bodily vigour of his ancestors.</p> - -<p>No one, however, who is initiated, no one who reads this work with -understanding, will be in need of this introductory note of mine; for, -to all who know, these pages must speak for themselves. We are no -longer in the nineteenth century. We have learned many things since -then, and if caution is only one of these things, at least it will -prevent us from judging a book such as this one, with all its apparent -pontifical pride and surging self-reliance, with undue haste, or with -that arrogant assurance with which the ignorance of "the humble" and -"the modest" has always confronted everything truly great.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%; font-size: 0.8em;">ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h4> - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - -<p>As it is my intention within a very short time to confront my -fellow-men with the very greatest demand that has ever yet been made -upon them, it seems to me <i>above</i> all necessary to declare here who -and what I am. As a matter of fact, this ought to be pretty well -known already, for I have not "held my tongue" about myself. But -the disparity which obtains between the greatness of my task and the -smallness of my contemporaries, is revealed by the fact that people -have neither heard me nor yet seen me. I live on my own self-made -credit, and it is probably only a prejudice to suppose that I am alive -at all. I do but require to speak to any one of the scholars who come -to the Ober-Engadine in the summer in order to convince myself that I -am <i>not</i> alive.... Under these circumstances, it is a duty—and one -against which my customary reserve, and to a still greater degree the -pride of my instincts, rebel—to say: <i>Listen! for I am such and such a -person. For Heaven's sake do not confound me with any one else!</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - -<p>I am, for instance, in no wise a bogey man, or moral monster. On the -contrary, I am the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> opposite in nature to the kind of man that -has been honoured hitherto as virtuous. Between ourselves, it seems -to me that this is precisely a matter on which I may feel proud. I -am a disciple of the philosopher Dionysus, and I would prefer to be -even a satyr than a saint. But just read this book! Maybe I have here -succeeded in expressing this contrast in a cheerful and at the same -time sympathetic manner—maybe this is the only purpose of the present -work.</p> - -<p>The very last thing I should promise to accomplish would be to -"improve" mankind. I do not set up any new idols; may old idols only -learn what it costs to have legs of clay. To overthrow idols (idols -is the name I give to all ideals) is much more like my business. In -proportion as an ideal world has been falsely assumed, reality has been -robbed of its value, its meaning, and its truthfulness.... The "true -world" and the "apparent world"—in plain English, the fictitious world -and reality.... Hitherto the <i>lie</i> of the ideal has been the curse of -reality; by means of it the very source of mankind's instincts has -become mendacious and false; so much so that those values have come to -be worshipped which are the exact <i>opposite</i> of the ones which would -ensure man's prosperity, his future, and his great right to a future.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - -<p>He who knows how to breathe in the air of my writings is conscious -that it is the air of the heights, that it is bracing. A man must be -built<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> for it, otherwise the chances are that it will chill him. The -ice is near, the loneliness is terrible—but how serenely everything -lies in the sunshine! how freely one can breathe! how much, one feels, -lies beneath one! Philosophy, as I have understood it hitherto, is -a voluntary retirement into regions of ice and mountain-peaks—the -seeking—out of everything strange and questionable in existence, -everything upon which, hitherto, morality has set its ban. Through -long experience, derived from such wanderings in forbidden country, I -acquired an opinion very different from that which may seem generally -desirable, of the causes which hitherto have led to men's moralising -and idealising. The secret history of philosophers, the psychology of -their great names, was revealed to me. How much truth can a certain -mind endure; how much truth can it dare?—these questions became for -me ever more and more the actual test of values. Error (the belief in -the ideal) is not blindness; error is cowardice.... Every conquest, -every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness -towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self. I do not refute -ideals; all I do is to draw on my gloves in their presence.... <i>Nitimur -in vetitum;</i> with this device my philosophy will one day be victorious; -for that which has hitherto been most stringently forbidden is, without -exception, Truth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - -<p>In my lifework, my <i>Zarathustra</i> holds a place apart. With it, I gave -my fellow-men the greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> gift that has ever been bestowed upon them. -This book, the voice of which speaks out across the ages, is not only -the loftiest book on earth, literally the book of mountain air,—the -whole phenomenon, mankind, lies at an incalculable distance beneath -it,—but it is also the deepest book, born of the inmost abundance of -truth; an inexhaustible well, into which no pitcher can be lowered -without coming up again laden with gold and with goodness. Here it is -not a "prophet" who speaks, one of those gruesome hybrids of sickness -and Will to Power, whom men call founders of religions. If a man would -not do a sad wrong to his wisdom, he must, above all give proper -heed to the tones—the halcyonic tones—that fall from the lips of -Zarathustra:—</p> - -<p>"The most silent words are harbingers of the storm; thoughts that come -on dove's feet lead the world.</p> - -<p>"The figs fall from the trees; they are good and sweet, and, when they -fall, their red skins are rent.</p> - -<p>"A north wind am I unto ripe figs.</p> - -<p>"Thus, like figs, do these precepts drop down to you, my friends; now -drink their juice and their sweet pulp.</p> - -<p>"It is autumn all around, and clear sky, and afternoon."</p> - -<p>No fanatic speaks to you here; this is not a "sermon"; no faith is -demanded in these pages. From out an infinite treasure of light and -well of joy, drop by drop, my words fall out—a slow and gentle gait -is the cadence of these discourses. Such things can reach only the -most elect; it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> a rare privilege to be a listener here; not every? -one who likes can have ears to hear Zarathustra. I Is not Zarathustra, -because of these things, a <i>seducer?</i> ... But what, indeed, does he -himself say, when for the first time he goes back to his solitude? Just -the reverse of that which any "Sage," "Saint," "Saviour of the world," -and other decadent would say.... Not only his words, but he himself is -other than they.</p> - -<p>"Alone do I now go, my disciples! Get ye also hence, and alone! Thus -would I have it.</p> - -<p>"Verily, I beseech you: take your leave of me and arm yourselves -against Zarathustra! And better still, be ashamed of him! Maybe he hath -deceived you.</p> - -<p>"The knight of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but -also to hate his friends.</p> - -<p>"The man who remaineth a pupil requiteth his teacher but ill. And why -would ye not pluck at my wreath?</p> - -<p>"Ye honour me; but what if your reverence should one day break down? -Take heed, lest a statue crush you.</p> - -<p>"Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra? But of; what account is Zarathustra? -Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers?</p> - -<p>"Ye had not yet sought yourselves when ye found me. Thus do all -believers; therefore is all believing worth so little.</p> - -<p>"Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all -denied me will I come back unto you."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%; font-size: 0.8em;">FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a><br /><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<blockquote> -<p>On this perfect day, when everything is ripening, and not only the -grapes are getting brown, a ray of sunshine has fallen on my life: I -looked behind me, I looked before me, and never have I seen so many -good things all at once. Not in vain have I buried my four-and-fortieth -year to-day; I had the <i>right</i> to bury it—that in it which still -had life, has been saved and is immortal. The first book of the -<i>Transvaluation of all Values, The Songs of Zarathustra, The Twilight -of the Idols,</i> my attempt, to philosophise with the hammer—all these -things are the gift of this year, and even of its last quarter. <i>How -could I help being thankful to the whole of my life?</i></p> - - -<p>That is why I am now going to tell myself the story of my life.</p> -</blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a><br /><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h3><a name="ECCE_HOMO" id="ECCE_HOMO">ECCE HOMO</a></h3> - - -<h4>HOW ONE BECOMES WHAT ONE IS</h4> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE" id="WHY_I_AM_SO_WISE">WHY I AM SO WISE</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>The happiness of my existence, its unique character perhaps, consists -in its fatefulness: to speak in a riddle, as my own father I am already -dead, as my own mother I still live and grow old. This double origin, -taken as it were from the highest and lowest rungs of the ladder of -life, at once a decadent and a beginning, this, if anything, explains -that neutrality, that freedom from partisanship in regard to the -general problem of existence, which perhaps distinguishes me. To the -first indications of ascending or of descending life my nostrils are -more sensitive than those of any man that has yet lived. In this domain -I am a master to my backbone—I know both sides, for I am both sides. -My father died in his six-and-thirtieth year: he was delicate, lovable, -and morbid, like one who is preordained to pay simply a flying visit—a -gracious reminder of life rather than life itself. In the same year -that his life declined mine also declined: in my six-and-thirtieth year -I reached the lowest point in my vitality,—I still lived, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> my eyes -could distinguish nothing that lay three paces away from me. At that -time—it was the year 1879—I resigned my professorship at Bâle, lived -through the summer like a shadow in St. Moritz, and spent the following -winter, the most sunless of my life, like a shadow in Naumburg. This -was my lowest ebb. During this period I wrote <i>The Wanderer and His -Shadow.</i> Without a doubt I was conversant with shadows then. The winter -that followed, my first winter in Genoa, brought forth that sweetness -and spirituality which is almost inseparable from extreme poverty -of blood and muscle, in the shape of <i>The Dawn of Day,</i> The perfect -lucidity and cheerfulness, the intellectual exuberance even, that this -work reflects, coincides, in my case, not only with the most profound -physiological weakness, but also with an excess of suffering. In the -midst of the agony of a headache which lasted three days, accompanied -by violent nausea, I was possessed of most singular dialectical -clearness, and in absolutely cold blood I then thought out things, for -which, in my more healthy moments, I am not enough of a climber, not -sufficiently subtle, not sufficiently cold. My readers perhaps know -to what extent I consider dialectic a symptom of decadence, as, for -instance, in the most famous of all cases—the case of Socrates. All -the morbid disturbances of the intellect, even that semi-stupor which -accompanies fever, have, unto this day, remained completely unknown to -me; and for my first information concerning their nature and frequency, -I was obliged to have recourse to the learned works which have been -compiled on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> subject. My circulation is slow. No one has ever been -able to detect fever in me. A doctor who treated me for some time as -a nerve patient finally declared: "No! there is nothing wrong with -your nerves, it is simply I who am nervous." It has been absolutely -impossible to ascertain any local degeneration in me, nor any organic -stomach trouble, however much I may have suffered from profound -weakness of the gastric system as the result of general exhaustion. -Even my eye trouble, which sometimes approached so parlously near -to blindness, was only an effect and not a cause; for, whenever my -general vital condition improved, my power of vision also increased. -Having admitted all this, do I need to say that I am experienced in -questions of decadence? I know them inside and out. Even that filigree -art of prehension and comprehension in general, that feeling for -delicate shades of difference, that psychology of "seeing through brick -walls," and whatever else I may be able to do, was first learnt then, -and is the specific gift of that period during which everything in -me was subtilised,—observation itself, together with all the organs -of observation. To look upon healthier concepts and values from the -standpoint of the sick, and conversely to look down upon the secret -work of the instincts of decadence from the standpoint of him who is -laden and self-reliant with the richness of life—this has been my -longest exercise, my principal experience. If in anything at all, it -was in this that I became a master. To-day my hand knows the trick, I -now have the knack of reversing perspectives: the first reason perhaps -why a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> <i>Transvaluation of all Values</i> has been possible to me alone.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of -such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always -instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily -health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those -remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain -details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself -to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in -life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my -refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and -to be doctored—all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts -respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself -in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of -success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is -that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature -cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound -nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to -a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long -period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered -life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even -trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them—out -of my Will to Health and to Life I made my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> philosophy.... For this -should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my -vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: -the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of -poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes -recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such -lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral -block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only -which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits -of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for -injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; -that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively -gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a -selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, -whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural -scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, -the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with -that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in -him—he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting -it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can -digest himself and others; he knows how to forget—he is strong enough -to make everything turn to his own advantage.</p> - -<p>Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just -described is none other than myself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>This double thread of experiences, this means of access to two worlds -that seem so far asunder, finds in every detail its counterpart in my -own nature—I am my own complement: I have a "second" sight, as well -as a first. And perhaps I also have a third sight. By the very nature -of my origin I was allowed an outlook beyond all merely local, merely -national and limited horizons; it required no effort on my part to be -a "good European." On the other hand, I am perhaps more German than -modern Germans—mere Imperial Germans—can hope to be,—I, the last -anti-political German. Be this as it may, my ancestors were Polish -noblemen: it is owing to them that I have so much race instinct in my -blood—who knows? perhaps even the <i>liberum veto</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> When I think of -the number of times in my travels that I have been accosted as a Pole, -even by Poles themselves, and how seldom I have been taken for a German, -it seems to me as if I belonged to those only who have a sprinkling -of German in them. But my mother, Franziska Oehler, is at any rate -something very German; as is also my paternal grandmother, Erdmuthe -Krause. The latter spent the whole of her youth in good old Weimar, -not without coming into contact with Goethe's circle. Her brother, -Krause, the Professor of Theology in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> Königsberg, was called to the -post of General Superintendent at Weimar after Herder's death. It is -not unlikely that her mother, my great grandmother, is mentioned in -young Goethe's diary under the name of "Muthgen." She married twice, -and her second husband was Superintendent Nietzsche of Eilenburg. -In 1813, the year of the great war, when Napoleon with his general -staff entered Eilenburg on the 10th of October, she gave birth to a -son. As a daughter of Saxony she was a great admirer of Napoleon, and -maybe I am so still. My father, born in 1813, died in 1849. Previous -to taking over the pastorship of the parish of Röcken, not far from -Lützen, he lived for some years at the Castle of Altenburg, where he -had charge of the education of the four princesses. His pupils are the -Queen of Hanover, the Grand-Duchess Constantine, the Grand-Duchess of -Oldenburg, and the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg. He was full of -loyal respect for the Prussian King, Frederick William the Fourth, from -whom he obtained his living at Röcken; the events of 1848 saddened him -extremely. As I was born on the 15 th of October, the birthday of the -king above mentioned, I naturally received the Hohenzollern names of -Frederick William. There was at all events one advantage in the choice -of this day: my birthday throughout the whole of my childhood was a day -of public rejoicing. I regard it as a great privilege to have had such -a father: it even seems to me that this embraces all that I can claim -in the matter of privileges—life, the great yea to life, excepted. -What I owe to him above all is this, that I do not need any special -intention, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> merely a little patience, in order involuntarily to -enter a world of higher and more delicate things. There I am at home, -there alone does my inmost passion become free. The fact that I had -to pay for this privilege almost with my life, certainly does not -make it a bad bargain. In order to understand even a little of <i>my -Zarathustra,</i> perhaps a man must be situated and constituted very much -as I am myself—with one foot beyond the realm of the living.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>I have never understood the art of arousing ill-feeling against -myself,—this is also something for which I have to thank my -incomparable father,—even when it seemed to me highly desirable -to do so. However un-Christian it may seem, I do not even bear any -ill-feeling towards myself. Turn my life about as you may, you will -find but seldom—perhaps indeed only once—any trace of some one's -having shown me ill-will. You might perhaps discover, however, too -many traces of <i>goodwill....</i> My experiences even with those on whom -every other man has burnt his fingers, speak without exception in their -favour; I tame every bear, I can make even clowns behave decently. -During the seven years in which I taught Greek to the sixth form of -the College at Bâle, I never had occasion to administer a punishment; -the laziest youths were diligent in my class. The unexpected has -always found me equal to it; I must be unprepared in order to keep my -self-command. Whatever the instrument was, even if it were as out of -tune as the instrument<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> "man" can possibly be,—it was only when I was -ill that I could not succeed in making it express something that was -worth hearing. And how often have I not been told by the "instruments" -themselves, that they had never before heard their voices express such -beautiful things.... This was said to me most delightfully perhaps by -that young fellow Heinrich von Stein, who died at such an unpardonably -early age, and who, after having considerately asked leave to do -so, once appeared in Sils-Maria for a three days' sojourn, telling -everybody there that it was <i>not</i> for the Engadine that he had come. -This excellent person, who with all the impetuous simplicity of a -young Prussian nobleman, had waded deep into the swamp of Wagnerism -(and into that of Dübringism<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> into the bargain!), seemed almost -transformed during these three days by a hurricane of freedom, like one -who has been suddenly raised to his full height and given wings. Again -and again I said to him that this was all owing to the splendid air; -everybody felt the same,—one could not stand 6000 feet above Bayreuth -for nothing,—but he would not believe me.... Be this as it may, if -I have been the victim of many a small or even great offence, it was -not "will," and least of all ill-will that actuated the offenders; but -rather, as I have already suggested, it was goodwill, the cause of no -small amount of mischief in f my life, about which I had to complain. -<i>My</i> experience gave me a right to feel suspicious in regard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> to all -so-called "unselfish" instincts, in regard to the whole of "neighbourly -love" which is ever ready and waiting with deeds or with advice. To -me it seems that these instincts are a sign of weakness, they are an -example of the inability to withstand a stimulus—it is only among -decadents that this <i>pity</i> is called a virtue. What I reproach the -pitiful with is, that they are too ready to forget shame, reverence, -and the delicacy of feeling which knows how to keep at a distance; they -do not remember that this gushing pity stinks of the mob, and that it -is next of kin to bad manners—that pitiful hands may be thrust with -results fatally destructive into a great destiny, into a lonely and -wounded retirement, and into the privileges with which great guilt -endows one. The overcoming of pity I reckon among the noble virtues; -In the "Temptation of Zarathustra" I have imagined a case, in which a -great cry of distress reaches his ears, in which pity swoops down upon -him like a last sin, and would make him break faith with himself. To -remain one's own master in such circumstances, to keep the sublimity -of one's mission pure in such cases,—pure from the many ignoble and -more short-sighted impulses which come into play in so-called unselfish -actions,—this is the rub, the last test perhaps which a Zarathustra -has to undergo—the actual proof of his power.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>In yet another respect I am no more than my father over again, and as -it were the continuation of his life after an all-too-early death. -Like every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> man who has never been able to meet his equal, and unto -whom the concept "retaliation" is just as incomprehensible as the -notion of "equal rights," I have forbidden myself the use of any sort -of measure of security or protection—and also, of course, of defence -and "justification"—in all cases in which I have been made the victim -either of trifling or even <i>very great</i> foolishness. My form of -retaliation consists in this: as soon as possible to set a piece of -cleverness at the heels of an act of stupidity; by this means perhaps -it may still be possible to overtake it. To speak in a parable: I -dispatch a pot of jam in order to get rid of a bitter experience.... -Let anybody only give me offence, I shall "retaliate," he can be quite -sure of that: before long I discover an opportunity of expressing my -thanks to the "offender" (among other things even for the offence)—or -of <i>asking</i> him for something, which can be more courteous even than -giving. It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter, -is more good-natured, more straightforward, than silence. Those—who -keep silent are almost always lacking in subtlety and refinement of -heart; silence is an objection, to swallow a grievance must necessarily -produce a bad temper—it even upsets the stomach. All silent people -are dyspeptic. You perceive that I should not like to see rudeness -undervalued; it is by far the most <i>humane</i> form of contradiction, and, -in the midst of modern effeminacy, it is one of our first virtues; If -one is sufficiently rich for it, it may even be a joy to be wrong. If -a god were to descend to this earth, he would have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> do nothing but -wrong—to take <i>guilt</i> not punishment, on one's shoulders, is the first -proof of divinity.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>Freedom from resentment and the understanding of the nature of -resentment—who knows how very much after all I am indebted to my long -illness for these two things? The problem is not exactly simple: a -man must have experienced both through his strength and through his -weakness, If illness and weakness are to be charged with anything at -all, it is with the fact that when they prevail, the very instinct of -recovery, which is the instinct of defence and of war in man, becomes -decayed. He knows not how to get rid of anything, how to come to -terms with anything, and how to cast anything behind him. Everything -wounds him. People and things draw importunately near, all experiences -strike deep, memory is a gathering wound. To be ill is a sort of -resentment in itself. Against this resentment the invalid has only -one great remedy—I call it <i>Russian fatalism,</i> that fatalism which -is free from revolt, and with which the Russian soldier, to whom a -campaign proves unbearable, ultimately lays himself down in the snow. -To accept nothing more, to undertake nothing more, to absorb nothing -more—to cease entirely from reacting.... The tremendous sagacity -of this fatalism, which does not always imply merely the courage for -death, but which in the most dangerous cases may actually constitute -a self-preservative measure, amounts to a reduction of activity in -the vital<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> functions, the slackening down of which is like a sort of -will to hibernate. A few steps farther in this direction we find the -fakir, who will sleep for weeks in a tomb.... Owing to the fact that -one would be used up too quickly if one reacted, one no longer reacts -at all: this is the principle. And nothing on earth consumes a man -more quickly than the passion of resentment. Mortification, morbid -susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst -for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison—this is surely the -most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by -exhausted men. It involves a rapid wasting away of nervous energy, an -abnormal increase of detrimental secretions, as, for instance, that -of bile into the stomach. To the sick man resentment ought to be more -strictly forbidden than anything else—it is <i>his</i> special danger: -unfortunately, however, it is also his most natural propensity. This -was fully grasped by that profound physiologist Buddha. His "religion," -which it would be better to call a system of hygiene, in order to avoid -confounding it with a creed so wretched as Christianity, depended -for its effect upon the triumph over resentment: to make the soul -free therefrom was considered the first step towards recovery. "Not -through hostility is hostility put to flight; through friendship does -hostility end": this stands at the beginning of Buddha's teaching—this -is not a precept of morality, but of physiology. Resentment born of -weakness is not more deleterious to anybody than it is to the weak -man himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>—conversely, in the case of that man whose nature is -fundamentally a rich one, resentment is a superfluous feeling, a -feeling to remain master of which is almost a proof of riches. Those -of my readers who know the earnestness-with which my philosophy wages -war against the feelings of revenge and rancour, even to the extent of -attacking the doctrine of "free will" (my conflict with Christianity -is only a particular instance of it), will understand why I wish to -focus attention upon my own personal attitude and the certainty of -my practical instincts precisely in this matter. In my moments of -decadence I forbade myself the indulgence of the above feelings, -because they were harmful; as soon as my life recovered enough riches -and pride, however, I regarded them again as forbidden, but this time -because they were <i>beneath</i> me. That "Russian fatalism" of which I have -spoken manifested itself in me in such a way that for years I held -tenaciously to almost insufferable conditions, places, habitations, -and companions, once chance had placed them on my path—it was better -than changing them, than feeling that they could be changed, than -revolting against them.... He who stirred me from this fatalism, he -who violently tried to shake me into consciousness, seemed to me then -a mortal enemy—in point of fact, there was danger of death each time -this was done. To regard one's self as a destiny, not to wish one's -self "different"—this, in such circumstances, is sagacity, itself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>War, on the other hand, is something different. At heart I am a -warrior. Attacking belongs to my instincts. To <i>be able to be</i> an -enemy, to <i>be</i> an enemy—maybe these things presuppose a strong nature; -in any case all strong natures involve these things. Such natures need -resistance, consequently they go in search of obstacles: the pathos of -aggression belongs of necessity to strength as much as the feelings -of revenge and of rancour belong to weakness. Woman, for instance, is -revengeful; her weakness involves this passion, just as it involves -her susceptibility in the presence of other people's suffering. The -strength of the aggressor can be measured by the opposition which -he needs; every increase of growth betrays itself by a seeking out -of more formidable opponents—or problems: for a philosopher who -is combative challenges even problems to a duel. The task is not -to overcome opponents in general, but only those opponents against -whom one has to summon all one's strength, one's skill, and one's -swordsmanship—in fact, opponents who are one's equals.... To be one's -enemy's equal—this is the first condition of an honourable duel. Where -one despises, one cannot wage war. Where one commands, where one sees -something <i>beneath</i> one, one <i>ought</i> not to wage war. My war tactics -can be reduced to four principles A First, I attack only things that -are triumphant—if necessary I wait until they become triumphant. -Secondly, I attack only those things against which I find no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> allies, -against which I stand alone—against which I compromise nobody but -myself.... I have not yet taken one single step before the public eye, -which did not compromise me: that is <i>my</i> criterion of a proper mode -of action. Thirdly, I never make personal attacks—I use a personality -merely as a magnifying-glass, by means of which I render a general, -but elusive and scarcely noticeable evil, more apparent. In this way I -attacked David Strauss, or rather the success given to a senile book by -the cultured classes of Germany—by this means I caught German culture -red-handed. In this way I attacked Wagner, or rather the falsity or -mongrel instincts of our "culture" which confounds the super-refined -with the strong, and the effete with the great. Fourthly, I attack -only those things from which all personal differences are excluded, in -which any such thing as a background of disagreeable experiences is -lacking. On the contrary, attacking is to me a proof of goodwill and, -in certain circumstances, of gratitude. By means of it, I do honour to -a thing, I distinguish a thing; whether I associate my name with that -of an institution or a person, by being <i>against</i> or <i>for</i> either, -is all the same to me. If I wage war against Christianity, I feel -justified in doing so, because in that quarter I have met with no fatal -experiences and difficulties—the most earnest Christians have always -been kindly disposed to me. I, personally, the most essential opponent -of Christianity, am far from holding the individual responsible for -what is the fatality of long ages.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>May I be allowed to hazard a suggestion concerning one last trait -in my character, which in my intercourse with other men has led me -into some difficulties? I am gifted with a sense of cleanliness the -keenness of which is phenomenal; so much so, that I can ascertain -physiologically—that is to say, smell—the proximity, nay, the inmost -core, the "entrails" of every human soul.... This sensitiveness of mine -is furnished with psychological antennæ, wherewith I feel and grasp -every secret: the quality of concealed filth lying at the base of many -a human character which may be the inevitable outcome of base blood, -and which education may have veneered, is revealed to me at the first -glance. If my observation has been correct, such people, whom my sense -of cleanliness rejects, also become conscious, on their part, of the -cautiousness to which my loathing prompts me: and this does not make -them any more fragrant.... In keeping with a custom which I have long -observed,—pure habits and honesty towards myself are among the first -conditions of my existence, I would die in unclean surroundings,—I -swim, bathe, and splash about, as it were, incessantly in water, in -any kind of perfectly transparent and shining element. That is why -my relations with my fellows try my patience to no small extent; my -humanity does not consist in the fact that I understand the feelings -of my fellows, but that I can endure to understand.... My humanity -is a perpetual process of self-mastery. But I need solitude—that is -to say, recovery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> return to myself, the breathing of free, crisp, -bracing air.... The whole of my <i>Zarathustra</i> is a dithyramb in honour -of solitude, or, if I have been understood, in honour of purity. Thank -Heaven, it is not in honour of "pure foolery"!<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> He who has an eye for -colour will call him a diamond. The loathing of mankind, of the rabble, -was always my greatest danger.... Would you hearken to the words spoken -by Zarathustra concerning deliverance from loathing?</p> - -<p>"What forsooth hath come unto me? How did I deliver myself from -loathing? Who hath made mine eye younger? How did I soar to the height, -where there are no more rabble sitting about the well?</p> - -<p>"Did my very loathing forge me wings and the strength to scent -fountains afar off? Verily to the loftiest heights did I need to fly, -to find once more the spring of joyfulness.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I found it, my brethren! Up here, on the loftiest height, the -spring of joyfulness gusheth forth for me. And there is a life at the -well of which no rabble can drink with you.</p> - -<p>"Almost too fiercely dost thou rush, for me, thou spring of joyfulness! -And ofttimes dost thou empty the pitcher again in trying to fill it.</p> - -<p>"And yet must I learn to draw near thee more humbly. Far too eagerly -doth my heart jump to meet thee.</p> - -<p>"My heart, whereon my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, -over-blessed summer: how my summer heart yearneth for thy coolness!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Farewell, the lingering affliction of my spring! Past is the -wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and -summer noontide!</p> - -<p>"A summer in the loftiest heights, with cold springs and blessed -stillness: oh come, my friends, that the stillness may wax even more -blessed!</p> - -<p>"For this is our height and our home: too high and steep is our -dwelling for all the unclean and their appetites.</p> - -<p>"Do but cast your pure eyes into the well of my joyfulness, my friends! -How could it thus become muddy! It will laugh back at you with its -purity.</p> - -<p>"On the tree called Future do we build our nest: eagles shall bring -food in their beaks unto us lonely ones!</p> - -<p>"Verily not the food whereof the unclean might partake. They would -think they ate fire and would burn their mouths!</p> - -<p>"Verily, no abodes for the unclean do we here hold in readiness! To -their bodies our happiness would seem an ice-cavern, and to their -spirits also!</p> - -<p>"And like strong winds will we live above them, neighbours to the -eagles, companions of the snow, and playmates of the sun: thus do -strong winds live.</p> - -<p>"And like a wind shall I one day blow amidst them, and take away their -soul's breath with my spirit: thus my future willeth it.</p> - -<p>"Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low lands; and this is -his counsel to his foes and to all those who spit and spew: 'Beware of -spitting against the wind!'"</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> The right which every Polish deputy, whether a great or an -inferior nobleman, possessed of forbidding the passing of any measure -by the Diet, was called in Poland the <i>liberum veto</i> (in Polish <i>nie -pozwalam</i>), and brought all legislation to a standstill.—TR.</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> Eugen Dübring is a philosopher and political economist -whose general doctrine might be characterised as a sort of abstract -Materialism with an optimistic colouring.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This, of course, is a reference to Wagner's <i>Parsifal.</i> -See my note on p. 96 of <i>The Will to Power</i> vol. i.—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER" id="WHY_I_AM_SO_CLEVER">WHY I AM SO CLEVER</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>Why do I know more things than other people? Why, in fact, am I so -clever? I have never pondered over questions that are not questions. I -have never squandered my strength. Of actual religious difficulties, -for instance, I have no experience. I have never known what it is to -feel "sinful." In the same way I completely lack any reliable criterion -for ascertaining what constitutes a prick of conscience: from all -accounts a prick of conscience does not seem to be a very estimable -thing.... Once it was done I should hate to leave an action of mine -in the lurch; I should prefer completely to omit the evil outcome, -the consequences, from the problem concerning the value of an action. -In the face of evil consequences one is too ready to lose the proper -standpoint from which one's deed ought to be considered. A prick of -conscience strikes me as a sort of "evil eye." Something that has -failed should be honoured all the more jealously, precisely because -it has failed—this is much more in keeping with my morality.—"God," -"the immortality of the soul," "salvation," a "beyond"—to all these -notions, even as a child, I never paid any attention whatsoever, nor -did I waste any time upon them,—maybe I was never <i>naif</i> enough for -that?—I am quite unacquainted with atheism as a result, and still -less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> as an event in my life: in me it is inborn, instinctive. I am -too inquisitive, too incredulous, too high spirited, to be satisfied -with such a palpably clumsy solution of things. God is a too palpably -clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy -towards us thinkers—at bottom He is really no more than a coarse -and rude <i>prohibition</i> of us: ye shall not think!... I am much more -interested in another question,—a question upon which the "salvation -of humanity" depends to a far greater degree than it does upon any -piece of theological curiosity: I refer to nutrition. For ordinary -purposes, it may be formulated as follows: "How precisely must <i>thou</i> -feed thyself in order to attain to thy maximum of power, or <i>virtù</i> -in the Renaissance style,—of virtue free from moralic acid?" My -experiences in regard to this matter have been as bad as they possibly -could be; I am surprised that I set myself this question so late in -life, and that it took me so long to draw "rational" conclusions -from my experiences. Only the absolute worth-<i>1</i> lessness of German -culture—its "idealism"—can to some extent explain how it was that -precisely in this matter I was so backward that my ignorance was almost -saintly. This "culture," which from first to last teaches one to lose -sight of actual things and to hunt after thoroughly problematic and -so-called ideal aims, as, for instance, "classical culture"—as if it -were not hopeless from the start to try to unite "classical" and -"German" in one concept. It is even a little comical—try and imagine -a "classically cultured" citizen of Leipzig!—Indeed, I can say, that -up to a very mature age, my food was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> entirely bad—expressed morally, -it was "impersonal," "selfless," "altruistic," to the glory of cooks -and all other fellow-Christians. It was through the cooking in vogue -at Leipzig, for instance, together with my first study of Schopenhauer -(1865), that I earnestly renounced my "Will to Live." To spoil one's -stomach by absorbing insufficient nourishment—this problem seemed to -my mind solved with admirable felicity by the above-mentioned cookery. -(It is said that in the year 1866 changes were introduced into this -department.) But as to German cookery in general—what has it not got -on its conscience! Soup <i>before</i> the meal (still called <i>alla tedesca</i> -in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled -to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of -pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely -bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the <i>ancients,</i> and not alone -of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect -took its origin—that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.... -German intellect is indigestion; it can assimilate nothing. But even -English diet, which in comparison with German, and indeed with French -alimentation, seems to me to constitute a "return to Nature,"—that is -to say, to cannibalism,—is profoundly opposed to my own instincts. It -seems to me to give the intellect heavy feet, in fact, Englishwomen's -feet.... The best cooking is that of Piedmont. Alcoholic drinks do -not agree with me; a single glass of wine or beer a day is amply -sufficient to turn life into a valley of tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> for me;—in Munich live -my antipodes. Although I admit that this knowledge came to me somewhat -late, it already formed part of my experience even as a child. As a boy -I believed that the drinking of wine and the smoking of tobacco were at -first but the vanities of youths, and later merely bad habits. Maybe -the poor wine of Naumburg was partly responsible for this poor opinion -of wine in general. In order to believe that wine was exhilarating, I -should have had to be a Christian—in other words, I should have had to -believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity. Strange to say, whereas -small quantities of alcohol, taken with plenty of water, succeed in -making me feel out of sorts, large quantities turn me almost into a -rollicking tar. Even as a boy I showed my bravado in this respect. To -compose a long Latin essay in one night, to revise and recopy it, to -aspire with my pen to emulating the exactitude and the terseness of my -model, Sallust, and to pour a few very strong grogs over it all—this -mode of procedure, while I was a pupil at the venerable old school of -Pforta, was not in the least out of keeping with my physiology, nor -perhaps with that of Sallust, however much it may have been alien to -dignified Pforta. Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more -and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, -who have experienced what vegetarianism is,—just as Wagner, who -converted me back to meat, experienced it,—cannot with sufficient -earnestness advise all more <i>spiritual</i> natures to abstain absolutely -from alcohol. Water answers the purpose.... I have a predilection in -favour of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> those places where in all directions one has opportunities -of drinking from running brooks (Nice, Turin, Sils). <i>In vino Veritas</i>: -it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the -world about the concept "Truth"—with me spirit moves on the face of -the waters.... Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A -heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first -principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active -as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. -For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call -interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table -d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between -meals, coffee should be given up—coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is -beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, -but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the -whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own -standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate -limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which -to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to -drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as -possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to -the accompaniment of free bodily motion—nor in one in which even the -muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in -the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is -the real sin against the Holy Spirit.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2.</p> - - -<p>To the question of nutrition, that of locality and climate is next of -kin. Nobody is so constituted as to be able to live everywhere and -anywhere; and he who has great duties to perform, which lay claim -to all his strength, has, in this respect, a very limited choice. -The influence of climate upon the bodily functions, affecting their -acceleration or retardation, extends so far, that a blunder in the -choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from -his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that -he never even comes face to face with it. Animal vigour never acquires -enough strength in him in order to reach that pitch of artistic freedom -which makes his own soul whisper to him: I, alone, can do that.... Ever -so slight a tendency to laziness in the intestines, once it has become -a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something -"German" out of a genius; the climate of Germany, alone, is enough to -discourage the strongest and most heroically disposed intestines. The -tempo of the body's functions is closely bound up with the agility or -the clumsiness of the spirit's feet; spirit itself is indeed only a -form of these organic functions. Let anybody make a list of the places -in which men of great intellect have been found, and are still found; -where wit, subtlety, and malice constitute happiness; where genius -is almost necessarily at home: all of them rejoice in exceptionally -dry air. Paris, Provence, Florence, Jerusalem, Athens—these names -prove something, namely:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> that genius is conditioned by dry air, by a -pure sky—that is to say, by rapid organic functions, by the constant -and ever-present possibility of procuring for one's self great and -even enormous quantities of strength. I have a certain case in mind -in which a man of remarkable intellect and independent spirit became -a narrow, craven specialist and a grumpy old crank, simply owing to -a lack of subtlety in his instinct for climate. And I myself might -have been an example of the same thing, if illness had not compelled -me to reason, and to reflect upon reason realistically. Now that I -have learnt through long practice to read the effects of climatic and -meteorological influences, from my own body, as though from a very -delicate and reliable instrument, and that I am able to calculate the -change in degrees of atmospheric moisture by means of physiological -observations upon myself, even on so short a journey as that from -Turin to Milan; I think with horror of the ghastly fact that my -whole life, until the last ten years,—the most perilous years,—has -always been spent in the wrong, and what to me ought to have been -the most forbidden, places. Naumburg, Pforta, Thuringia in general, -Leipzig, Bâle, Venice—so many ill-starred places for a constitution -like mine. If I cannot recall one single happy reminiscence of my -childhood and youth, it is nonsense to suppose that so-called "moral" -causes could account for this—as, for instance, the incontestable -fact that I lacked companions that could have satisfied me; for this -fact is the same to-day as it ever was, and it does not prevent me -from being cheerful and brave. But it was ignorance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> in physiological -matters—that confounded "Idealism"—that was the real curse of my -life. This was the superfluous and foolish element in my existence; -something from which nothing could spring, and for which there can be -no settlement and no compensation. As the outcome of this "Idealism" -I regard all the blunders, the great aberrations of instinct, and -the "modest specialisations" which drew me aside from the task of my -life; as, for instance, the fact that I became a philologist—why -not at least a medical man or anything else which might have opened -my eyes? My days at Bâle, the whole of my intellectual routine, -including my daily time-table, was an absolutely senseless abuse of -extraordinary powers, without the slightest compensation for the -strength that I spent, without even a thought of what I was squandering -and how its place might be filled. I lacked all subtlety in egoism, -all the fostering care of an imperative instinct; I was in a state -in which one is ready to regard one's self as anybody's equal, a -state of "disinterestedness," a forgetting of one's distance from -others—something, in short, for which I can never forgive myself. -When I had well-nigh reached the end of my tether, simply because I -had almost reached my end, I began to reflect upon the fundamental -absurdity of my life—"Idealism." It was <i>illness</i> that first brought -me to reason.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>After the choice of nutrition, the choice of climate and locality, the -third matter concerning which one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> must not on any account make a -blunder, is the choice of the manner in which one <i>recuperates one's -strength.</i> Here, again, according to the extent to which a spirit is -<i>sui generis,</i> the limits of that which he can allow himself—in other -words, the limits of that which is beneficial to him—become more and -more confined. As far as I in particular am concerned, <i>reading</i> in -general belongs to my means of recuperation; consequently it belongs -to that which rids me of myself, to that which enables me to wander -in strange sciences and strange souls—to that, in fact, about which -I am no longer in earnest. Indeed, it is while reading that I recover -from <i>my</i> earnestness. During the time that I am deeply absorbed in -my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur -to me to allow any one to speak or even to think in my presence. -For that is what reading would mean.... Has any one ever actually -noticed, that, during the period of profound tension to which the -state of pregnancy condemns not only the mind, but also, at bottom, -the whole organism, accident and every kind of external stimulus acts -too acutely and strikes too deep? Accident and external stimuli must, -as far as possible, be avoided: a sort of walling-of-one's-self-in is -one of the primary instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy. -Shall I allow a strange thought to steal secretly over the wall? -For that is what reading would mean.... The periods of work and -fruit-fulness are followed by periods of recuperation: come hither, -ye delightful, intellectual, intelligent books! Shall I read German -books?... I must go back six months to catch myself with a book in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -my hand. What was it? An excellent study by Victor Brochard upon the -Greek sceptics, in which my Laertiana<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> was used to advantage. The -sceptics!—the only <i>honourable</i> types among that double-faced and -sometimes quintuple-faced throng, the philosophers!.... Otherwise I -almost always take refuge in the same books: altogether their number -is small; they are books which are precisely my proper fare. It is -not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library -makes me ill. Neither is it my nature to love much or many kinds of -things. Suspicion or even hostility towards new books is much more -akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration," <i>largeur de cœur,</i> -and other forms of "neighbour-love." ... It is to a small number of -old French authors, that I always return again and again; I believe -only in French culture, and regard everything else in Europe which -calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take -the German kind into consideration.... The few instances of higher -culture with which I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> met in Germany were all French in their -origin. The most striking example of this was Madame Cosima Wagner, -by far the most decisive voice in matters of taste that I have ever -heard. If I do not read, but literally love Pascal? as the most -instinctive sacrifice to Christianity, killing himself inch by inch, -first bodily, then spiritually, according to the terrible consistency -of this most appalling form of inhuman cruelty; if I have something -of Montaigne's mischievousness in my soul, and—who knows?—perhaps -also in my body; if my artist's taste endeavours to defend the names -of Molière, Corneille, and Racine, and not without bitterness, against -such a wild genius as Shakespeare—all this does not prevent me from -regarding even the latter-day Frenchmen also as charming companions. -I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of -more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could -be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day. Let me -mention a few at random—for their number is by no means small—Paul -Bourget, Pierre Loti, Gyp, Meilhac, Anatole France, Jules Lemaitre; -or, to point to one of strong race, a genuine Latin, of whom I am -particularly fond, Guy de Maupassant. Between ourselves, I prefer this -generation even to its masters, all of whom were corrupted by German -philosophy (Taine, for instance, by Hegel, whom he has to thank for -his misunderstanding of great men and great periods). Wherever Germany -extends her sway, she <i>ruins</i> culture. It was the war which first saved -the spirit of France.... Stendhal is one of the happiest accidents of -my life—for everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> that marks an epoch in it has been brought -to me by accident and never by means of a recommendation. He is quite -priceless, with his psychologist's eye, quick at forestalling and -anticipating; with his grasp of facts, which is reminiscent of the same -art in the greatest of all masters of facts (<i>ex ungue Napoleonem</i>); -and, last but not least, as an honest atheist—a specimen which is -both rare and difficult to discover in France—all honour to Prosper -Mérimée!... Maybe that I am even envious of Stendhal? He robbed -me of the best atheistic joke, which I of all people could have -perpetrated: "God's only excuse is that He does not exist" ... I myself -have said somewhere—What has been the greatest objection to Life -hitherto?—God....</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>It was Heinrich Heine who gave me the most perfect idea of what a -lyrical poet could be. In vain do I search through all the kingdoms of -antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and -passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which -perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me,—I estimate the value of -men, of races, according to the extent to which they are unable to -conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him. And with -what mastery he wields his native tongue! One day it will be said of -Heine and me that we were by far the greatest artists of the German -language that have ever existed, and that we left all the efforts that -mere Germans made in this language an incalculable distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> behind -us. I must be profoundly related to Byron's <i>Manfred:</i> of all the -dark abysses in this work I found the counterparts in my own soul—at -the age of thirteen I was ripe for this book. Words fail me, I have -only a look, for those who dare to utter the name of <i>Faust</i> in the -presence of <i>Manfred.</i> The Germans are <i>incapable</i> of conceiving -anything sublime: for a proof of this, look at Schumann! Out of anger -for this mawkish Saxon, I once deliberately composed a counter-overture -to <i>Manfred,</i> of which Hans von Bülow declared he had never seen the -like before on paper: such compositions amounted to a violation of -Euterpe. When I cast about me for my highest formula of Shakespeare, -I find invariably but this one: that he conceived the type of Cæsar. -Such things a man cannot guess—he either is the thing, or he is not. -The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. -This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he -can no longer endure his own work.... After casting a glance between -the pages of my <i>Zarathustra,</i> I pace my room to and fro for half -an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears. -I know of no more heartrending reading than Shakespeare: how a man -must have suffered to be so much in need of playing the clown! Is -Hamlet <i>understood</i>? It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one -mad.... But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be -an abyss, a philosopher.... We all fear the truth.... And, to make a -confession; I feel instinctively certain and convinced that Lord Bacon -is the originator, the self-torturer, of this most sinister kind of -literature:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> what do I care about the miserable gabble of American -muddlers and blockheads? But the power for the greatest realism in -vision is not only compatible with the greatest realism in deeds, -with the monstrous in deeds, with crime—<i>it actually presupposes the -latter.</i> ... We do not know half enough about Lord Bacon—the first -realist in all the highest acceptation of this word—to be sure of -everything he did, everything he willed, and everything he experienced -in his inmost soul.... Let the critics go to hell! Suppose I had -christened my <i>Zarathustra</i> with a name not my own,—let us say with -Richard Wagner's name,—the acumen of two thousand years would not have -sufficed to guess that the author of <i>Human, all-too-Human</i> was the -visionary of <i>Zarathustra.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>As I am speaking here of the recreations of my life, I feel I must -express a word or two of gratitude for that which has refreshed me by -far the most heartily and most profoundly. This, without the slightest -doubt, was my intimate relationship with Richard Wagner. All my other -relationships with men I treat quite lightly; but I would not have the -days I spent at Tribschen—those days of confidence, of cheerfulness, -of sublime flashes, and of profound moments—blotted from my life -at any price. I know not what Wagner may have been for others; but -no cloud ever darkened <i>our</i> sky. And this brings me back again to -France,—I have no arguments against Wagnerites, and <i>hoc genus omne</i> -who believe that they do honour to Wagner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> by believing him to be -like themselves; for such people I have only a contemptuous curl of -my lip. With a nature like mine, which is so strange to everything -Teutonic, that even the presence of a German retards my digestion, my -first meeting with Wagner was the first moment in my life in which I -breathed freely: I felt him, I honoured him, as a foreigner, as the -opposite and the incarnate contradiction of all "German virtues." We -who as children breathed the marshy atmosphere of the fifties, are -necessarily pessimists in regard to the concept "German"; we cannot -be anything else than revolutionaries—we can assent to no state of -affairs which allows the canting bigot to be at the top. I care not -a jot whether this canting bigot acts in different colours to-day, -whether he dresses in scarlet or dons the uniform of a hussar.<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Very -well, then! Wagner was a revolutionary—he fled from the Germans.... -As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris; that subtlety -of all the five senses which Wagner's art presupposes, those fingers -that can detect slight gradations, psychological morbidity—all these -things can be found only in Paris. Nowhere else can you meet with -this passion for questions of form, this earnestness in matters of -<i>mise-en-scène,</i> which is the Parisian earnestness <i>par excellence.</i> -In Germany no one has any idea of the tremendous ambition that fills -the heart of a Parisian artist. The German is a good fellow. Wagner was -by no means a good fellow.... But I have already said quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> enough -on the subject of Wagner's real nature (see <i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> -Aphorism 269), and about those to whom he is most closely related. -He is one of the late French romanticists, that high-soaring and -heaven-aspiring band of artists, like Delacroix and Berlioz, who in -their inmost nacres are sick and incurable, and who are all fanatics -of <i>expression,</i> and virtuosos through and through.... Who, in sooth, -was the first intelligent follower of Wagner? Charles Baudelaire, the -very man who first understood Delacroix—that typical decadent, in whom -a whole generation of artists saw their reflection; he was perhaps the -last of them too.... What is it that I have never forgiven Wagner? -The fact that he condescended to the Germans—that he became a German -Imperialist.... Wherever Germany spreads, she <i>ruins</i> culture.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>Taking everything into consideration, I could never have survived my -youth without Wagnerian music. For I was condemned to the society -of Germans. If a man wish to get rid of a feeling of insufferable -oppression, he has to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner. -Wagner is the counter-poison to everything essentially German—the fact -that he is a poison too, I do not deny. From the moment that <i>Tristan</i> -was arranged for the piano—all honour to you, Herr von Bülow!—I was -a Wagnerite. Wagner's previous works seemed beneath me—they were too -commonplace, too "German." ... But to this day I am still seeking for a -work which would be a match to <i>Tristan</i> in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> dangerous fascination, and -possess the same gruesome and dulcet quality of infinity; I seek among -all the arts in vain. All the quaint features of Leonardo da Vinci's -work lose their charm at the sound of the first bar in <i>Tristan.</i> -This work is without question Wagner's <i>non plus ultra</i>; after its -creation, the composition of the <i>Mastersingers</i> and of the <i>Ring</i> was -a relaxation to him. To become more healthy—this in a nature like -Wagner's amounts to going backwards. The curiosity of the psychologist -is so great in me, that I regard it as quite a special privilege -to have lived at the right time, and to have lived precisely among -Germans, in order to be ripe for this work. The world must indeed be -empty for him who has never been unhealthy enough for this "infernal -voluptuousness": it is allowable, it is even imperative, to employ a -mystic formula for this purpose. I suppose I know better than any one -the prodigious feats of which Wagner was capable, the fifty worlds of -strange ecstasies to which no one else had wings to soar; and as I am -alive to-day and strong enough to turn even the most suspicious and -most dangerous things to my own advantage, and thus to grow stronger, -I declare Wagner to have been the greatest benefactor of my life. The -bond which unites us is the fact that we have suffered greater agony, -even at each other's hands, than most men are able to bear nowadays, -and this will always keep our names associated in the minds of men. -For, just as Wagner is merely a misunderstanding among Germans, so, in -truth, am I, and ever will be. Ye lack two centuries of psychological -and artistic discipline, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> dear countrymen!... But ye can never -recover the time lost.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>To the most exceptional of my readers I should like to say just one -word about what I really exact from music. It must be cheerful and yet -profound, like an October afternoon. It must be original, exuberant, -and tender, and like a dainty, soft woman in roguishness and grace ... I -shall never admit that a German <i>can</i> understand what music is. Those -musicians who are called German, the greatest and most famous foremost, -are all foreigners, either Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen—or Jews; -or else, like Heinrich Schütz, Bach, and Händel, they are Germans of -a strong race which is now extinct. For my own part, I have still -enough of the Pole left in me to let all other music go, if only I -can keep Chopin. For three reasons I would except Wagner's <i>Siegfried -Idyll,</i> and perhaps also one or two things of Liszt, who excelled all -other musicians in the noble tone of his orchestration; and finally -everything that has been produced beyond the Alps<i>—this side</i> of the -Alps.<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> I could not possibly dispense with Rossini, and still less -with my Southern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro, Pietro -Gasti. And when I say beyond the Alps, all I really mean is Venice. -If I try to find a new word for music, I can never find any other -than Venice. I know not how to draw any distinction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> between tears -and music. I do not know how to think either of joy, or of the south, -without a shudder of fear.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -On the bridge I stood<br /> -Lately, in gloomy night.<br /> -Came a distant song:<br /> -In golden drops it rolled<br /> -Over the glittering rim away.<br /> -Music, gondolas, lights—<br /> -Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom....<br /> -<br /> -A stringed instrument, my soul,<br /> -Sang, imperceptibly moved,<br /> -A gondola song by stealth,<br /> -Gleaming for gaudy blessedness.<br /> -—Hearkened any thereto?<br /> -</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>In all these things—in the choice of food, place, climate, and -recreation—the instinct of self-preservation is dominant, and this -instinct manifests itself with least ambiguity when it acts as an -instinct of defence. To close one's eyes to much, to seal one's ears to -much, to keep certain things at a distance—this is the first principle -of prudence, the first proof of the fact that a man is not an accident -but a necessity. The popular word for this instinct of defence is -<i>taste.</i> A man's imperative command is not only to say "no" in cases -where "yes" would be a sign of "disinterestedness," but also to say -"no" <i>as seldom as possible.</i> One must part with all that which compels -one to repeat "no," with ever greater frequency. The rationale of this -principle is that all discharges of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> defensive forces, however slight -they may be, involve enormous and absolutely superfluous losses when -they become regular and habitual. Our greatest expenditure of strength -is made up of those small and most frequent discharges of it. The act -of keeping things off, of holding them at a distance, amounts to a -discharge of strength,—do not deceive yourselves on this point!—and -an expenditure of energy directed at purely negative ends. Simply by -being compelled to keep constantly on his guard, a man may grow so weak -as to be unable any longer to defend himself. Suppose I were to step -out of my house, and, instead of the quiet and aristocratic city of -Turin, I were to find a German provincial town, my instinct would have -to brace itself together in order to repel all that which would pour in -upon it from this crushed-down and cowardly world. Or suppose I were -to find a large German city—that structure of vice in which nothing -grows, but where every single thing, whether good or bad, is squeezed -in from outside. In such circumstances should I not be compelled to -become a hedgehog? But to have prickles amounts to a squandering of -strength; they even constitute a twofold luxury, when, if we only chose -to do so, we could dispense with them and open our hands instead....</p> - -<p>Another form of prudence and self-defence consists in trying to -react as seldom as possible, and to keep one's self aloof from those -circumstances and conditions wherein one would be condemned, as it -were, to suspend one's "liberty" and one's initiative, and become a -mere reacting medium.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> As an example of this I point to the intercourse -with books. The scholar who, in sooth, does little else than handle -books—with the philologist of average attainments their number may -amount to two hundred a day—ultimately forgets entirely and completely -the capacity of thinking for himself. When he has not a book between -his fingers he cannot think. When he thinks, he responds to a stimulus -(a thought he has read),—finally all he does is to react. The scholar -exhausts his whole strength in saying either "yes" or "no" to matter -which has already been thought out, or in criticising it—he is no -longer capable of thought on his own account.... In him the instinct -of self-defence has decayed, otherwise he would defend himself against -books. The scholar is a decadent. With my own eyes I have seen gifted, -richly endowed, and free-spirited natures already "read to ruins" at -thirty, and mere wax vestas that have to be rubbed before they can give -off any sparks—or "thoughts." To set to early in the morning, at the -break of day, in all the fulness and dawn of one's strength, and to -read a book—this I call positively vicious!</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">9</p> - - -<p>At this point I can no longer evade a direct answer to the question, -<i>how one becomes what one is.</i> And in giving it, I shall have to -touch upon that masterpiece in the art of self-preservation, which is -<i>selfishness.</i> ... Granting that one's life-task—the determination and -the fate of one's life-task—greatly exceeds the average measure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -such things, nothing more dangerous could be conceived than to come -face to face with one's self by the side of this life-task. The fact -that one becomes what one is, presupposes that one has not the remotest -suspicion of what one is. From this standpoint even the blunders of -one's life have their own meaning and value, the temporary deviations -and aberrations, the moments of hesitation and of modesty, the -earnestness wasted upon duties which lie outside the actual life-task. -In these matters great wisdom, perhaps even the highest wisdom, comes -into activity: in these circumstances, in which <i>nosce teipsum</i> would -be the sure road to ruin, forgetting one's self, misunderstanding -one's self, belittling one's self, narrowing one's self, and making -one's self mediocre, amount to reason itself. Expressed morally, to -love one's neighbour and to live for others and for other things -<i>may</i> be the means of protection employed to maintain the hardest -kind of egoism. This is the exceptional case in which I, contrary -to my principle and conviction, take the side of the altruistic -instincts; for here they are concerned in subserving selfishness -and self-discipline. The whole surface of consciousness—for -consciousness <i>is</i> a surface—must be kept free from any one of the -great imperatives. Beware even of every striking word, of every -striking attitude! They are all so many risks which the instinct runs -of "understanding itself" too soon. Meanwhile the organising "idea," -which is destined to become master, grows and continues to grow into -the depths,—it begins to command, it leads you slowly back from your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -deviations and aberrations, it prepares individual qualities and -capacities, which one day will make themselves felt as indispensable -to the whole of your task,—step by step it cultivates all the -serviceable faculties, before it ever whispers a word concerning the -dominant task, the "goal," the "object," and the "meaning" of it all. -Looked at from this standpoint my life is simply amazing. For the task -of <i>transvaluing values,</i> more capacities were needful perhaps than -could well be found side by side in one individual; and above all, -antagonistic capacities which had to be free from the mutual strife -and destruction which they involve. An order of rank among capacities; -distance; the art of separating without creating hostility; to refrain -from confounding things; to keep from reconciling things; to possess -enormous multifariousness and yet to be the reverse of chaos—all -this was the first condition, the long secret work, and the artistic -mastery of my instinct. Its superior guardianship manifested itself -with such exceeding strength, that not once did I ever dream of what -was growing within me—until suddenly all my capacities were ripe, and -one day burst forth in all the perfection of their highest bloom. I -cannot remember ever having exerted myself, I can point to no trace of -<i>struggle</i> in my life; I am the reverse of a heroic nature. To "will" -something, to "strive" after something, to have an "aim" or a "desire" -in my mind—I know none of these things from experience. Even at this -moment I look out upon my future—a <i>broad</i> future!—as upon a calm -sea: no sigh of longing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> makes a ripple on its surface. I have not the -slightest wish that anything should be otherwise than it is: I myself -would not be otherwise.... But in this matter I have always been the -same. I have never had a desire. A man who, after his four-and-fortieth -year, can say that he has never bothered himself about <i>honours, -women,</i> or <i>money</i>!—not that they did not come his way.... It was -thus that I became one day a University Professor—I had never had -the remotest idea of such a thing; for I was scarcely four-and-twenty -years of age. In the same way, two years previously, I had one day -become a philologist, in the sense that my <i>first</i> philological work, -my start in every way, was expressly obtained by my master Ritschl for -publication in his <i>Rheinisches Museum.</i><a name="FNanchor_4_7" id="FNanchor_4_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_7" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> (Ritschl—and I say it -in all reverence—was the only genial scholar that I have ever met. -He possessed that pleasant kind of depravity which distinguishes us -Thuringians, and which makes even a German sympathetic—even in the -pursuit of truth we prefer to avail ourselves of roundabout ways. In -saying this I do not mean to underestimate in any way my Thuringian -brother, the intelligent Leopold von Ranke....)</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">10</p> - - -<p>You may be wondering why I should actually have related all these -trivial and, according to traditional accounts, insignificant details -to you; such action can but tell against me, more particularly if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> I -am fated to figure in great causes. To this I reply that these trivial -matters—diet, locality, climate, and one's mode of recreation, the -whole casuistry of; self-love—are inconceivably more important than, -all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem! It is precisely -in this quarter that we must begin to learn afresh. All those things -which mankind has valued with such earnestness heretofore are not even -real; they are mere creations of fancy, or, more strictly speaking, -<i>lies</i> born of the evil instincts of diseased and, in the deepest -sense, noxious natures—all the concepts, "God," "soul," "virtue," -"sin," "Beyond," "truth," "eternal life." ... But the greatness of -human nature, its "divinity," was sought for in them.... All questions -of politics, of social order, of education, have been falsified, root -and branch, owing to the fact that the most noxious men have been -taken for great men, and that people were taught to despise the small -things, or rather the fundamental things, of life. If I now choose to -compare myself with those creatures who have hitherto been honoured as -the first among men, the difference becomes obvious. I do not reckon -the so-called "first" men even as human beings—for me they are the -excrements of mankind, the products of disease and of the instinct -of revenge: they are so many monsters laden with rottenness, so many -hopeless incurables, who avenge themselves on life.... I wish to be -the opposite of these people: it is my privilege to have the very -sharpest discernment for every sign of healthy instincts. There is no -such thing as a morbid trait in me; even in times of serious illness -I have never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> grown morbid, and you might seek in vain for a trace of -fanaticism in my nature. No one can point to any moment of my life -in which I have assumed either an arrogant or a pathetic attitude. -Pathetic attitudes are not in keeping with greatness; he who needs -attitudes is false.... Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy—in -fact easiest—to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest -duties from me. Whoever could have seen me during the seventy days of -this autumn, when, without interruption, I did a host of things of -the highest rank—things that no man can do nowadays—with a sense of -responsibility for all the ages yet to come, would have noticed no sign -of tension in my condition, but rather a state of overflowing freshness -and good cheer. Never have I eaten with more pleasant sensations, -never has my sleep been better. I know of no other manner of dealing -with great tasks, than as <i>play</i>: this, as a sign of greatness, is -an essential prerequisite. The slightest constraint, a sombre mien, -any hard accent in the voice—all these things are objections to a -man, but how much more to his work!... One must not have nerves.... -Even to <i>suffer</i> from solitude is an objection—the only thing I have -always suffered from is "multitude."<a name="FNanchor_5_8" id="FNanchor_5_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_8" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> At an absurdly tender age, in -fact when I was seven years old, I already knew that no human speech -would ever reach me: did any one ever see me sad on that account? At -present I still possess the same affability towards everybody, I am -even full of consideration for the lowest: in all this there is not -an atom of haughtiness or of secret contempt. He whom I despise soon -guesses that he is despised by me: the very fact of my existence is -enough to rouse indignation in all those who have polluted blood in -their veins. My formula for greatness in man is! <i>amor fati</i>: the fact -that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or -behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, -and on no account concealed,—all idealism is falsehood in the face of -necessity,—but it must also be <i>loved....</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> Nietzsche, as is well known, devoted much time when a -student at Leipzig to the study of three Greek philosophers, Theognis, -Diogenes Laertius, and Democritus. This study first bore fruit in the -case of a paper, <i>Zur Geschichte der Theognideischen Spruchsammlung</i>, -which was subsequently published by the most influential journal of -classical philology in Germany. Later, however, it enabled Nietzsche to -enter for the prize offered by the University of Leipzig for an essay, -<i>De fontibus Diogenis Laertii.</i> He was successful in gaining the prize, -and the treatise was afterwards published in the <i>Rheinisches Museum,</i> -and is still quoted as an authority. It is to this essay, written when -he was twenty-three years of age, that he here refers.—TR.</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> The favourite uniform of the German Emperor, William -II.—TR.</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> In the latter years of his life, Nietzsche practically -made Italy his home.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_7" id="Footnote_4_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_7"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> See note on page 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_8" id="Footnote_5_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_8"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The German words are, <i>Einsamkeit</i> and <i>Vielsamkeit.</i> The -latter was coined by Nietzsche. The English word "multitude" should, -therefore, be understood as signifying multifarious instincts and -gifts, which in Nietzsche strove for ascendancy and caused him more -suffering than any solitude. Complexity of this sort, held in check -by a dominant instinct, as in Nietzsche's case, is of course the only -possible basis of an artistic nature.—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS" id="WHY_I_WRITE_SUCH_EXCELLENT_BOOKS">WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I am one thing, my creations are another. Here, before I speak of the -books themselves, I shall touch upon the question of the understanding -and misunderstanding with which they have met. I shall proceed to -do this in as perfunctory a manner as the occasion demands; for the -time has by no means come for this question. My time has not yet -come either; some are born posthumously. One s day institutions will -be needed in which men will live and teach, as I understand living -and teaching; maybe, also, that by that time, chairs will be founded -and endowed for the interpretation of <i>Zarathustra. </i> But I should -regard it as a complete contradiction of myself, if I expected to -find ears and eyes for my truths to-day: the fact that no one listens -to me, that no one knows how to receive at my hands to-day, is not -only comprehensible, it seems to me quite the proper thing. I do not -wish to be mistaken for another—and to this end I must not mistake -myself. To repeat what I have already said, I can point to but few -instances of ill-will in my life: and as for literary ill-will, I -could mention scarcely a single example of it. On the other hand, I -have met with far too much <i>pure foolery</i>!... It seems to me that to -take up one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of my books is one of the rarest honours that a man can -pay himself—even supposing that he put his shoes from off his feet -beforehand, not to mention boots.... When on one occasion Dr. Heinrich -von Stein honestly complained that he could not understand a word of -my <i>Zarathustra,</i> I said to him that this was just as it should be: to -have understood six sentences in that book—that is to say, to have -lived them—raises a man to a higher level among mortals than "modern" -men can attain. With this feeling of distance how could I even wish to -be read by the "moderns" whom I know! My triumph is just the opposite -of what Schopenhauer's was—I say "<i>Non</i> legor, <i>non</i> legar."—Not -that I should like to underestimate the pleasure I have derived from -the innocence with which my works have frequently been contradicted. -As late as last summer, at a time when I was attempting, perhaps by -means of my weighty, all-too-weighty literature, to throw the rest of -literature off its balance, a certain professor of Berlin University -kindly gave me to understand that I ought really to make use of a -different form: no one could read such stuff as I wrote.—Finally, it -was not Germany, but Switzerland that presented me with the two most -extreme cases. An essay on <i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> by Dr. V. Widmann in -the paper called the <i>Bund,</i> under the heading "Nietzsche's Dangerous -Book," and a general account of all my works, from the pen of Herr -Karl Spitteler, also in the <i>Bund,</i> constitute a maximum in my life—I -shall not say of what.... The latter treated my <i>Zarathustra,</i> for -instance as "<i>advanced exercises in style</i>," and expressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the wish -that later on I might try and attend to the question of substance as -well; Dr. Widmann assured me of his respect for the courage I showed -in endeavouring to abolish all decent feeling. Thanks to a little -trick of destiny, every sentence in these criticisms seemed, with -a consistency that I could but admire, to be an inverted truth. In -fact it was most remarkable that all one had to do was to "transvalue -all values," in order to hit the nail on the head with regard to me, -instead of striking my head with the nail.... I am more particularly -anxious therefore to discover an explanation. After all, no one can -draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man -has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access. To -take an extreme case, suppose a book contains simply incidents which -lie quite outside the range of general or even rare experience—suppose -it to be the <i>first</i> language to express a whole series of experiences. -In this case nothing it contains will really be heard at all, and, -thanks to an acoustic delusion, people will believe that where nothing -is heard there is nothing to hear.... This, at least, has been my -usual experience, and proves, if you will, the originality of my -experience. He who thought he had understood something in my work, had -as a rule adjusted something in it to his own image—not infrequently -the very opposite of myself, an "idealist," for instance. He who -understood nothing in my work, would deny that I was worth considering -at all.—The word "Superman," which designates a type of man that -would be one of nature's rarest and luckiest strokes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> as opposed to -"modern" men, to "good" men, to Christians and other Nihilists,—a -word which in the mouth of Zarathustra, the annihilator of morality, -acquires a very profound meaning,—is understood almost everywhere, and -with perfect innocence, in the light of those values to which a flat -contradiction was made manifest in the figure of Zarathustra—that is -to say, as an "ideal" type, a higher kind of man, half "saint" and half -"genius." ... Other learned cattle have suspected me of Darwinism on -account of this word: even the "hero cult" of that great unconscious -and involuntary swindler, Carlyle,—a cult which I repudiated with -such roguish malice,—was recognised in my doctrine. Once, when I -whispered to a man that he would do better I to seek for the Superman -in a Cæsar Borgia than in a Parsifal, he could not believe his ears. -The fact that I am quite free from curiosity in regard to criticisms of -my books, more particularly when they appear in newspapers, will have -to be forgiven me. My friends and my publishers know this, and never -speak to me of such things. In one particular case, I once saw all the -sins that had been committed against a single book—it was <i>Beyond Good -and Evil;</i> I could tell you a nice story about it. Is it possible that -the <i>National-Zeitung</i>—a Prussian paper (this comment is for the sake -of my foreign readers—for my own part, I beg to state, I read only <i>Le -Journal des Débats</i>)—really and seriously regarded the book as a "sign -of the times," or a genuine and typical example of Tory philosophy,<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -for which the <i>Kreuz-Zeitung</i> had not sufficient courage?...</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This was said for the benefit of Germans: for everywhere else I have -my readers—all of them exceptionally intelligent men, characters that -have won their spurs and that have been reared in high offices and -superior duties; I have even real geniuses among my readers. In Vienna, -in St Petersburg, in Stockholm, in Copenhagen, in Paris, and New -York—I have been discovered everywhere: I have not yet been discovered -in Europe's flatland—Germany.... And, to make a confession, I rejoice -much more heartily over those who do not read me, over those who have -neither heard of my name nor of the word philosophy. But whithersoever -I go, here in Turin, for instance, every face brightens and softens -at the sight of me. A thing that has flattered me more than anything -else hitherto, is the fact that old market-women cannot rest until -they have picked out the sweetest of their grapes for me. To this -extent must a man be a philosopher.... It is not in vain that the -Poles are considered as the French among the Slavs. A charming Russian -lady will not be mistaken for a single moment concerning my origin. -I am not successful at being pompous, the most I can do is to appear -embarrassed.... I can think in German, I can feel in German—I can do -most things; but this is beyond my powers.... My old master Ritschl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -went so far as to declare that I planned even my philological treatises -after the manner of a Parisian novelist—that I made them absurdly -thrilling. In Paris itself people are surprised at "<i>toutes mes audaces -et finesses</i>";—the words are Monsieur Taine's;—I fear that even in -the highest forms of the dithyramb, that salt will be found pervading -my work which never becomes insipid, which never becomes "German"—and -that is, wit.... I can do nought else. God help me! Amen.—We all know, -some of us even from experience, what a "long-ears" is. Well then, I -venture to assert that I have the smallest ears that have ever been -seen. This fact is not without interest to women—it seems to me they -feel that I understand them better!... I am essentially the anti-ass, -and on this account alone a monster in the world's history—in Greek, -and not only in Greek, I am the <i>Antichrist.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>I am to a great extent aware of my privileges as a writer: in one -or two cases it has even been brought home to me how very much the -habitual > reading of my works "spoils" a man's taste. Other books -simply cannot be endured after mine, and least of all philosophical -ones. It is an incomparable distinction to cross the threshold of -this noble and subtle world—in order to do so one must certainly -not be a German; it is, in short, a distinction which one must have -deserved. He, however, who is related to me through loftiness of -will, experiences genuine raptures of understanding in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> my books: -for I swoop down from heights into which no bird has ever soared; I -know abysses into which no foot has ever slipped. People have told -me that it is impossible to lay down a book of mine—that I disturb -even the night's rest.... There is no prouder or at the same time more -subtle kind of books: they sometimes attain to the highest pinnacle -of earthly endeavour, cynicism; to capture their thoughts a man must -have the tenderest fingers as well as the most intrepid fists. Any -kind of spiritual decrepitude utterly excludes all intercourse with -them—even any kind of dyspepsia: a man must have no nerves, but he -must have a cheerful belly. Not only the poverty of a man's soul and -its stuffy air excludes all intercourse with them, but also, and to a -much greater degree, cowardice, uncleanliness, and secret intestinal -revengefulness; a word from my lips suffices to make the colour of -all evil instincts rush into a face. Among my acquaintances I have -a number of experimental subjects, in whom I see depicted all the -different, and instructively different, reactions which follow upon -a perusal of my works. Those who will have nothing to do with the -contents of my books, as for instance my so-called friends, assume an -"impersonal" tone concerning them: they wish me luck, and congratulate -me for having produced another work; they also declare that my writings -show progress, because they exhale a more cheerful spirit.... The -thoroughly vicious people, the "beautiful souls," the false from top to -toe, do not know in the least what to do with my books—consequently, -with the beautiful consistency of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> beautiful souls, they regard -my work as beneath them. The cattle among my acquaintances, the mere -Germans, leave me to understand, if you please, that they are not -always of my opinion, though here and there they agree with me.... I -have heard this said even about <i>Zarathustra.</i> "Feminism," whether in -mankind or in man, is likewise a barrier to my writings; with it, no -one could ever enter into this labyrinth of fearless knowledge. To -this end, a man must never have spared himself, he must have been hard -in his habits, in order to be good-humoured and merry among a host of -inexorable truths. When I try to picture the character of a perfect -reader, I always imagine a monster of courage and curiosity, as well as -of suppleness, cunning, and prudence—in short, a born adventurer and -explorer. After all, I could not describe better than <i>Zarathustra</i> has -done unto whom I really address myself: unto whom alone would he reveal -his riddle?</p> - -<p>"Unto you, daring explorers and experimenters, and unto all who have -ever embarked beneath cunning sails upon terrible seas;</p> - -<p>"Unto you who revel in riddles and in twilight, whose souls are lured -by flutes unto every treacherous abyss:</p> - -<p>"For ye care not to grope your way along a thread with craven fingers; -and where ye are able to <i>guess,</i> ye hate to <i>argue</i>?"</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>I will now pass just one or two general remarks about my <i>art of -style.</i> To communicate a state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> an inner tension of pathos by means -of signs, including the tempo of these signs,—that is the meaning of -every style; and in view of the fact that the multiplicity of inner -states in me is enormous, I am capable of many kinds of style—in -short, the most multifarious art of style that any man has ever had at -his disposal. Any style is <i>good</i> which genuinely communicates an inner -condition, which does not blunder over the signs, over the tempo of the -signs, or over <i>moods</i>—all the laws of phrasing are the outcome of -representing moods artistically. Good style, in itself, is a piece of -sheer foolery, mere idealism, like "beauty in itself," for instance, -or "goodness in itself," or "the thing-in-itself." All this takes for -granted, of course, that there exist ears that can hear, and such men -as are capable and worthy of a like pathos, that those are not wanting -unto whom one may communicate one's self. Meanwhile my Zarathustra, -for instance, is still in quest of such people—alas! he will have to -seek a long while yet! A man must be worthy of listening to him.... -And, until that time, there will be no one who will understand the art -that has been squandered in this book. No one has ever existed who has -had more novel, more strange, and purposely created art forms to fling -to the winds. The fact that such things were possible in the German -language still awaited proof; formerly, I myself would have denied -most emphatically that it was possible. Before my time people did not -know what could be done with the German language—what could be done -with language in general. The art of grand rhythm, of grand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> style in -periods, for expressing the tremendous fluctuations of sublime and -superhuman passion, was first discovered by me: with the dithyramb -entitled "The Seven Seals," which constitutes the last discourse of -the third part of <i>Zarathustra,</i> I soared miles above all that which -heretofore has been called poetry.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>The fact that the voice which speaks in my works is that of a -psychologist who has not his peer, is perhaps the first conclusion -at which a good reader will arrive—a reader such as I deserve, and -one who reads me just as the good old philologists used to read their -Horace. Those propositions about which all the world is fundamentally -agreed—not to speak of fashionable philosophy, of moralists and -other empty-headed and cabbage-brained people—are to me but ingenuous -blunders: for instance, the belief that "altruistic" and "egoistic"; -are opposites, while all the time the "ego" itself is merely a "supreme -swindle," an "ideal." ... There are no such things as egoistic or -altruistic actions: both concepts are psychological nonsense. Or -the proposition that "man pursues happiness"; or the proposition -that "happiness is the reward of virtue." ... Or the proposition -that "pleasure and pain are opposites." ... Morality, the Circe of -mankind, has falsified everything psychological, root and branch—it -has demoralised everything, even to the terribly nonsensical point -of calling love "unselfish." A man must first be firmly poised, he -must stand securely on his two legs, otherwise he cannot love at -all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> This indeed the girls know only too well: they don't care two -pins about unselfish and merely objective men.... May I venture to -suggest, incidentally, that I know women? This knowledge is part of my -Dionysian patrimony. Who knows? maybe I am the first psychologist of -the eternally feminine. Women all like me.... But that's an old story: -save, of course, the abortions among them, the emancipated ones, those -who lack the where-withal to have children. Thank goodness I am not -willing to let myself be torn to pieces! the perfect woman tears you -to pieces when she loves you: I know these amiable Mænads.... Oh! what -a dangerous, creeping, subterranean little beast of prey she is! And -so agreeable withal! ... A little woman, pursuing her vengeance, would -force open even the iron gates of Fate itself. Woman is incalculably -more wicked than man, she is also cleverer. Goodness in a woman is -already a sign of <i>degeneration.</i> All cases of "beautiful souls" in -women may be traced to a faulty physiological condition—but I go no -further, lest I should become medicynical. The struggle for equal -rights is even a symptom of disease; every doctor knows this. The more -womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail against rights -in general: the natural order of things, the eternal war between the -sexes, assigns to her by far the foremost rank. Have people had ears -to hear my definition of love? It is the only definition worthy of a -philosopher. Love, in its means, is war; in its foundation, it is the -mortal hatred of the sexes. Have you heard my reply to the question -how a woman can be cured, "saved"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> in fact?—Give her a child! A woman -needs children, man is always only a means, thus spake Zarathustra. -"The emancipation of women,"—this is the instinctive hatred of -physiologically botched—that is to say, barren—women for those of -their sisters who are well constituted: the fight against "man" is -always only a means, a pretext, a piece of strategy. By trying to rise -to "Woman <i>per se</i>," to "Higher Woman," to the "Ideal Woman," all they -wish to do is to lower the general level of women's rank: and there are -no more certain means to this end than university education, trousers, -and the rights of voting cattle. Truth to tell, the emancipated are -the anarchists in the "eternally feminine" world, the physiological -mishaps, the most deep-rooted instinct of whom is revenge. A whole -species of the most malicious "idealism"—which, by the bye, also -manifests itself in men, in Henrik Ibsen for instance, that typical -old maid—whose object is to poison the clean conscience, the natural -spirit, of sexual love.... And in order to leave no doubt in your minds -in regard to my opinion, which, on this matter, is as honest as it -is severe, I will reveal to you one more clause out of my moral code -against vice—with the word "vice" I combat every kind of! opposition -to Nature, or, if you prefer fine words, idealism. The clause reads: -"Preaching of chastity is a public incitement to unnatural practices. -All depreciation of the sexual life, all the sullying of it by means -of the concept 'impure,' is the essential crime against Life—is the -essential crime against the Holy Spirit of Life."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - -<p>In order to give you some idea of myself as a psychologist, let me -take this curious piece of psychological analysis out of the book -<i>Beyond Good and Evil,</i> in which it appears. I forbid, by the bye, any -guessing as to whom I am describing in this passage. "The genius of -the heart, as that great anchorite possesses it, the divine tempter -and born Pied Piper of consciences, whose voice knows how to sink into -the inmost depths of every soul, who neither utters a word nor casts a -glance, in which some seductive motive or trick does not lie: a part -of whose masterliness is that he understands the art of seeming—not -what he is, but that which will place a fresh constraint upon his -followers to press ever more closely upon him, to follow him ever more -enthusiastically and whole-heartedly.... The genius of the heart, -which makes all loud and self-conceited things hold their tongues and -lend their ears, which polishes all rough souls and makes them taste a -new longing—to lie placid as a mirror, that the deep heavens may be -reflected in them.... The genius of the heart which teaches the clumsy -and too hasty hand to hesitate and grasp more tenderly; which scents -the hidden and forgotten treasure, the pearl of goodness and sweet -spirituality, beneath thick black ice, and is a divining rod for every -grain of gold, long buried and imprisoned in heaps of mud and sand.... -The genius of the heart, from contact with which every man goes away -richer, not 'blessed' and overcome, not as though favoured and crushed -by the good things of others;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> but richer in himself, fresher to -himself than before, opened up, breathed upon and sounded by a thawing -wind; more uncertain, perhaps, more delicate, more fragile, more -bruised; but full of hopes which as yet lack names, full of a new will -and striving, full of a new unwillingness and counter-striving." ...</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Junker-Philosophie.</i> The landed proprietors constitute -the dominating class in Prussia, and it is from this class that all -officers and higher officials are drawn. The <i>Kreuz-Zeitung</i> is the -organ of the Junker party.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY" id="THE_BIRTH_Of_TRAGEDY">"THE BIRTH Of TRAGEDY"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>In order to be fair to the <i>Birth of Tragedy</i> (1872) it is necessary -to forget a few things. It created a sensation and even fascinated by -means of its mistakes—by means of its application to Wagnerism, as -if the latter were the sign of an ascending tendency. On that account -alone, this treatise was an event in Wagner's life: thenceforward -great hopes surrounded the name of Wagner. Even to this day, people -remind me, sometimes in the middle of <i>Parsifal,</i> that it rests on -my conscience if the opinion, that this movement is of great value -to culture, at length became prevalent I have often seen the book -quoted as "The Second Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music": -people had ears only for new formulæ for Wagner's art, his object -and his mission—and in this way the real hidden value of the book -was overlooked. "Hellenism and Pessimism"—this would have been a -less equivocal title, seeing that the book contains the first attempt -at showing how the Greeks succeeded in disposing: of pessimism—in -what manner they overcame it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> ... Tragedy itself is the proof of -the fact that the Greeks were not pessimists: Schopenhauer blundered -here as he blundered in everything else.—Regarded impartially, -<i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> is a book quite strange to its age: no one -would dream that it was begun in the thunder of the battle of Wörth. -I thought out these problems on cold September nights beneath the -walls of Metz, in the midst of my duties as nurse to the wounded; it -would be easier to think that it was written fifty years earlier. Its -attitude towards politics is one of indifference,—"un-German,"<a name="FNanchor_1_10" id="FNanchor_1_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_10" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -as people would say to-day,—it smells offensively of Hegel; only in -one or two formulæ is it infected with the bitter odour of corpses -which is peculiar to Schopenhauer. An idea—the antagonism of the two -concepts Dionysian and Apollonian—is translated into metaphysics; -history itself is depicted as the development of this idea; in tragedy -this antithesis has become unity; from this standpoint things which -theretofore had never been face to face are suddenly confronted, and -understood and illuminated by each other.... Opera and revolution, -for instance.... The two decisive innovations in the book are, first, -the comprehension of the Dionysian phenomenon among the Greeks—it -provides the first psychological analysis of this phenomenon, and -sees in it the single root of all Greek art; and, secondly, the -comprehension of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Socraticism—Socrates being presented for the first -time as the instrument of Greek dissolution, as a typical decadent. -"Reason" <i>versus</i> Instinct. "Reason" at any cost, as a dangerous, -life-undermining force. The whole book is profoundly and politely -silent concerning Christianity: the latter is neither Apollonian nor -Dionysian; it denies all æsthetic values, which are the only values -that <i>The Birth of Tragedy</i> recognises. Christianity is most profoundly -nihilistic, whereas in the Dionysian symbol, the most extreme limits of -a yea-saying attitude to life are attained. In one part of the book the -Christian priesthood is referred to as a "perfidious order of goblins," -as "subterraneans."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This start of mine was remarkable beyond measure. As a confirmation -of my inmost personal experience I had discovered the only example -of this fact that history possesses,—with this I was the first -to understand the amazing Dionysian phenomenon. At the same time, by -recognising Socrates as a decadent, I proved most conclusively that -the certainty of my psychological grasp of things ran very little risk -at the hands of any sort of moral idiosyncrasy: to regard morality -itself as a symptom of degeneration is an innovation, a unique event -of the first order in the history of knowledge. How high I had soared -above the pitifully foolish gabble about Optimism and Pessimism with -my two new doctrines! I was the first to see the actual contrast: the -degenerate instinct which turns upon life with a subterranean lust -of vengeance (Christianity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" -id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> Schopenhauer's philosophy, and in -some respects too even Plato's philosophy—in short, the whole -of idealism in its typical forms), as opposed to a formula of the -highest yea-saying to life, born of an abundance and a superabundance -of life—a I yea-saying free from all reserve, applying even to -suffering, and guilt, and all that is questionable and strange in -existence.... This last, most joyous, most exuberant and exultant -yea to life, is not only the highest, but also the profoundest -conception, and one which is most strictly confirmed and supported by -truth and science. Nothing that exists must be suppressed, nothing -can be dispensed with. Those aspects of life which Christians and -other Nihilists reject, belong to an incalculably higher order in the -hierarchy of values, than that which the instinct of degeneration calls -good, and <i>may</i> call good. In order to understand this, a certain -courage is necessary, and, as a prerequisite of this, a certain -superfluity of strength: for a man can approach only as near to truth -as he has the courage to advance—that is to say, everything -depends strictly upon the measure of his strength. Knowledge, and the -affirmation of reality, are just as necessary to the strong man as -cowardice, the flight from reality—in fact, the "ideal"—are -necessary to the weak inspired by weakness.... These people are not at -liberty to "know,"—decadents stand in need of lies,—it is -one of their self-preservative measures. He who not only understands -the word "Dionysian," but understands <i>himself</i> in that term, does -not require any refutation of Plato, or of Christianity, or of -Schopenhauer—for his nose <i>scents decomposition.</i></p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>The extent to which I had by means of these doctrines discovered the -idea of "tragedy," the ultimate explanation of what the psychology of -tragedy is, I discussed finally in <i>The Twilight of the Idols</i> (Aph. -5, part 10).... "The saying of yea to life, and even to its weirdest -and most difficult problems: the will to life rejoicing at its own -infinite vitality in the sacrifice of its highest types—that is what I -called Dionysian, that is what I meant as the bridge to the psychology -of the tragic poet. Not to cast out terror and pity, or to purge one's -self of dangerous passion by discharging it with vehemence,—this was -Aristotle's<a name="FNanchor_2_11" id="FNanchor_2_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_11" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> misunderstanding of it,—but to be far beyond terror -and pity and to be the eternal lust of Becoming itself—that lust -which also involves the joy of destruction." ... In this sense I have -the right to regard myself as the first <i>tragic philosopher</i>—that is -to say, the most extreme antithesis and antipodes of a pessimistic -philosopher. Before my time no such thing existed as this translation -of the Dionysian phenomenon into philosophic emotion: tragic wisdom was -lacking; in vain have I sought for signs of it even among the great -Greeks in philosophy—those belonging to the two centuries before -Socrates. I still remained a little doubtful about Heraclitus, in whose -presence, alone, I felt warmer and more at ease than anywhere else. -The yea-saying to the impermanence and annihilation of things, which -is the decisive feature of a Dionysian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> philosophy; the yea-saying to -contradiction and war, the postulation of Becoming, together with the -radical rejection even of the concept <i>Being</i>— in all these things, at -all events, I must recognise him who has come nearest to me in thought -hither to. The doctrine of the "Eternal Recurrence"—that is to say, -of the absolute and eternal repetition of all things in periodical -cycles—this doctrine of Zarathustra's might, it is true, have been -taught before. In any case, the Stoics, who derived nearly all their -fundamental ideas from Heraclitus, show traces of it.</p> - -<p>A tremendous hope finds expression in this work. After all, I have -absolutely no reason to renounce the hope for a Dionysian future of -music. Let us look a century ahead, and let us suppose that my attempt -to destroy two millenniums of hostility to Nature and of the violation -of humanity be crowned with success That new party of life-advocates, -which will undertake the greatest of all tasks, the elevation and -perfection of mankind, as well as the relentless destruction of all -degenerate and parasitical elements, will make that <i>superabundance -of life</i> on earth once more possible, out of which the Dionysian -state will perforce arise again. I promise the advent of a tragic -age: the highest art in the saying of yea to life, "tragedy," will be -born again when mankind has the knowledge of the hardest, but most -necessary of wars, behind it, without, however, suffering from that -knowledge.... A psychologist might add that what I heard in Wagnerian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -music in my youth and early manhood had nothing whatsoever to do with -Wagner; that when I described Dionysian music, I described merely -what <i>I</i> personally had heard—that I was compelled instinctively to -translate and transfigure everything into the new spirit which filled -my breast. A proof of this, and as strong a proof as you could have, -is my essay, <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i>: in all its decisive psychological -passages I am the only person concerned—without any hesitation you may -read my name or the word "Zarathustra" wherever the text contains the -name of Wagner. The whole panorama of the <i>dithyrambic</i> artist is the -representation of the already existing author of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and -it is drawn with an abysmal depth which does not even once come into -contact with the real Wagner. Wagner himself had a notion of the truth; -he did not recognise himself in the essay.—In this way, "the idea of -Bayreuth" was changed into something which to those who are acquainted -with my <i>Zarathustra</i> will be no riddle—that is to say, into the -Great Noon when the highest of the elect will consecrate themselves -for the greatest of all duties—who knows? the vision of a feast which -I may live to see.... The pathos of the first few pages is universal -history; the look which is discussed on page 105<a name="FNanchor_3_12" id="FNanchor_3_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_12" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> of the book, is the -actual look of <i>Zarathustra;</i> Wagner, Bayreuth, the whole of this petty -German wretchedness, is a cloud upon which an infinite Fata Morgana -of the future is reflected. Even from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> psychological standpoint, -all the decisive traits in my character are introduced into Wagner's -nature—the juxtaposition of the most brilliant and most fatal forces, -a Will to Power such as no man has ever possessed—inexorable bravery -in matters spiritual, an unlimited power of learning unaccompanied by -depressed powers for action. Everything in this essay is a prophecy: -the proximity of the resurrection of the Greek spirit, the need of men -who will be counter-Alexanders, who will once more tie the Gordian knot -of Greek culture, after it has been cut. Listen to the world-historic -accent with which the concept "sense for the tragic" is introduced -on page 180: there are little else but world-historic accents in -this essay. This is the strangest kind of "objectivity" that ever -existed: my absolute certainty in regard to what I <i>am,</i> projected -itself into any chance reality—truth about myself was voiced from out -appalling depths. On pages 174 and 175 the style of <i>Zarathustra</i> is -described and foretold with incisive certainty, and no more magnificent -expression will ever be found than that on pages 144-147 for the event -for which <i>Zarathustra</i> stands—that prodigious act of the purification -and consecration of mankind.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_10" id="Footnote_1_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_10"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Those Germans who, like Nietzsche or Goethe, recognised -that politics constituted a danger to culture, and who appreciated the -literature of maturer cultures, such as that of France, are called -<i>un-deutsch</i> (un-German) by Imperialistic Germans.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_11" id="Footnote_2_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_11"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Aristotle's <i>Poetics</i>, c. vi.—Tr.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_12" id="Footnote_3_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_12"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This number and those which follow refer to <i>Thoughts out -of Season,</i> Part I. in this edition of Nietzsche's Works.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON" id="THOUGHTS_OUT_OF_SEASON">"THOUGHTS OUT OF SEASON"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>The four essays composing the <i>Thoughts out of Season</i> are thoroughly -warlike in tone. They prove that I was no mere dreamer, that I delight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -in drawing the sword—and perhaps, also, that my wrist is dangerously -supple. The first onslaught (1873) was directed against German culture, -upon which I looked down even at that time with unmitigated contempt -Without either sense, substance, or goal, it was simply "public -opinion." There could be no more dangerous misunderstanding than to -suppose that Germany's success at arms proved anything in favour of -German culture—and still less the triumph of this culture; over -that of France. The second essay (1874) brings to light that which -is dangerous, that which corrodes and poisons life in our manner of -pursuing scientific study: Life is diseased, thanks to this dehumanised -piece of clockwork and mechanism, thanks to the "impersonality" of -the workman, 1 and the false economy of the "division of labour." The -object, which is culture, is lost sight of: modern scientific activity -as a means thereto simply produces barbarism. In this treatise, the -"historical sense," of which this century is so proud, is for the first -time recognised as sickness, as a typical symptom of decay. In the -third and fourth essays, a sign-post is set up pointing to a higher -concept of culture, to a re-establishment of the notion "culture"; -and two pictures of the hardest self-love and self-discipline are -presented, two essentially un-modern types, full of the most sovereign -contempt for all that which lay around them and was called "Empire," -"Culture," "Christianity," "Bismarck," and "Success,"—these two types -were Schopenhauer and Wagner, <i>or,</i> in a word, Nietzsche....</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>Of these four attacks, the first met with extraordinary success. The -stir which it created was in every way gorgeous. I had put my finger -on the vulnerable spot of a triumphant nation—I had told it that its -victory was not a red-letter day for culture, but, perhaps, something -very different. The reply rang out from all sides, and certainly not -only from old friends of David Strauss, whom I had made ridiculous -as the type of a German Philistine of Culture and a man of smug -self-content—in short, as the author of that suburban gospel of his, -called <i>The Old and the New Faith</i> (the term "Philistine of Culture" -passed into the current language of Germany after the appearance of my -book). These old friends, whose vanity as Würtembergians and Swabians -I had deeply wounded in regarding their unique animal, their bird -of Paradise, as a trifle comic, replied to me as ingenuously and as -grossly as I could have wished. The Prussian replies were smarter; they -contained more "Prussian blue." The most disreputable attitude was -assumed by a Leipzig paper, the egregious <i>Grentzboten</i>; and it cost me -some pains to prevent my indignant friends in Bâle from taking action -against it. Only a few old gentlemen decided in my favour, and for -very diverse and sometimes unaccountable reasons. Among them was one, -Ewald of Göttingen, who made it clear that my attack on Strauss had -been deadly. There was also the Hegelian, Bruno Bauer, who from that -time became one of my most attentive readers. In his later years he -liked to refer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> me, when, for instance, he wanted to give Herr von -Treitschke, the Prussian Historiographer, a hint as to where he could -obtain information about the notion "Culture," of which he (Herr von -T.) had completely lost sight. The weightiest and longest notice of my -book and its author appeared in Würzburg, and was written by Professor -Hoffmann, an old pupil of the philosopher von Baader. The essays made -him foresee a great future for me, namely, that of bringing about a -sort of crisis and decisive turning-point in the problem of atheism, -of which he recognised in me the most instinctive and most radical -advocate. It was atheism that had drawn me to Schopenhauer. The review -which received by far the most attention, and which excited the most -bitterness, was an extraordinarily powerful and plucky appreciation of -my work by Carl Hillebrand, a man who was usually so mild, and the last -<i>humane</i> German who knew how to wield a pen. The article appeared in -the <i>Augsburg Gazette,</i> and it can be read to-day, couched in rather -more cautious language, among his collected essays. In it my work was -referred to as an event, as a decisive turning-point, as the first sign -of an awakening, as an excellent symptom, and as an actual revival -of German earnestness and of German passion in things spiritual. -Hillebrand could speak only in the terms of the highest respect, of -the form of my book, of its consummate taste, of its perfect tact in -discriminating between persons and causes: he characterised it as the -best polemical work in the German language,—the best performance in -the art of polemics, which for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> Germans is so dangerous and so strongly -to be deprecated. Besides confirming my standpoint, he laid even -greater stress upon what I had dared to say about the deterioration of -language in Germany (nowadays writers assume the airs of Purists<a name="FNanchor_1_13" id="FNanchor_1_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_13" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -and can no longer even construct a sentence); sharing my contempt for -the literary stars of this nation, he concluded by expressing his -admiration for my courage—that "greatest courage of all which places -the very favourites of the people in the dock." ... The after-effects -of this essay of mine proved invaluable to me in my life. No one has -ever tried to meddle with me since. People are silent. In Germany -I am treated with gloomy caution: for years I have rejoiced in the -privilege of such absolute freedom of speech, as no one nowadays, -least of all in the "Empire," has enough liberty to claim. My paradise -is "in the shadow of my sword." At bottom all I had done was to put -one of Stendhal's maxims into practice: he advises one to make one's -entrance into society by means of a duel. And how well I had chosen my -opponent!—the foremost free-thinker of Germany. As a matter of fact, -quite a novel kind of free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> thought found its expression in this way: -up to the present nothing has been more strange and more foreign to my -blood than the whole of that European and American species known as -<i>litres penseurs.</i> Incorrigible blockheads and clowns of "modern ideas" -that they are, I feel much more profoundly at variance with them than -with any one of their adversaries. They also wish to "improve" mankind, -after their own fashion—that is to say, in their own image; against -that which I stand for and desire, they would wage an implacable war, -if only they understood it; the whole gang of them still believe in an -"ideal." ... I am the first <i>Immoralist</i>.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - -<p>I should not like to say that the last two essays in the <i>Thoughts -out of Season,</i> associated with the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner -respectively, serve any special purpose in throwing light upon these -two cases, or in formulating their psychological problems. This of -course does not apply to a few details. Thus, for instance, in the -second of the two essays, with a profound certainty of instinct I -already characterised the elementary factor in Wagner's nature as a -theatrical talent which in all his means and inspirations only draws -its final conclusions. At bottom, my desire in this essay was to do -something very different from writing psychology: an unprecedented -educational problem, a new understanding of self-discipline and -self-defence carried to the point of hardness, a road to greatness -and to world-historic duties, yearned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> to find expression. Roughly -speaking, I seized two famous and, theretofore, completely undefined -types by the forelock, after the manner in which one seizes -opportunities, simply in order to speak my mind on certain questions, -in order to have a few more formulas, signs, and means of expression -at my disposal. Indeed I actually suggest this, with most unearthly -sagacity, on page 183 of <i>Schopenhauer as Educator.</i> Plato made use -of Socrates in the same way—that is to say, as a cipher for Plato. -Now that, from some distance, I can look back upon the conditions of -which these essays are the testimony, I would be loth to deny that they -refer simply to me. The essay <i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i> is a vision of my -own future; on the other hand, my most secret history, my development, -is written down in <i>Schopenhauer as Educator.</i> But, above all, the -<i>vow</i> I made I What I am to-day, the place I now hold—at a height from -which I speak no longer with words but with thunderbolts!—oh, how -far I was from all this in those days! But I saw the land—I did not -deceive myself for one moment as to the way, the sea, the danger—<i>and</i> -success! The great calm in promising, this happy prospect of a future -which must not remain only a promise!—In this book every word has -been lived, profoundly and intimately; the most painful things are not -lacking in it; it contains words which are positively running with -blood. But a wind of great freedom blows over the whole; even its -wounds do not constitute an objection. As to what I understand by being -a philosopher,—that is to say, a terrible explosive in the presence -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> which everything is in danger; as to how I sever my idea of the -philosopher by miles from that other idea of him which includes even a -Kant, not to speak of the academic "ruminators" and other professors of -philosophy,—concerning all these things this essay provides invaluable -information, even granting that at bottom, it is not "Schopenhauer as -Educator" but "Nietzsche as Educator," who speaks his sentiments in -it. Considering that, in those days, my trade was that of a scholar, -and perhaps, also, that I understood my trade, the piece of austere -scholar psychology which suddenly makes its appearance in this essay is -not without importance: it expresses the feeling of distance, and my -profound certainty regarding what was my real life-task, and what were -merely means, intervals, and accessory work to me. My wisdom consists -in my having been many things, and in many places, in order to become -one thing—in order to be able to attain to one thing. It was part of -my fate to be a scholar for a while.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_13" id="Footnote_1_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_13"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The Purists constitute a definite body in Germany, which -is called the <i>Deutscher Sprach-Verein.</i> Their object is to banish -every foreign word from the language, and they carry this process of -ostracism even into the domain of the menu, where their efforts at -rendering the meaning of French dishes are extremely comical. Strange -to say, their principal organ, and their other publications, are by -no means free either from solecisms or faults of style, and it is -doubtless to this curious anomaly that Nietzsche here refers.—TR.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN" id="HUMAN_ALL-TOO-HUMAN">"HUMAN, ALL-TOO-HUMAN"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p><i>Human all-too-Human,</i> with its two sequels, is the memorial of a -crisis. It is called a book for free spirits: almost every sentence in -it is the expression of a triumph—by means of it I purged myself of -everything in me which was foreign to my nature. Idealism is foreign -to me: the title of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> book means: "Where ye see ideal things I -see—human, alas! all-too-human things!" ... I know men better. The -word "free spirit" in this book must not be understood as anything -else than a spirit that has become free, that has once more taken -possession of itself. My tone, the pitch of my voice, has completely -changed; the book will be thought clever, cool, and at times both -hard and scornful. A certain spirituality, of noble taste, seems to -be ever struggling to dominate a passionate torrent at its feet. In -this respect there is some sense in the fact that it was the hundredth -anniversary of Voltaire's death that served, so to speak, as an excuse -for the publication of the book as early as 1878. For Voltaire, as the -opposite of every one who wrote after him, was above all a grandee of -the intellect; precisely what I am also. The name of Voltaire on one -of my writings—that was verily a step forward—in my direction.... -Looking into this book a little more closely, you perceive a pitiless -spirit who knows all the secret hiding-places in which ideals are wont -to skulk—where they find their dungeons, and, as it were, their last -refuge. With a torch in my hand, the light of which is not by any -means a flickering one, I illuminate this nether world with beams that -cut like blades. It is war, but war without powder and smoke, without -warlike attitudes, without pathos and contorted limbs—all these things -would still be "idealism." One error after the other is quietly laid -upon ice; the ideal is not refuted,—it freezes. Here, for instance, -"genius" freezes; round the corner the "saint" freezes; under a thick -icicle the "hero" freezes; and in the end "faith"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> itself freezes. -So-called "conviction" and also "pity" are considerably cooled—and -almost everywhere the "thing in itself" is freezing to death.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>This book was begun during the first musical festival at Bayreuth; a -feeling of profound strangeness towards everything that surrounded -me there, is one of its first conditions. He who has any notion of -the visions which even at that time had flitted across my path, will -be able to guess what I felt when one day I came to my senses in -Bayreuth. It was just as if I had been dreaming. Where on earth was I? -I recognised nothing that I saw; I scarcely recognised Wagner. It was -in vain that I called up reminiscences. Tribschen—remote island of -bliss: not the shadow of a resemblance! The incomparable days devoted -to the laying of the first stone, the small group of the initiated -who celebrated them, and who were far from lacking fingers for the -handling of delicate things: not the shadow of a resemblance! <i>What -had happened?</i>—Wagner had been translated into German! The Wagnerite -had become master of Wagner!<i>—German</i> art! the German master! German -beer!... We who know only too well the kind of refined artists and -cosmopolitanism in taste, to which alone Wagner's art can appeal, were -beside ourselves at the sight of Wagner bedecked with German virtues. -I think I know the Wagnerite, I have experienced three generations -of them, from Brendel of blessed memory, who confounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> Wagner with -Hegel, to the "idealists" of the <i>Bayreuth Gazette,</i> who confound -Wagner with themselves,—I have been the recipient of every kind of -confession about Wagner, from "beautiful souls." My kingdom for just -one intelligent word I—In very truth, a blood-curdling company! Nohl, -Pohl, and <i>Kohl</i><a name="FNanchor_1_14" id="FNanchor_1_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_14" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and others of their kidney to infinity! There -was not a single abortion that was lacking among them—no, not even -the anti-Semite.—Poor Wagner! Into whose hands had he fallen? If -only he had gone into a herd of swine! But among Germans! Some day, -for the edification of posterity, one ought really to have a genuine -Bayreuthian stuffed, or, better still, preserved in spirit,—for -it is precisely spirit that is lacking in this quarter,—with this -inscription at the foot of the jar: "A sample of the spirit whereon -the 'German Empire' was founded." ... But enough! In the middle of -the festivities I suddenly packed my trunk and left the place for a -few weeks, despite the fact that a charming Parisian lady sought to -comfort me; I excused myself to Wagner simply by means of a fatalistic -telegram. In a little spot called Klingenbrunn, deeply buried in the -recesses of the Bohmerwald, I carried my melancholy and my contempt of -Germans about with me like an illness—and, from time to time, under -the general title of "The Plough-share," I wrote a sentence or two down -in my note-book, nothing but severe psychological stuff, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> it is -possible may have found its way into <i>Human, all-too-Human.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>That which had taken place in me, then, was not only a breach with -Wagner—I was suffering from a general aberration of my instincts, -of which a mere isolated blunder, whether it were Wagner or my -professorship at Bâle, was nothing more than a symptom. I was seized -with a fit of impatience with myself; I saw that it was high time that -I should turn my thoughts upon my own lot. In a trice I realised, with -appalling clearness, how much time had already been squandered—how -futile and how senseless my whole existence as a philologist appeared -by the side of my life-task. I was ashamed of this false modesty.... -Ten years were behind me, during which, to tell the truth, the -nourishment of my spirit had been at a standstill, during which I had -added not a single useful fragment to my knowledge, and had forgotten -countless things in the pursuit of a hotch-potch of dry-as-dust -scholarship. To crawl with meticulous care and short-sighted eyes -through old Greek metricians—that is what I had come to!... Moved to -pity I saw myself quite thin, quite emaciated: realities were only too -plainly absent from my stock of knowledge, and what the "idealities" -were worth the devil alone knew! A positively burning thirst overcame -me: and from that time forward I have done literally nothing else than -study physiology, medicine, and natural science—I even returned to -the actual study of history only when my life-task compelled me to. It -was at that time, too, that I first divined the relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> between an -instinctively repulsive occupation, a so-called vocation, which is the -last thing to which one is "called" and that need of lulling a feeling -of emptiness and hunger, by means of an art which is a narcotic—by -means of Wagner's art, for instance. After looking carefully about -me, I have discovered that a large number of young men are all in the -same state of distress: one kind of unnatural practice perforce leads -to another. In Germany, or rather, to avoid all ambiguity, in the -Empire,<a name="FNanchor_2_15" id="FNanchor_2_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_15" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> only too many are condemned to determine their choice too -soon, and then to pine away beneath a burden that they can no longer -throw off.... Such creatures crave for Wagner as for an opiate,—they -are thus able to forget themselves, to be rid of themselves for a -moment.... What am I saying!—for five or six hours.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>At this time my instincts turned resolutely against any further -yielding or following on my part, and any further misunderstanding -of myself. Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, -illness, poverty—anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified -"selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my -ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to -laziness—the so-called "sense of duty." At this juncture there came to -my help, in a way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> that I cannot sufficiently admire, and precisely at -the right time, that evil heritage which I derive from my father's side -of the family, and which, at bottom, is no more than a predisposition -to die young. Illness slowly liberated me from the toils, it spared me -any sort of sudden breach, any sort of violent and offensive step. At -that time I lost not a particle of the good will of others, but rather -added to my store. Illness likewise gave me the right completely to -reverse my mode of life; it not only allowed, it actually commanded, -me to forget; it bestowed upon me the necessity of lying still, of -having leisure, of waiting, and of exercising patience.... But all -this means thinking!... The state of my eyes alone put an end to all -book-wormishness, or, in plain English—philology: I was thus delivered -from books; for years I ceased from reading, and this was the greatest -boon I ever conferred upon myself! That nethermost self, which was, -as it were, entombed, and which had grown dumb because it had been -forced to listen perpetually to other selves (for that is what reading -means!), slowly awakened; at first it was shy and doubtful, but at -last it <i>spoke again</i> Never have I rejoiced more over my condition -than during the sickest and most painful moments of my life. You have -only to examine <i>The Dawn of Day,</i> or, perhaps, <i>The Wanderer and -his Shadow,</i><a name="FNanchor_3_16" id="FNanchor_3_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_16" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in order to understand what this "return to myself" -actually meant: in itself it was the highest kind of recovery!... My -cure was simply the result of it.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p><i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> this monument of a course of vigorous -self-discipline, by means of which I put an abrupt end to all the -"Superior Bunkum," "Idealism," "Beautiful Feelings," and other -effeminacies that had percolated into my being, was written principally -in Sorrento; it was finished and given definite shape during a winter -at Bâle, under conditions far less favourable than those in Sorrento. -Truth to tell, it was Peter Gast, at that time a student at the -University of Bâle, and a devoted friend of mine, who was responsible -for the book. With my head wrapped in bandages, and extremely painful, -I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along—to be -accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author. -When the completed book ultimately reached me,—to the great surprise -of the serious invalid I then was,—I sent, among others, two copies -to Bayreuth. Thanks to a miraculous flash of intelligence on the part -of chance, there reached me precisely at the same time a splendid copy -of the <i>Parsifal</i> text, with the following inscription from Wagner's -pen: "To his dear friend Friedrich Nietzsche, from Richard Wagner, -Ecclesiastical Councillor." At this crossing of the two books I seemed -to hear an ominous note. Did it not sound as if two swords had crossed? -At all events we both felt this was so, for each of us remained silent. -At about this time the first Bayreuth Pamphlets appeared: and I then -understood the move on my part for which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> it was high time. Incredible! -Wagner had become pious.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>My attitude to myself at that time (1876), and the unearthly certitude -with which I grasped my life-task and all its world-historic -consequences, is well revealed throughout the book, but more -particularly in one very significant passage, despite the fact that, -with my instinctive cunning, I once more circumvented the use of -the little word "I,"—not however, this time, in order to shed -world-historic glory on the names of Schopenhauer and Wagner, but on -that of another of my friends, the excellent Dr. Paul Rée—fortunately -much too acute a creature to be deceived—others were less subtle. -Among my readers I have a number of hopeless people, the typical -German professor for instance, who can always be recognised from the -fact that, judging from the passage in question, he feels compelled to -regard the whole book as a sort of superior Realism. As a matter of -fact it contradicts five or six of my friend's utterances: only read -the introduction to <i>The Genealogy of Morals</i> on this question.—The -passage above referred to reads: "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>" (read Nietzsche, the first -Immoralist), "has attained by means of his incisive and decisive -analysis of human actions? 'The moral man,' he says is no nearer to the -intelligible (metaphysical) world than is the physical man, for there -is no intelligible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> world.' This theory, hardened and sharpened under -the hammer-blow of historical knowledge" (read <i>The Transvaluation -of all Values</i>), "may some time or other, perhaps in some future -period,—1890!—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."<a name="FNanchor_4_17" id="FNanchor_4_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_17" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_14" id="Footnote_1_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_14"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nohl and Pohl were both writers on music; Kohl, however, -which literally means cabbage, is a slang expression, denoting superior -nonsense.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_15" id="Footnote_2_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_15"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Needless to say, Nietzsche distinguishes between -Bismarckian Germany and that other Germany—Austria, Switzerland, and -the Baltic Provinces—where the German language is also spoken.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_16" id="Footnote_3_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_16"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> Part II. in this edition.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_17" id="Footnote_4_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_17"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Human, all-too-Human,</i> vol. i. Aph. 37.</p></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="THE_DAWN_OF_DAY" id="THE_DAWN_OF_DAY">"THE DAWN OF DAY:</a></h4> - -<h5>THOUGHTS ABOUT MORALITY AS A PREJUDICE"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>With this book I open my campaign against morality. Not that it is at -all redolent of powder—you will find quite other and much nicer smells -in it, provided that you have any keenness in your nostrils. There -is nothing either of light or of heavy artillery in its composition, -and if its general end be a negative one, its means are not so—means -out of which the end follows like a logical conclusion, <i>not</i> like a -cannon-shot. And if the reader takes leave of this book with a feeling -of timid caution in regard to everything which has hitherto been -honoured and even worshipped under the name of morality, it does not -alter the fact that there is not one negative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> word, not one attack, -and not one single piece of malice in the whole work—on the contrary, -it lies in the sunshine, smooth and happy, like a marine animal, -basking in the sun between two rocks. For, after all, I was this marine -animal: almost every sentence in the book was thought out, or rather -<i>caught,</i> among that medley of rocks in the neighbourhood of Genoa, -where I lived quite alone, and exchanged secrets with the ocean. Even -to this day, when by chance I happen to turn over the leaves of this -book, almost every sentence seems to me like a hook by means of which I -draw something incomparable out of the depths; its whole skin quivers -with delicate shudders of recollection. This book is conspicuous for no -little art in gently catching things which whisk rapidly and silently -away, moments which I call godlike lizards—not with the cruelty of -that young Greek god who simply transfixed the poor little beast; -but nevertheless with something pointed—with a pen. "There are so -many dawns which have not yet shed their light"—this Indian maxim is -written over the doorway of this book. Where does its author seek that -new morning, that delicate red, as yet undiscovered, with which another -day—ah! a whole series of days, a whole world of new days!—will -begin? In the <i>Transvaluation of all Values,</i> in an emancipation from -all moral values, in a saying of yea, and in an attitude of trust, to -all that which hitherto has been forbidden, despised, and damned. This -yea-saying book projects its light, its love, its tenderness, over all -evil things, it restores to them their soul, their clear conscience, -and their superior right and privilege to exist on earth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> Morality is -not assailed, it simply ceases to be considered. This book closes with -the word "or?"—it is the only book which closes with an "or?".</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>My life-task is to prepare for humanity one supreme moment in which it -can come to its senses, a Great Noon in which it will turn its gaze -backwards and forwards, in which it will step from under the yoke -of accident and of priests, and for the first time set the question -of the Why and Wherefore of humanity as a whole—this life-task -naturally follows out of the conviction that mankind does <i>not</i> get -on the right road of its own accord, that it is by no means divinely -ruled, but rather that it is precisely under the cover of its most -holy valuations that the instinct of negation, of corruption, and of -degeneration has held such a seductive sway. The question concerning -the origin of moral valuations is therefore a matter of the highest -importance to me because it determines the future of mankind. The -demand made upon us to believe that everything is really in the best -hands, that a certain book, the Bible, gives us the definite and -comforting assurance that there is a Providence that wisely rules the -fate of man,—when translated back into reality amounts simply to this, -namely, the will to stifle the truth which maintains the reverse of -all this, which is that hitherto man has been in the <i>worst possible</i> -hands, and that he has been governed by the physiologically botched, -the men of cunning and burning revengefulness, and the so-called -"saints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>"—those slanderers of the world and traducers of humanity. -The definite proof of the fact that the priest (including the priest -in disguise, the philosopher) has become master, not only within a -certain limited religious community, but everywhere, and that the -morality of decadence, the will to nonentity, has become morality -<i>per se,</i> is to be found in this: that altruism is now an absolute -value, and egoism is regarded with hostility everywhere. He who -disagrees with me on this point, I regard as infected. But all the -world disagrees with me. To a physiologist a like antagonism between -values admits of no doubt. If the most insignificant organ within the -body neglects, however slightly, to assert with absolute certainty its -self-preservative powers, its recuperative claims, and its egoism, the -whole system degenerates. The physiologist insists upon the removal of -degenerated parts, he denies all fellow-feeling for such parts, and -has not the smallest feeling of pity for them. But the desire of the -priest is precisely the degeneration of the whole of mankind; hence his -preservation of that which is degenerate—this is what his dominion -costs humanity. What meaning have those lying concepts, those handmaids -of morality, "Soul," "Spirit," "Free will," "God," if their aim is not -the physiological ruin of mankind? When earnestness is diverted from -the instincts that aim at self-preservation and an increase of bodily -energy, <i>i.e.</i> at an <i>increase of life</i>; when anæmia is raised to an -ideal and the contempt of the body is construed as "the salvation of -the soul," what is all this if it is not a recipe for decadence? Loss -of ballast, resistance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> offered to natural instincts, selflessness, -in fact—this is what has hitherto been known as morality. With <i>The -Dawn of Day</i> I first engaged in a struggle against the morality of -self-renunciation.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA" id="JOYFUL_WISDOM_LA_GAYA_SCIENZA">"JOYFUL WISDOM: LA GAYA SCIENZA"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p><i>Dawn of Day</i> is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The -same applies once more and in the highest degree to <i>La Gaya Scienza:</i> -in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go -gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most -wonderful month of January which I have ever lived—the whole book is a -gift—sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has -here become joyful.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Thou who with cleaving fiery lances<br /> -The stream of my soul from its ice dost free,<br /> -Till with a rush and a roar it advances<br /> -To enter with glorious hoping the sea:<br /> -Brighter to see and purer ever,<br /> -Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,—<br /> -So it praises thy wondrous endeavour,<br /> -January, thou beauteous saint!"<a name="FNanchor_1_18" id="FNanchor_1_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_18" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when -he has realised the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's -words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth -book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third -book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs -of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in -Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "<i>Gaya -Scienza,</i>" of that union of <i>singer, knight, and free spirit,</i> which -distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from -all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"—an -exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances -freely upon the corpse of morality,—is a perfect Provençalism.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_18" id="Footnote_1_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_18"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated for <i>Joyful Wisdom</i> by Paul V. Cohn.—TR.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE" id="THUS_SPAKE_ZARATHUSTRA_A_BOOK_FOR_ALL_AND_NONE">"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA: A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I now wish to relate the history of <i>Zarathustra.</i> The fundamental -idea of the work, the <i>Eternal Recurrence,</i> the highest formula of -a Yea-saying to life that can ever be attained, was first conceived -in the month of August 1881. I made a note of the idea on a sheet of -paper, with the postscript: "Six thousand feet beyond man and time." -That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the -Lake of Silvaplana, and I halted not far from Surlei, beside a huge -rock that towered aloft like a pyramid. It was then that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> the thought -struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months before -this inspiration I had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden -and decisive change in my tastes—more particularly in music. The -whole of <i>Zarathustra</i> might perhaps be classified under the rubric -music. At all events, the essential condition of its production was -a second birth within me of the art of hearing. In Recoaro, a small -mountain resort near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and -my friend and maestro, Peter Gast—who was also one who had been born -again, discovered that the phœnix music hovered over us, in lighter -and brighter plumage than it had ever worn before. If, therefore, I -now calculate from that day forward the sudden production of the book, -under the most unlikely circumstances, in February 1883,—the last -part, out of which I quoted a few lines in my preface, was written -precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost -in Venice,—I come to the conclusion that the period of gestation -covered eighteen months. This period of exactly eighteen months, -might suggest, at least to Buddhists, that I am in reality a female -elephant The interval was devoted to the <i>Gaya Scienza,</i> which contains -hundreds of indications of the proximity of something unparalleled; -for, after all, it shows the beginning of <i>Zarathustra,</i> since it -presents <i>Zarathustra's</i> fundamental thought in the last aphorism -but one of the fourth book. To this interval also belongs that <i>Hymn -to Life</i> (for a mixed choir and orchestra), the score of which was -published in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> Leipzig two years ago by E. W. Fritsch, and which gave -perhaps no slight indication of my spiritual state during this year, -in which the essentially yea-saying pathos, which I call the tragic -pathos, completely filled me heart and limb. One day people will sing -it to my memory. The text, let it be well understood, as there is -some misunderstanding abroad on this point, is not by me; it was the -astounding inspiration of a young Russian lady, Miss Lou von Salome, -with whom I was then on friendly terms. He who is in any way able -to make some sense of the last words of the poem, will divine why I -preferred and admired it: there is greatness in them. Pain is not -regarded as an objection to existence: "And if thou hast no bliss now -left to crown me—Lead on! Thou hast thy Sorrow still."</p> - -<p>Maybe that my music is also great in this passage. (The last note of -the oboe, by the bye, is C sharp, not C. The latter is a misprint.) -During the following winter, I was living on that charmingly peaceful -Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, which cuts inland between Chiavari -and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold -and exceptionally rainy; and the small <i>albergo</i> in which I lived -was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if -the sea was rough. These circumstances were surely the very reverse -of favourable; and yet, in spite of it all, and as if in proof of my -belief that everything decisive comes to life in defiance of every -obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these -unfavourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> circumstances that my <i>Zarathustra</i> originated. In the -morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious -road to Zoagli, which rises up through a forest of pines and gives -one a view far out to sea. In the afternoon, or as often as my health -allowed, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond -Porto Fino. This spot affected me all the more deeply because it was -so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I -chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small forgotten -world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that -all <i>Zarathustra</i> came to me, above all, Zarathustra himself as a -type—I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that <i>he waylaid -me</i>.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>In order to understand this type, you must first be quite clear -concerning its fundamental physiological condition: this condition -is what I call <i>great healthiness.</i> In regard to this idea I cannot -make my meaning more plain or more personal than I have done already -in one of the last aphorisms (No. 382) of the fifth book of the <i>Gaya -Scienza</i>: "We new, nameless, and unfathomable creatures," so reads -the passage, "we firstlings of a future still unproved—we who have a -new end in view also require new means to that end, that is to say, -a new healthiness, a stronger, keener, tougher, bolder, and merrier -healthiness than any that has existed heretofore. He who longs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -feel in his own soul the whole range of values and aims that have -prevailed on earth until his day, and to sail round all the coasts -of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea'; who, from the adventures of his -own inmost experience, would fain know how it feels to be a conqueror -and discoverer of the ideal;—as also how it is with the artist, the -saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the man of piety and the -godlike anchorite of yore;—such a man requires one thing above all -for his purpose, and that is, <i>great healthiness</i>—such healthiness as -he not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, -because he is continually sacrificing it again, and is compelled to -sacrifice it! And now, therefore, after having been long on the way, -we Argonauts of the ideal, whose pluck is greater than prudence would -allow, and who are often shipwrecked and bruised, but, as I have said, -healthier than people would like to admit, dangerously healthy, and for -ever recovering our health—it would seem as if we had before us, as -a reward for all our toils, a country still undiscovered, the horizon -of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to every country and every -refuge of the ideal that man has ever known, a world so overflowing -with beauty, strangeness, doubt, terror, and divinity, that both our -curiosity and our lust of possession are frantic with eagerness. Alas! -how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our -conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with <i>the man -of the present day</i>? This is bad indeed; but, that we should regard -his worthiest aims and hopes with ill-concealed amusement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> or perhaps -give them no thought at all, is inevitable. Another ideal now leads -us on, a wonderful, seductive ideal, full of danger, the pursuit of -which we should be loath to urge upon any one, because we are not so -ready to acknowledge any one's <i>right to it:</i> the ideal of a spirit who -plays ingenuously (that is to say, involuntarily, and as the outcome -of superabundant energy and power) with everything that, hitherto, -has been called holy, good, inviolable, and divine; to whom even the -loftiest thing that the people have with reason made their measure of -value would be no better than a danger, a decay, and an abasement, or -at least a relaxation and temporary forgetfulness of self: the ideal -of a humanly superhuman well-being and goodwill, which often enough -will seem inhuman—as when, for instance, it stands beside all past -earnestness on earth, and all past solemnities in hearing, speech, -tone, look, morality, and duty, as their most lifelike and unconscious -parody—but with which, nevertheless, <i>great earnestness</i> perhaps alone -begins, the first note of interrogation is affixed, the fate of the -soul changes, the hour hand moves, and tragedy begins."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion -of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? -If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of -superstition left in one, it would hardly be possible completely to -set aside the idea that one is the mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> incarnation, mouthpiece, or -medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation, in the sense -that something which profoundly convulses and upsets one becomes -suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and -accuracy—describes the simple fact. One hears—one does not seek; one -takes—one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like -lightning, it comes with necessity, without faltering—I have never had -any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy so great that the immense -strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, during which -one's steps now involuntarily rush and anon involuntarily lag. There -is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct -consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations -descending to one's very toes;—there is a depth of happiness in which -the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, -but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an -overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which -embraces a whole world of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing -rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort -of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens -quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, -of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntary nature of -the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all -perception of what is imagery and metaphor; everything seems to present -itself as the readiest, the truest, and simplest means of expression. -It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> own phrases, as if all -things came to one, and offered themselves as similes. ("Here do all -things come caressingly to thy discourse and flatter thee, for they -would fain ride upon thy back. On every simile thou ridest here unto -every truth. Here fly open unto thee all the speech and word shrines -of the world, here would all existence become speech, here would -all Becoming learn of thee how to speak.") This is my experience of -inspiration. I do not doubt but that I should have to go back thousands -of years before I could find another who could say to me: "It is mine -also!"</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>For a few weeks afterwards I lay an invalid in Genoa. Then followed -a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live—and -this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to -the poet-author of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and for the choice of which I was -not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. -I wanted to go to Aquila—the opposite of Rome in every respect, and -actually founded in a spirit of hostility towards that city, just as -I also shall found a city some day, as a memento of an atheist and -genuine enemy of the Church, a person very closely related to me, the -great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it -all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be -satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in -vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, -to avoid bad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the -Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for -a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from -which one obtained a general view of Rome, and could hear the fountains -plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed—"The -Night-Song." About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad -melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the affords, "dead through -immortality," ... In the summer, finding myself once more in the sacred -place where the first thought of <i>Zarathustra</i> flashed like a light -across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither -for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day -longer. In the ensuing winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which -then for the first time poured its light into my life, I found the -third <i>Zarathustra</i>—and came to the end of my task: the whole having -occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the -country round about Nice are hallowed for me by moments that I can -never forget. That decisive chapter, entitled "Old and New Tables," -was composed during the arduous ascent from the station to Eza—that -wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. During those moments when my -creative energy flowed most plentifully, my muscular activity was -always greatest. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of -"soul." I might often have been seen dancing in those days, and I could -then walk for seven or eight hours on end over the hills without a -suggestion of fatigue. I slept well and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> laughed a good deal—I was -perfectly robust and patient.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>With the exception of these periods of industry lasting ten days, the -years I spent during the production of <i>Zarathustra,</i> and thereafter, -were for me years of unparalleled distress. A man pays dearly for -being immortal: to this end he must die many times over during his -life. There is such a thing as what I call the rancour of greatness: -everything great, whether a work or a deed, once it is completed, turns -immediately against its author. The very fact that he is its author -makes him weak at this time. He can no longer endure his deed. He can -no longer look it full in the face. To have something at one's back -which one could never have willed, something to which the knot of human -destiny is attached—and to be forced thenceforward to bear it on one's -shoulders! Why, it almost crushes one! The rancour of greatness! A -somewhat different experience is the uncanny silence that reigns about -one. Solitude has seven skins which nothing can penetrate. One goes -among men; one greets friends: but these things are only new deserts, -the looks of those one meets no longer bear a greeting. At the best -one encounters a sort of revolt. This feeling of revolt, I suffered, -in varying degrees of intensity, at the hands of almost every one who -came near me; it would seem that nothing inflicts a deeper wound than -suddenly to make one's distance felt. Those noble natures are scarce -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> know not how to live unless they can revere. A third thing is -the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of -helplessness in the presence of all small things. This seems to me a -necessary outcome of the appalling expenditure of all defensive forces, -which is the first condition of every <i>creative</i> act, of every act -which proceeds from the most intimate, most secret, and most concealed -recesses of a man's being. The small defensive forces are thus, as it -were, suspended, and no fresh energy reaches them. I even think it -probable that one does not digest so well, that one is less willing -to move, and that one is much too open to sensations of coldness and -suspicion; for, in a large number of cases, suspicion is merely a -blunder in etiology. On one occasion when I felt like this I became -conscious of the proximity of a herd of cows, some time before I could -possibly have seen it with my eyes, simply owing to a return in me of -milder and more humane sentiments: <i>they</i> communicated warmth to me....</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>This work stands alone. Do not let us mention the poets in the -same breath; nothing perhaps has ever been produced out of such a -superabundance of strength. My concept "Dionysian" here became the -<i>highest</i> deed; compared with it everything that other men have done -seems poor and limited. The fact that a Goethe or a Shakespeare would -not for an instant have known how to take breath in this atmosphere of -passion and of the heights; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> fact that by the side of Zarathustra, -Dante is no more than a believer, and not one who first <i>creates</i> the -truth—that is to say, not a world-ruling spirit, a <i>Fate</i>; the fact -that the poets of the Veda were priests and not even fit to unfasten -Zarathustra's sandal—all this is the least of things, and gives no -idea of the distance, of the azure solitude, in which this work dwells. -Zarathustra has an eternal right to say: "I draw around me circles and -holy boundaries. Ever fewer are they that mount with me to ever loftier -heights. I build me a mountain range of ever holier mountains." If all -the spirit and goodness of every great soul were collected together, -the whole could not create a single one of Zarathustra's discourses. -The ladder upon which he rises and descends is of boundless length; -he has seen further, he has willed further, and <i>gone</i> further than -any other man. There is contradiction in every word that he utters, -this most yea-saying of all spirits. Through him all contradictions -are bound up into a new unity. The loftiest and the basest powers of -human nature, the sweetest, the lightest, and the most terrible, rush -forth from out one spring with everlasting certainty. Until his coming -no one knew what was height, or depth, and still less what was truth. -There is not a single passage in this revelation of truth which had -already been anticipated and divined by even the greatest among men. -Before Zarathustra there was no wisdom, no probing of the soul, no art -of speech: in his book, the most familiar and most vulgar thing utters -unheard-of words. The sentence quivers with passion. Eloquence has -become music. Forks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> lightning are hurled towards futures of which -no one has ever dreamed before. The most powerful use of parables that -has yet existed is poor beside it, and mere child's-play compared with -this return of language to the nature of imagery. See how Zarathustra -goes down from the mountain and speaks the kindest words to every -one! See with what delicate fingers he touches his very adversaries, -the priests, and how he suffers with them from themselves! Here, at -every moment, man is overcome, and the concept "Superman" becomes the -greatest reality,—out of sight, almost far away beneath him, lies -all that which heretofore has been called great in man. The halcyonic -brightness, the light feet, the presence of wickedness and exuberance -throughout, and all that is the essence of the type Zarathustra, was -never dreamt of before as a prerequisite of greatness. In precisely -these limits of space and in this accessibility to opposites -Zarathustra feels himself the <i>highest of all living things</i>: and when -you hear how he defines this highest, you will give up trying to find -his equal.</p> - -<p>"The soul which hath the longest ladder and can step down deepest,</p> - -<p>"The vastest soul that can run and stray and rove furthest in its own -domain,</p> - -<p>"The most necessary soul, that out of desire flingeth itself to chance,</p> - -<p>"The stable soul that plungeth into Becoming, the possessing soul that -must needs taste of willing and longing,</p> - -<p>"The soul that flyeth from itself, and over-taketh itself in the widest -circle,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The wisest soul that folly exhorteth most sweetly,</p> - -<p>"The most self-loving soul, in whom all things have their rise, their -ebb and flow."</p> - -<p>But this is the very idea of Dionysus. Another consideration leads -to this idea. The psychological problem presented by the type of -Zarathustra is, how can he, who in an unprecedented manner says -no, and <i>acts</i> no, in regard to all that which has been affirmed -hitherto, remain nevertheless a yea-saying spirit? how can he who -bears the heaviest destiny on his shoulders and whose very life-task -is a fatality, yet be the brightest and the most transcendental -of spirits—for Zarathustra is a dancer? how can he who has the -hardest and most terrible grasp of reality, and who has thought the -most "abysmal thoughts," nevertheless avoid conceiving these things -as objections to existence, or even as objections to the eternal -recurrence of existence?—how is it that on the contrary he finds -reasons for <i>being himself</i> the eternal affirmation of all things, "the -tremendous and unlimited saying of Yea and Amen"?... "Into every abyss -do I bear the benediction of my yea to Life." ... But this, once more, -is precisely the idea of Dionysus.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>What language will such a spirit speak, when he speaks unto his soul? -The language of the <i>dithyramb.</i> I am the inventor of the dithyramb. -Hearken unto the manner in which Zarathustra speaks to his soul <i>Before -Sunrise</i> (iii. 48). Before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> my time such emerald joys and divine -tenderness had found no tongue. Even the profoundest melancholy of -such a Dionysus takes shape as a dithyramb. As an example of this I -take "The Night-Song,"—the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his -superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is -condemned never to love.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover.</p> - -<p>"Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise -its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the -language of love.</p> - -<p>"Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I -am begirt with light.</p> - -<p>"Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I -then suck at the breasts of light!</p> - -<p>"And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on -high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light.</p> - -<p>"But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the -flames I send forth.</p> - -<p>"I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft -have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking.</p> - -<p>"Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate -is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover -the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the -end of the feast!</p> - -<p>"They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there -'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be -bridged.</p> - -<p>"An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to -them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I -have given:—thus do I thirst for wickedness.</p> - -<p>"To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the -waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:—thus do I thirst for -wickedness.</p> - -<p>"For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my -loneliness give birth.</p> - -<p>"My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue -grow weary of itself.</p> - -<p>"He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing -groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom.</p> - -<p>"Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's -shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden -hands.</p> - -<p>"Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my -heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons!</p> - -<p>"Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do -they speak with their light—to me alone are they silent.</p> - -<p>"Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it -runneth its course.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward -suns,—thus doth every sun go its way.</p> - -<p>"Like a tempest do the suns fly over their course: for such is their -way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness.</p> - -<p>"Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, -that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk -and comfort from the udders of light.</p> - -<p>"Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice!</p> - -<p>"Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst!</p> - -<p>"It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after -darkness! And loneliness!</p> - -<p>"It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,—for -speech do I long.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my -soul too is a gushing spring.</p> - -<p>"It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too -is the song of a lover."</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>Such things have never been written, never been felt, never been -<i>suffered:</i> only a God, only Dionysus suffers in this way. The reply -to such a dithyramb on the sun's solitude in light would be Ariadne. -... Who knows, but I, who Ariadne is! To all such riddles no one -heretofore had ever found an answer; I doubt even whether any one had -ever seen a riddle here. One day Zarathustra severely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> determines his -life-task—and it is also mine. Let no one misunderstand its meaning. -It's a yea-saying to the point of justifying, to the point of redeeming -even all that is past.</p> - -<p>"I walk among men as among fragments of the future: of that future -which I see.</p> - -<p>"And all my creativeness and effort is but this, that I may be able to -think and recast all these fragments and riddles and dismal accidents -into one piece.</p> - -<p>"And how could I bear to be a man, if man were not also a poet, a -riddle reader, and a redeemer of chance!</p> - -<p>"To redeem all the past, and to transform every 'it was' into 'thus -would I have it'—that alone would be my salvation!"</p> - -<p>In another passage he defines as strictly as possible what to him alone -"man" can be,—not a subject for love nor yet for pity—Zarathustra -became master even of his loathing of man: man is to him a thing -unshaped, raw material, an ugly stone that needs the sculptor's chisel.</p> - -<p>"No longer to will, no longer to value, no longer to create! Oh, that -this great weariness may never be mine!</p> - -<p>"Even in the lust of knowledge, I feel only the joy of my will to beget -and to grow; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because -my procreative will is in it.</p> - -<p>"Away from God and gods did this will lure me: what would there be to -create if there were gods?</p> - -<p>"But to man doth it ever drive me anew, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> burning, creative will. -Thus driveth it the hammer to the stone.</p> - -<p>"Alas, ye men, within the stone there sleepeth an image for me, the -image of all my dreams! Alas, that it should have to sleep in the -hardest and ugliest stone!</p> - -<p>"<i>Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison.</i> From the stone -the fragments fly: what's that to me?</p> - -<p>"I will finish it: for a shadow came unto me—the stillest and lightest -thing on earth once came unto me!</p> - -<p>"The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Alas, my -brethren! What are the—gods to me now?"</p> - -<p>Let me call attention to one last point of view. The line in italics is -my pretext for this remark. A Dionysian life-task needs the hardness of -the hammer, and one of its first essentials is without doubt the <i>joy -even of destruction.</i> The command, "Harden yourselves!" and the deep -conviction that <i>all creators are hard,</i> is the really distinctive sign -of a Dionysian nature.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL" id="BEYOND_GOOD_AND_EVIL">BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL:</a></h4> - - -<h5>"THE PRELUDE TO A PHILOSOPHY OF THE FUTURE"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>My work for the years that followed was prescribed as distinctly -as possible. Now that the yea-saying part of my life-task was -accomplished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> there came the turn of the negative portion, both in -word and deed: the transvaluation of all values that had existed -hitherto, the great war,—the conjuring-up of the day when the fatal -outcome of the struggle would be decided. Meanwhile, I had slowly to -look about me for my peers, for those who, <i>out of strength,</i> would -proffer me a helping hand in my work of destruction. From that time -onward, all my writings are so much bait: maybe I understand as much -about fishing as most people? If nothing was <i>caught,</i> it was not I who -was at fault <i>There were no fish to come and bite.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>In all its essential points, this book (1886) is a criticism of -<i>modernity,</i> embracing the modern sciences, arts, even politics, -together with certain indications as to a type which would be the -reverse of modern man, or as little like him as possible, a noble -and yea-saying type. In this last respect the book is a <i>school -for gentlemen</i>—the term <i>gentleman</i> being understood here in a -much more spiritual and radical sense than it has implied hitherto. -All those things of which the age is proud,—as, for instance, -far-famed "objectivity," "sympathy with all that suffers," "the -historical sense," with its subjection to foreign tastes, with its -lying-in-the-dust before <i>petits faits,</i> and the rage for science,—are -shown to be the contradiction of the type recommended, and are -regarded as almost ill-bred. If you remember that this book follows -upon <i>Zarathustra,</i> you may possibly guess to what system of diet it -owes its life. The eye which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> owing to tremendous constraint, has -become accustomed to see at a great distance,—<i>Zarathustra</i> is even -more far-sighted than the Tsar,—is here forced to focus sharply that -which is close at hand, the present time, the things that lie about -him. In all the aphorisms and more particularly in the form of this -book, the reader will find the same <i>voluntary</i> turning away from those -instincts which made a <i>Zarathustra</i> a possible feat. Refinement in -form, in aspiration, and in the art of keeping silent, are its more or -less obvious qualities; psychology is handled with deliberate hardness -and cruelty,—the whole book does not contain one single good-natured -word.... All this sort of thing refreshes a man. Who can guess the kind -of recreation that is necessary after such an expenditure of goodness -as is to be found in <i>Zarathustra</i>? From a theological standpoint—now -pay ye heed; for it is but on rare occasions that I speak as a -theologian—it was God Himself who, at the end of His great work, -coiled Himself up in the form of a serpent at the foot of the tree of -knowledge. It was thus that He recovered from being a God.... He had -made everything too beautiful.... The devil is simply God's moment of -idleness, on that seventh day.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC" id="THE_GENEALOGY_OF_MORALS_A_POLEMIC">"THE GENEALOGY OF MORALS: A POLEMIC"</a></h4> - - -<p>The three essays which constitute this genealogy are, as regards -expression, aspiration, and the art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> of the unexpected, perhaps the -most curious things that have ever been written. Dionysus, as you know, -is also the god of darkness. In each case the beginning is calculated -to mystify; it is cool, scientific, even ironical, intentionally -thrust to the fore, intentionally reticent. Gradually less calmness -prevails; here and there a flash of lightning defines the horizon; -exceedingly unpleasant truths break upon your ears from out remote -distances with a dull, rumbling sound,—until very soon a fierce tempo -is attained in which everything presses forward at a terrible degree -of tension. At the end, in each case, amid fearful thunderclaps, a new -truth shines out between thick clouds. The truth of the first essays -the psychology of Christianity: the birth of Christianity out of the -spirit of resentment, not, as is supposed, out of the "Spirit,"—in -all its essentials, a counter-movement, the great insurrection against -the dominion of noble values. The second essay contains the psychology -of conscience: this is not, as you may believe, "the voice of God in -man"; it is the instinct of cruelty, which turns inwards once it is -unable to discharge itself outwardly. Cruelty is here exposed, for the -first time, as one of the oldest and most indispensable elements in the -foundation of culture. The third essay replies to the question as to -the origin of the formidable power of the ascetic ideal, of the priest -ideal, despite the fact that this ideal is essentially detrimental, -that it is a will to nonentity and to decadence. Reply: it flourished -not because God was active behind the priests, as is generally -believed, but because it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> a <i>faute de mieux</i>—from the fact that -hitherto it has been the only ideal and has had no competitors. "For -man prefers to aspire to nonentity than not to aspire at all." But -above all, until the time of <i>Zarathustra</i> there was no such thing -as a counter-ideal. You have understood my meaning. Three decisive -overtures on the part of a psychologist to a <i>Transvaluation of all -Values.</i>—This book contains the first psychology of the priest.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS" id="THE_TWILIGHT_OF_THE_IDOLS">"THE TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS:</a></h4> - -<h5>HOW TO PHILOSOPHISE WITH THE HAMMER"</h5> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>This work—which covers scarcely one hundred and fifty pages, with its -cheerful and fateful tone, like a laughing demon, and the production -of which occupied so few days that I hesitate to give their number—is -altogether an exception among books: there is no work more rich in -substance, more independent, more upsetting—more wicked. If any one -should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how everything, before my -time, was standing on its head, he should begin reading me in this -book. That which is called "Idols" on the title page is simply the -old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain English, <i>The -Twilight of the Idols</i> means that the old truth is on its last legs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>There is no reality, no "ideality," which has not been touched in -this book (touched! what a cautious euphemism!). Not only the eternal -idols, but also the youngest—that is to say, the most senile: modern -ideas, for instance. A strong wind blows between the trees and in -all directions fall the fruit—the truths. There is the waste of an -all-too-rich autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush -some to death, there are too many of them. Those things that you can -grasp, however, are quite unquestionable; they are irrevocable decrees. -I alone have the criterion of "truths" in my possession. I alone <i>can</i> -decide. It would seem as if a second consciousness had grown up in me, -as if the "life-will" in me had thrown a light upon the downward path -along which it has been running throughout the ages. The <i>downward -path</i>—hitherto this had been called the road to "Truth." All obscure -impulse—"darkness and dismay"—is at an end, the "<i>good man</i>" was -precisely he who was least aware of the proper way.<a name="FNanchor_1_19" id="FNanchor_1_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_19" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> And, speaking -in all earnestness, no one before me knew the proper way, the way -upwards: only after my time could men once more find hope, life-tasks, -and roads mapped out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> that lead to culture—<i>I am the joyful harbinger -of this culture.</i> ... On this account alone I am also a fatality.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>Immediately after the completion of the above-named work, and without -letting even one day go by, I tackled the formidable task of the -<i>Transvaluation</i> with a supreme feeling of pride which nothing could -equal; and, certain at each moment of my immortality, I cut sign after -sign upon tablets of brass with the sureness of Fate. The Preface -came into being on 3rd September 1888. When, after having written it -down, I went out into the open that morning, I was greeted by the most -beautiful day I had ever seen in the Upper Engadine—clear, glowing -with colour, and presenting all the contrasts and all the intermediary -gradations between ice and the south. I left Sils-Maria only on the -20th of September. I had been forced to delay my departure owing to -floods, and I was very soon, and for some days, the only visitor in -this wonderful spot, on which my gratitude bestows the gift of an -immortal name. After a journey that was full of incidents, and not -without danger to life,—as for instance at Como, which was flooded -when I reached it in the dead of night,—I got to Turin on the -afternoon of the 21 st. Turin is the only suitable place for me, and -it shall be my home henceforward. I took the same lodgings as I had -occupied in the spring, 6111 Via Carlo Alberto, opposite the mighty -Palazzo Carignano, in which Vittorio Emanuele was born; and I had a -view of the Piazza Carlo Alberto and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> above it across to the hills. -Without hesitating, or allowing myself to be disturbed for a single -moment, I returned to my work, only the last quarter of which had still -to be written. On the 30th September, tremendous triumph; the seventh -day; the leisure of a god on the banks of the Po.<a name="FNanchor_2_20" id="FNanchor_2_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_20" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> On the same day, -I wrote the Preface to <i>The Twilight of the Idols,</i> the correction of -the proofs of which provided me with recreation during the month of -September. Never in my life have I experienced such an autumn; nor -had I ever imagined that such things were possible on earth—a Claude -Lorrain extended to infinity, each day equal to the last in its wild -perfection.</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> A witty reference to Goethe's well-known passage in the -Prologue to <i>Faust</i>:— -</p> -<p> -"A good man, though in darkness and dismay,<br /> -May still be conscious of the proper way."<br /> -</p> -<p> -The words are spoken by the Lord.—TR. </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> There is a wonderful promenade along the banks of the Po, -for which Turin is famous, and of which Nietzsche was particularly -fond.—TR.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM" id="THE_CASE_OF_WAGNER_A_MUSICIANS_PROBLEM">"THE CASE OF WAGNER: A MUSICIAN'S PROBLEM"</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>In order to do justice to this essay a man ought to suffer from the -fate of music as from an open wound.—From what do I suffer when I -suffer from the fate of music? From the fact that music has lost -its world-transfiguring, yea-saying character—that it is decadent -music and no longer the flute of Dionysus. Supposing, however, that -the fate of music be as dear to man as his own life, because joy and -suffering are alike bound up with it; then he will find this pamphlet -comparatively mild and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> full of consideration. To be cheerful in -such circumstances, and laugh good-naturedly with others at one's -self,—<i>ridendodicere severum</i><a name="FNanchor_1_21" id="FNanchor_1_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_21" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> when the <i>verum dicere</i> would -justify every sort of hardness,—is humanity itself. Who doubts that -I, old artillery-man that I am, would be able if I liked to point my -<i>heavy</i> guns at Wagner?—Everything decisive in this question I kept -to myself—I have loved Wagner.—After all, an attack upon a more than -usually subtle "unknown person" whom another would not have divined -so easily, lies in the meaning and path of my life-task. Oh, I have -still quite a number of other "unknown persons" to unmask besides a -Cagliostro of Music! Above all, I have to direct an attack against -the German people, who, in matters of the spirit, grow every day -more indolent, poorer in instincts, and more <i>honest</i> who, with an -appetite for which they are to be envied, continue to diet themselves -on contradictions, and gulp down "Faith" in company with science, -Christian love together with anti-Semitism, and the will to power (to -the "Empire"), dished up with the gospel of the humble, without showing -the slightest signs of indigestion. Fancy this absence of party-feeling -in the presence of opposites! Fancy this gastric neutrality and -"disinterestedness"! Behold this sense of justice in the German palate, -which can grant equal rights to all,—which finds everything tasteful! -Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans are idealists. When I was last -in Germany, I found German taste striving to grant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Wagner and the -<i>Trumpeter of Sakkingen</i><a name="FNanchor_2_22" id="FNanchor_2_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_22" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> equal rights; while I myself witnessed -the attempts of the people of Leipzig to do honour to one of the most -genuine and most German of musicians,—using German here in the old -sense of the word,—a man who was no mere German of the Empire, the -master Heinrich Schütz, by founding a Liszt Society, the object of -which was to cultivate and spread artful (<i>listige</i><a name="FNanchor_3_23" id="FNanchor_3_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_23" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>) Church music. -Without a shadow of doubt the Germans are idealists.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>But here nothing shall stop me from being rude, and from telling the -Germans one or two unpleasant home truths: who else would do it if I -did not? I refer to their laxity in matters historical. Not only have -the Germans entirely lost the <i>breadth of vision</i> which enables one -to grasp the course of culture and the values of culture; not only -are they one and all political (or Church) puppets; but they have -also actually <i>put a ban upon</i> this very breadth of vision. A man -must first and foremost be "German," he must belong to "<i>the</i> race"; -then only can he pass judgment upon all values and lack of values -in history—then only can he establish them.... To be German is in -itself an argument, "Germany, Germany above all,"<a name="FNanchor_4_24" id="FNanchor_4_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_24" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> is a principle; -the Germans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> stand for the "moral order of the universe" in history; -compared with the Roman Empire, they are the up-holders of freedom; -compared with the eighteenth century, they are the restorers of -morality, of the "Categorical Imperative." There is such a thing as -the writing of history according to the lights of Imperial Germany; -there is, I fear, anti-Semitic history—there is also history written -with an eye to the Court, and Herr von Treitschke is not ashamed -of himself. Quite recently an idiotic opinion <i>in historicis,</i> an -observation of Vischer the Swabian æsthete, since happily deceased, -made the round of the German newspapers as a "truth" to which every -German <i>must assent</i> The observation was this: "The Renaissance <i>and</i> -the Reformation only together constitute a whole—the æsthetic -rebirth, and the moral rebirth." When I listen to such things, I lose -all patience, and I feel inclined, I even feel it my duty, to tell the -Germans, for once in a way, all that they have on their conscience. -<i>Every great crime against culture for the last four centuries lies -on their conscience....</i> And always for the same reason, always owing -to their bottomless cowardice in the face of reality, which is also -cowardice in the face of truth; always owing to the love of falsehood -which has become almost instinctive in them—in short, "idealism." -It was the Germans who caused Europe to lose the fruits, the whole -meaning of her last period of greatness—the period of the Renaissance. -At a moment when a higher order of values, values that were noble, -that said yea to life, and that guaranteed a future, had succeeded -in triumphing over the opposite values,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> the values of degeneration, -in the very seat of Christianity itself,—and <i>even in the hearts of -those sitting there,</i>—Luther, that cursed monk, not only restored the -Church, but, what was a thousand times worse, restored Christianity, -and at a time too when it lay defeated. Christianity, the <i>Denial of -the Will to Live,</i> exalted to a religion! Luther was an impossible -monk who, thanks to his own "impossibility," attacked the Church, -and in so doing restored it! Catholics would be perfectly justified -in celebrating feasts in honour of Luther, and in producing festival -plays<a name="FNanchor_5_25" id="FNanchor_5_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_25" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> in his honour. Luther and the "rebirth of morality"! May all -psychology go to the devil! Without a shadow of a doubt the Germans -are idealists. On two occasions when, at the cost of enormous courage -and self-control, an upright, unequivocal, and perfectly scientific -attitude of mind had been attained, the Germans were able to discover -back stairs leading down to the old "ideal" again, compromises between -truth and the "ideal," and, in short, formulæ for the right to reject -science and to perpetrate falsehoods. Leibniz and Kant—these two -great breaks upon the intellectual honesty of Europe! Finally, at a -moment when there appeared on the bridge that spanned two centuries -of decadence, a superior force of genius and will which was strong -enough to consolidate Europe and to convert it into a political and -economic unit, with the object of ruling the world, the Germans, with -their Wars of Independence, robbed Europe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> of the significance—the -marvellous significance, of Napoleon's life. And in so doing they laid -on their conscience everything that followed, everything that exists -to-day,—this sickliness and want of reason which is most opposed to -culture, and which is called Nationalism,—this <i>névrose nationale</i> -from which Europe is suffering acutely; this eternal subdivision of -Europe into petty states, with politics on a municipal scale: they have -robbed Europe itself of its significance, of its reason,—and have -stuffed it into a cul-de-sac. Is there any one except me who knows the -way out of this cul-de-sac? Does anyone except me know of an aspiration -which would be great enough to bind the people of Europe once more -together?</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>And after all, why should I not express my suspicions? In my case, -too, the Germans will attempt to make a great fate give birth merely -to a mouse. Up to the present they have compromised themselves with -me; I doubt whether the future will improve them. Alas! how happy I -should be to prove a false prophet in this matter! My natural readers -and listeners are already Russians, Scandinavians, and Frenchmen—will -they always be the same? In the history of knowledge, Germans are -represented only by doubtful names, they have been able to produce only -"<i>unconscious</i>" swindlers (this word applies to Fichte, Schelling, -Schopenhauer, Hegel, and Schleiermacher, just as well as to Kant or -Leibniz; they were all mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> <i>Schleiermachers</i>).<a name="FNanchor_6_26" id="FNanchor_6_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_26" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> The Germans must -not have the honour of seeing the first upright intellect in their -history of intellects, that intellect in which truth ultimately got the -better of the fraud of four thousand years, reckoned as one with the -German intellect. "German intellect" is my foul air: I breathe with -difficulty in the neighbourhood of this psychological uncleanliness -that has now become instinctive—an uncleanliness which in every -word and expression betrays a German. They have never undergone a -seventeenth century of hard self-examination, as the French have,—a -La Rochefoucauld, a Descartes, are a thousand times more upright -than the very first among Germans,—the latter have not yet had any -psychologists. But psychology is almost the standard of measurement -for the cleanliness or uncleanliness of a race.... For if a man is -not even clean, how can he be deep? The Germans are like women, you -can scarcely ever I fathom their depths—they haven't any, and that's -the end of it. Thus they cannot even be called shallow. That which is -called "deep" in Germany, is precisely this instinctive uncleanliness -towards one's self, of which I have just spoken: people refuse to be -clear in regard to their own natures. Might I be allowed, perhaps, to -suggest the word "German" as an international epithet denoting this -psychological depravity?—At the moment of writing, for instance, the -German Emperor is declaring it to be his Christian duty to liberate -the slaves in Africa;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> among us Europeans, then, this would be called -simply "German." ... Have the Germans ever produced even a book that -had depth? They are lacking in the mere idea of what constitutes a -book. I have known scholars who thought that Kant was deep. At the -Court of Prussia I fear that Herr von Treitschke is regarded as deep. -And when I happen to praise Stendhal as a deep psychologist, I have -often been compelled, in the company of German University Professors, -to spell his name aloud.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>And why should I not proceed to the end? I am fond of clearing the -air. It is even part of my ambition to be considered as essentially a -despiser of Germans. I expressed my suspicions of the German character -even at the age of six-and-twenty (see <i>Thoughts out of Season,</i> -vol. ii. pp. 164, 165),—to my mind the Germans are impossible. -When I try to think of the kind of man who is opposed to me in all -my instincts, my mental image takes the form of a German. The first -thing I ask myself when I begin analysing a man, is, whether he has a -feeling for distance in him; whether he sees rank, gradation, and order -everywhere between man and man; whether he makes distinctions; for -this is what constitutes a gentleman. Otherwise he belongs hopelessly -to that open-hearted, open-minded—alas! and always very good-natured -species, <i>la canaille</i>! But the Germans are <i>canaille</i>—alas! they are -so good-natured! A man lowers himself by frequenting the society of -Germans: the German places every one on an equal footing. With the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -exception of my intercourse with one or two artists, and above all -with Richard Wagner, I cannot say that I have spent one pleasant hour -with Germans. Suppose, for one moment, that the profoundest spirit -of all ages were to appear among Germans, then one of the saviours -of the Capitol would be sure to arise and declare that his own ugly -soul was just as great. I can no longer abide this race with which -a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances—woe -to me! I am a nuance—and which has not <i>esprit</i> in its feet, and -cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, -they simply have legs. The Germans have not the faintest idea of how -vulgar they are—but this in itself is the acme of vulgarity,—they are -not even ashamed of being merely Germans. They will have their say in -everything, they regard themselves as fit to decide all questions; I -even fear that they have decided about me. My whole life is essentially -a proof of this remark. In vain have I sought among them for a sign of -tact and delicacy towards myself. Among Jews I did indeed find it, but -not among Germans. I am so constituted as to be gentle and kindly to -every one,—I have the right not to draw distinctions,—but this does -not prevent my eyes from being open. I except no one, and least of all -my friends,—I only trust that this has not prejudiced my reputation -for humanity among them? There are five or six things which I have -always made points of honour. Albeit, the truth remains that for many -years I have considered almost every letter that has reached me as a -piece of cynicism. There is more cynicism in an attitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> of goodwill -towards me than in any sort of hatred. I tell every friend to his face -that he has never thought it worth his while to <i>study</i> any one of my -writings: from the slightest hints I gather that they do not even know -what lies hidden in my books. And with regard even to my <i>Zarathustra,</i> -which of my friends would have seen more in it than a piece of -unwarrantable, though fortunately harmless, arrogance? Ten years have -elapsed, and no one has yet felt it a duty to his conscience to defend -my name against the absurd silence beneath which it has been entombed. -It was a foreigner, a Dane, who first showed sufficient keenness of -instinct and of courage to do this, and who protested indignantly -against my so-called friends. At what German University to-day would -such lectures on my philosophy be possible, as those which Dr. Brandes -delivered last spring in Copenhagen, thus proving once more his right -to the title psychologist? For my part, these things have never caused -me any pain; that which is <i>necessary</i> does not offend me. <i>Amor fati</i> -is the core of my nature. This, however, does not alter the fact that -I love irony and even world-historic irony. And thus, about two years -before hurling the destructive thunderbolt of the <i>Transvaluation,</i> -which will send the whole of civilisation into convulsions, I sent -my <i>Case of Wagner</i> out into the world. The Germans were given the -chance of blundering and immortalising their stupidity once more on my -account, and they still have just enough time to do it in. And have -they fallen in with my plans? Admirably! my dear Germans. Allow me to -congratulate you.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_21" id="Footnote_1_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_21"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The motto of <i>The Case of Wagner.</i>—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_22" id="Footnote_2_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_22"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> An opera by Nessler which was all the rage in Germany -twenty years ago.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_23" id="Footnote_3_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_23"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Unfortunately it is impossible to render this play on the -words in English.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_24" id="Footnote_4_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_24"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The German National Song (<i>Deutschland, Deutschland über -alles</i>).—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_25" id="Footnote_5_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_25"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Ever since the year 1617 such plays have been produced by -the Protestants of Germany.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_26" id="Footnote_6_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_26"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <i>Schleiermacher</i> literally means a weaver or maker of -veils.—TR.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - - -<h4><a name="WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY" id="WHY_I_AM_A_FATALITY">WHY I AM A FATALITY</a></h4> - - - -<p class="parnum">1</p> - - -<p>I know my destiny. There will come a day when my name will recall -the memory of something formidable—a crisis the like of which has -never been known on earth, the memory of the most profound clash -of consciences, and the passing of a sentence upon all that which -theretofore had been believed, exacted, and hallowed. I am not a -man, I am dynamite. And with it all there is nought of the founder -of a religion in me. Religions are matters for the mob; after coming -in contact with a religious man, I always feel that I must wash my -hands.... I require no "believers," it is my opinion that I am too -full of malice to believe even in myself; I never address myself to -masses. I am horribly frightened that one day I shall be pronounced -"holy." You will understand why I publish this book beforehand—it is -to prevent people from wronging me. I refuse to be a saint; I would -rather be a clown. Maybe I am a clown. And I am notwithstanding, or -rather not <i>not</i>withstanding, the mouthpiece of truth; for nothing -more blown-out with falsehood has ever existed, than a saint. But -my truth is terrible: for hitherto <i>lies</i> have been called truth. -<i>The Transvaluation of all Values,</i> this is my formula for mankind's -greatest step towards coming to its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> senses—a step which in me became -flesh and genius. My destiny ordained that I should be the first decent -human being, and that I should feel myself opposed to the falsehood -of millenniums. I was the first to discover truth, and for the simple -reason that I was the first who became conscious of falsehood as -falsehood—that is to say, I smelt it as such. My genius resides in -my nostrils. I contradict as no one has contradicted hitherto, and am -nevertheless the reverse of a negative spirit. I am the harbinger of -joy, the like of which has never existed before; I have discovered -tasks of such lofty greatness that, until my time, no one had any idea -of such things. Mankind can begin to have fresh hopes, only now that I -have lived. Thus, I am necessarily a man of Fate. For when Truth enters -the lists against the falsehood of ages, shocks are bound to ensue, -and a spell of earthquakes, followed by the transposition of hills and -valleys, such as the world has never yet imagined even in its dreams. -The concept "politics" then becomes elevated entirely to the sphere -of spiritual warfare. All the mighty realms of the ancient order of -society are blown into space—for they are all based on falsehood: -there will be wars, the like of which have never been seen on earth -before. Only from my time and after me will politics on a large scale -exist on earth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">2</p> - - -<p>If you should require a formula for a destiny of this kind that has -taken human form, you will find it in my <i>Zarathustra</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And he who would be a creator in good and evil—verily, he must first -be a destroyer, and break values into pieces.</p> - -<p>"Thus the greatest evil belongeth unto the greatest good: but this is -the creative good."</p> - -<p>I am by far the most terrible man that has ever existed; but this does -not alter the fact that I shall become the most beneficent. I know the -joy of <i>annihilation</i> to a degree which is commensurate with my power -to annihilate. In both cases I obey my Dionysian nature, which knows -not how to separate the negative deed from the saying of yea. I am the -first immoralist, and in this sense I am essentially the annihilator.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">3</p> - - -<p>People have never asked me as they should have done, what the name -of Zarathustra precisely meant in my mouth, in the mouth of the -first immoralist; for that which distinguishes this Persian from all -others in the past is the very fact that he was the exact reverse -of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle -between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. -The translation of morality into the realm of metaphysics, as force, -cause, end-in-itself, is his work. But the very question suggests -its own answer. Zarathustra created this most portentous of all -errors,—morality; therefore he must be the first to expose it. Not -only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject -than any other thinker,—all history is indeed the experimental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things,—but -because of the more important fact that Zarathustra was the most -truthful of thinkers. In his teaching alone is truthfulness upheld as -the highest virtue—that is to say, as the reverse of the cowardice -of the "idealist" who takes to his heels at the sight of reality. -Zarathustra has more pluck in his body than all other thinkers put -together. To tell the truth and to aim straight: that is the first -Persian virtue. Have I made myself clear? ... The overcoming of -morality by itself, through truthfulness, the moralist's overcoming of -himself in his opposite—in me—that is what the name Zarathustra means -in my mouth.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">4</p> - - -<p>In reality two negations are involved in my title Immoralist. I first -of all deny the type of man that has hitherto been regarded as the -highest—the <i>good,</i> the <i>kind,</i> and the <i>charitable</i>; and I also -deny that kind of morality which has become recognised and paramount -as morality-in-itself—I speak of the morality of decadence, or, to -use a still cruder term, Christian morality. I would agree to the -second of the two negations being regarded as the more decisive, for, -reckoned as a whole, the overestimation of goodness and kindness seems -to me already a consequence of decadence, a symptom of weakness, and -incompatible with any ascending and yea-saying life. Negation and -annihilation are inseparable from a yea-saying attitude towards life. -Let me halt for a moment at the question of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> psychology of the -good man. In order to appraise the value of a certain type of man, the -cost of his maintenance must be calculated,—and the conditions of his -existence must be known. The condition of the existence of the <i>good</i> -is falsehood: or, otherwise expressed, the refusal at any price to -see how reality is actually constituted. The refusal to see that this -reality is not so constituted as always to be stimulating beneficent -instincts, and still less, so as to suffer at all moments the intrusion -of ignorant and good-natured hands. To consider distress of all kinds -as an objection, as something which must be done away with, is the -greatest nonsense on earth; generally speaking, it is nonsense of the -most disastrous sort, fatal in its stupidity—almost as mad as the will -to abolish bad weather, out of pity for the poor, so to speak. In the -great economy of the whole universe, the terrors of reality (in the -passions, in the desires, in the will to power) are incalculably more -necessary than that form of petty happiness which is called "goodness"; -it is even needful to practise leniency in order so much as to allow -the latter a place at all, seeing that it is based upon a falsification -of the instincts. I shall have an excellent opportunity of showing the -incalculably calamitous consequences to the whole of history, of the -credo of optimism, this monstrous offspring of the <i>homines optimi.</i> -Zarathustra,<a name="FNanchor_1_27" id="FNanchor_1_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_27" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> the first who recognised that the optimist is just as -degenerate as the pessimist, though perhaps more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> detrimental, says: -"<i>Good men never speak the truth. False shores and false harbours -were ye taught by the good. In the lies of the good were ye born and -bred. Through the good everything hath become false and crooked from -the roots.</i>" Fortunately the world is not built merely upon those -instincts which would secure to the good-natured herd animal his paltry -happiness. To desire everybody to become a "good man," "a gregarious -animal," "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul," or—as Herbert -Spencer wished—a creature of altruism, would mean robbing existence of -its greatest character, castrating man, and reducing humanity to a sort -of wretched Chinadom. <i>And this some have tried to do! It is precisely -this that men called morality.</i> In this sense Zarathustra calls "the -good," now "the last men," and anon "the beginning of the end"; and -above all, he considers them as <i>the most detrimental kind of men,</i> -because they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and at the -cost of the Future.</p> - -<p>"The good—they cannot create; they are ever the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>"They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables; they sacrifice -<i>unto themselves</i> the future; they crucify the whole future of humanity!</p> - -<p>"The good—they are ever the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world may do, <i>the harm of the -good is the most calamitous of all harm.</i>"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">5</p> - - -<p>Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good man, is perforce the -friend of the evil man. When a degenerate kind of man has succeeded -to the highest rank among the human species, his position must have -been gained at the cost of the reverse type—at the cost of the strong -man who is certain of life. When the gregarious animal stands in -the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be -degraded to the rank of the evil. If falsehood insists at all costs on -claiming the word "truth" for its own particular standpoint, the really -truthful man must be sought out among the despised. Zarathustra allows -of no doubt here; he says that it was precisely the knowledge of the -good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute horror of men. And -it was out of this feeling of repulsion that he grew the wings which -allowed him to soar into remote futures. He does not conceal the fact -that his type of man is one which is relatively superhuman—especially -as opposed to the "good" man, and that the good and the just would -regard his superman as the <i>devil.</i></p> - -<p>"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this is the doubt that ye -wake in my breast, and this is my secret laughter: methinks ye would -call my Superman—the devil! So strange are ye in your souls to all -that is great, that the Superman would be terrible in your eyes for his -goodness."</p> - -<p>It is from this passage, and from no other, that you must set out to -understand the goal to which Zarathustra aspires—the kind of man that -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> conceives sees reality <i>as it is;</i> he is strong enough for this—he -is not estranged or far removed from it, he is that reality himself, in -his own nature can be found all the terrible and questionable character -of reality: <i>only thus can man have greatness.</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">6</p> - - -<p>But I have chosen the title of Immoral is t as a surname and as a badge -of honour in yet another sense; I am very proud to possess this name -which distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No one hitherto -has felt Christian morality beneath him; to that end there were needed -height, a remoteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological depth, not -believed to be possible hitherto. Up to the present Christian morality -has been the Circe of all thinkers—they stood at her service. What -man, before my time, had descended into the underground caverns from -out of which the poisonous fumes of this ideal—of this slandering -of the world—burst forth? What man had even dared to suppose that -they were underground caverns? Was a single one of the philosophers -who preceded me a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a -psychologist—that is to say, a "superior swindler," an "Idealist"? -Before my time there was no psychology. To be the first in this new -realm may amount to a curse; at all events, it is a fatality: <i>for one -is also the first to despise.</i> My danger is the loathing of mankind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">7</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? That which defines me, that which makes me -stand apart from the whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that -I <i>unmasked</i> Christian morality. For this reason I was in need of a -word which conveyed the idea of a challenge to everybody. Not to have -awakened to these discoveries before, struck me as being the sign -of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has on its conscience, -as self-deception become instinctive, as the fundamental will to -be blind to every phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in -fact, as an almost criminal fraud <i>in psychologicis.</i> Blindness in -regard to Christianity is the essence of criminality—for it is the -crime <i>against</i> life. Ages and peoples, the first as well as the -last, philosophers and old women, with the exception of five or six -moments in history (and of myself, the seventh), are all alike in -this. Hitherto the Christian has been <i>the</i> "moral being," a peerless -oddity, and, <i>as</i> "a moral being," he was more absurd, more vain, more -thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage to himself, than the greatest -despiser of humanity could have deemed possible. Christian morality -is the most malignant form of all false too the actual Circe of -humanity: that which has corrupted mankind. It is not error as error -which infuriates me at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the -millenniums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of decency, and -of bravery in spiritual things, which betrays itself in the triumph of -Christianity; it is rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -ghastly fact that <i>anti-nature</i> itself received the highest honours as -morality and as law, and remained suspended over man as the Categorical -Imperative. Fancy blundering in this way, <i>not</i> as an individual, -<i>not</i> as a people, but as a whole species! as <i>humanity</i>! To teach the -contempt of all the principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the -existence of a "soul," of a "spirit," in order to be able to defy the -body; to spread the feeling that there is something impure in the very -first prerequisite of life—in sex; to seek the principle of evil in -the profound need of growth and expansion—that is to say, in severe -self-love (the term itself is slanderous); and conversely to see a -higher moral value—but what am I talking about?—I mean the <i>moral -value per se,</i> in the typical signs of decline, in the antagonism of -the instincts, in "selflessness," in the loss of ballast, in "the -suppression of the personal element," and in "love of one's neighbour" -(neighbouritis!). What! is humanity itself in a state of degeneration? -Has it always been in this state? One thing is certain, that ye are -taught only the values of decadence as the highest values. The morality -of self-renunciation is essentially the morality of degeneration; the -fact, "I am going to the dogs," is translated into the imperative," -Ye shall all go to the dogs"—and not only into the imperative. This -morality of self-renunciation, which is the only kind of morality that -has been taught hitherto, betrays the will to nonentity—it denies life -to the very roots. There still remains the possibility that it is not -mankind that is in a state of degeneration, but only that parasitical -kind of man—the priest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> who, by means of morality and lies, has -climbed up to his position of determinator of values, who divined in -Christian morality his road to power. And, to tell the truth, this -is my opinion. The teachers and I leaders of mankind—including the -theologians—have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their) -transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards; life; hence -morality. <i>The definition of morality;</i> Morality is the idiosyncrasy of -decadents, actuated by a desire <i>to avenge themselves with success upon -life.</i> I attach great value to this definition.</p> - - - -<p class="parnum">8</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? I have not uttered a single word which I had -not already said five years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra. -The unmasking of Christian morality is an event which unequalled in -history, it is a real catastrophe. The man who throws light upon it -is a <i>force majeure,</i> a fatality; he breaks the history of man into -two. Time is reckoned up before him and after him. The lightning -flash of truth struck precisely that which theretofore had stood -highest: he who understands what was destroyed by that flash should -look to see whether he still holds anything in his hands. Everything -which until then was called truth, has been revealed as the most -detrimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form of life; the -holy pretext, which was the "improvement" of man, has been recognised -as a ruse for draining life of its energy and of its blood. Morality -conceived as <i>Vampirism</i>.... The man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> unmasks morality has also -unmasked the worthlessness of the values in which men either believe -or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be revered in the most -venerable man—even in the types of men that have been pronounced -holy; all he can see in them is the most fatal kind of abortions, -fatal, <i>because they fascinate.</i> The concept "God" was invented as -the opposite of the concept life—everything detrimental, poisonous, -and slanderous, and all deadly hostility to life, wad bound together -in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts "beyond" and "true world" -were invented in order to depreciate the only world that exists—in -order that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left to earthly -reality. The concepts "soul," "spirit," and last of all the concept -"immortal soul," were invented in order to throw contempt on the body, -in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to cultivate an attitude -of appalling levity towards all things in life which deserve to be -treated seriously, <i>i.e.</i> the questions of nutrition and habitation, -of intellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanliness, and -weather. Instead of health, we find the "salvation of the soul"—that -is to say, a <i>folie circulate</i> fluctuating between convulsions and -penitence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept "sin," together -with the torture instrument appertaining to it, which is the concept -"free will," was invented in order to confuse and muddle our instincts, -and to render the mistrust of them man's second nature! In the concepts -"disinterestedness" and "self-denial," the actual signs of decadence -are to be found. The allurement of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> which is detrimental, the -inability to discover one's own advantage and self-destruction, are -made into absolute qualities, into the "duty," the "holiness," and -the "divinity" of man. Finally—to keep the worst to the last—by the -notion of the <i>good</i> man, all that is favoured which is weak, ill, -botched, and sick-in-itself, which <i>ought to be wiped out.</i> The law -of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of opposition to the -proud, well-constituted man, to him who says yea to life, to him who -is certain of the future, and who guarantees the future—this man is -henceforth called the <i>evil</i> one. And all this was believed in as -<i>morality!—Ecrasez l'infâme!</i></p> - - - -<p class="parnum">9</p> - - -<p>Have you understood me? <i>Dionysus</i> versus <i>Christ.</i></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_27" id="Footnote_1_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_27"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Needless to say this is Nietzsche, and no longer the -Persian.—TR.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a><br /><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - - - -<h4><a name="EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY" id="EDITORIAL_NOTE_TO_POETRY">EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY</a></h4> - - -<p>The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in -the Editorial Note to <i>The Joyful Wisdom,</i> in which he declared -his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has -nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. -This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an -injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an -author, as it were, in his <i>négligé,</i> or, in plain English, "in his -shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and -rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage -of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not -readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, -contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small -notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress -everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, -more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. -He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the <i>Songs -and Epigrams,</i> nearly all of which are to be found translated here, -and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half -have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> appear in this -volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated -in the Fourth Part of <i>Zarathustra.</i> These Dionysus Dithyrambs were -prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final -manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual -composition, however, belongs to an earlier date.</p> - -<p>All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. -Paul Victor Cohn.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a><br /><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a><br /><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></p> -<h3><a name="SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC" id="SONGS_EPIGRAMS_ETC">SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.</a></h3> - - -<h4>SONGS</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -TO MELANCHOLY<a name="FNanchor_1_28" id="FNanchor_1_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_28" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O Melancholy, be not wroth with me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I this pen should point to praise thee only,</span><br /> -And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely.</span><br /> -Thus oft thou saw'st me,—yesterday, at least,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming,</span><br /> -While, visioning the carrion of his feast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming.</span><br /> -<br /> -Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning!</span><br /> -Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening.</span><br /> -What though they did not soar unto thine height,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices,</span><br /> -For <i>that</i> they sank the deeper so they might<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.</span><br /> -<br /> -Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bent hideous like a savage at his altar,</span><br /> -There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter.</span><br /> -<br /> -So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thunder of the avalanche's paces,</span><br /> -Thou spakest to me—nor wast false like man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces.</span><br /> -<br /> -Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me,</span><br /> -To point me out the vulture's airy are<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laughing avalanches, to repel me.</span><br /> -Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The torment to win life in all its changes;</span><br /> -Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges.</span><br /> -<br /> -All this am I—shuddering I feel it all—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower,</span><br /> -The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moaning storm—all symbols of thy power,—</span><br /> -Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting,</span><br /> -I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Life, for Life, for Life—forever thirsting!</span><br /> -<br /> -O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven.</span><br /> -He trembles who beholds thine awful mask;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given.</span><br /> -Song upon trembling song by starts and fits<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding,</span><br /> -The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O goddess, goddess—leave me to my scolding!</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AFTER A NIGHT STORM<a name="FNanchor_2_29" id="FNanchor_2_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_29" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane.</span><br /> -Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roars the swollen brook unto the plain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll,</span><br /> -'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl.</span><br /> -<br /> -Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Raptures of thy voice—and howls of pain.</span><br /> -Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the mace of thunder hurled amain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam,</span><br /> -Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am!</span><br /> -<br /> -The immortal Amazon they call me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All things weak and womanish I shun;</span><br /> -Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Victress I and tigress all in one!</span><br /> -<br /> -Where I tread there corpses fall before me;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From mine eyes the furious torches fly,</span><br /> -And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp—or die!"</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>Two Fragments</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -1<br /> -<br /> -Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we sing in friendship's honour!</span><br /> -Where the eye of friendship glances,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Filled with all the joy of friendship</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come thou nigh to aid me,</span><br /> -Rosy dawn in thy gaze and<br /> -In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -Morning's past: the sun of noonday<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scorches with hot ray our heads.</span><br /> -Let us sit beneath the arbour<br /> -Singing songs in praise of friendship.<br /> -Friendship was our life's red dawning,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its sunset red shall be.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WANDERER<a name="FNanchor_3_30" id="FNanchor_3_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_30" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -All through the night a wanderer walks<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sturdy of stride,</span><br /> -With winding vale and sloping height<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E'er at his side.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair is the night:</span><br /> -On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>And knows not where his path will lead.<br /> -<br /> -A bird's song in the night is heard,<br /> -"Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How dost thou grip my sense and feet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pourest heart-vexation sweet</span><br /> -Into mine ear—I must remain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hearken fain:</span><br /> -Why lure me with inviting strain?"<br /> -<br /> -The good bird speaks, staying his song:<br /> -"I lure not thee,—no, thou art wrong—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With these my trills</span><br /> -I lure my mate from off the hills—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor heed thy plight.</span><br /> -To me alone the night's not fair.<br /> -What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,<br /> -On, onward ever, resting ne'er.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why stand'st thou now?</span><br /> -What has my piping done to thee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou roaming wight?"</span><br /> -The good bird pondered, silent quite,<br /> -"Why doth my piping change his plight?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why stands he now,</span><br /> -That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO THE GLACIER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -At noontide hour, when first,<br /> -Into the mountains Summer treads,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,<br /> -Then too he speaks,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>Yet we can only see his speech.<br /> -<br /> -His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath<br /> -On fevered couch.<br /> -The glacier and the fir tree and the spring<br /> -Answer his call<br /> -—Yet we their answer only see.<br /> -For faster from the rock leaps down<br /> -The torrent stream, as though to greet,<br /> -And stands, like a white column trembling,<br /> -All yearning there.<br /> -And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree<br /> -Than e'er before.<br /> -And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone<br /> -A sudden light breaks forth—<br /> -Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign.<br /> -<br /> -Even the dead man's eye<br /> -Surely once more grows light,<br /> -When, sorrowful, his child<br /> -Gives him embrace and kiss:<br /> -Surely once more the flame of light<br /> -Wells out, and glowing into life<br /> -The dead eye speaks: "My child!<br /> -Ah child, you know I love you true!"<br /> -<br /> -So all things glow and speak—the glacier speaks,<br /> -The brook, the fir,<br /> -Speak with their glance the selfsame words:<br /> -We love you true,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true!<br /> -<br /> -And he,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,<br /> -Woe-worn, gives kisses<br /> -More ardent ever,<br /> -And will not go:<br /> -But like to veils he blows his words<br /> -From out his lips,<br /> -His cruel words:<br /> -"My greeting's parting,<br /> -My coming going,<br /> -In youth I die."<br /> -<br /> -All round they hearken<br /> -And scarcely breathe<br /> -(No songster sings),<br /> -And shuddering run<br /> -Like gleaming ray<br /> -Over the mountain;<br /> -All round they ponder,—<br /> -Nor speak—<br /> -<br /> -Twas at the noon,<br /> -At noontide hour, when first<br /> -Into the mountains Summer treads,<br /> -Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AUTUMN<a name="FNanchor_4_31" id="FNanchor_4_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_31" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!—<br /> -The sun creeps 'gainst the hill<br /> -And climbs and climbs<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>And rests at every step.<br /> -<br /> -How faded grew the world!<br /> -On weary, slackened strings the wind<br /> -Playeth his tune.<br /> -Fair Hope fled far—<br /> -He waileth after.<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!<br /> -O fruit of the tree,<br /> -Thou tremblest, fallest?<br /> -What secret whispered unto thee<br /> -The Night,<br /> -That icy shudders deck thy cheek,<br /> -Thy cheek of purple hue?<br /> -<br /> -Silent art thou, nor dost reply—<br /> -Who speaketh still?—<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!—<br /> -"I am not fair,"—<br /> -So speaks the lone star-flower,—<br /> -"Yet men I love<br /> -And comfort men—<br /> -Many flowers shall they behold,<br /> -And stoop to me,<br /> -And break me, ah!—<br /> -So that within their eyes shall gleam<br /> -Remembrance swift,<br /> -<i>Remembrance of far fairer things than I</i>:—<br /> -I see it—see it—and I perish so."<br /> -<br /> -'Tis Autumn:—Autumn yet shall break thy heart!<br /> -Fly away! fly away!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO<a name="FNanchor_5_32" id="FNanchor_5_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_32" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Maiden, in gentle wise<br /> -You stroke your lamb's soft fleece,<br /> -Yet flashing from your eyes<br /> -Both light and flame ne'er cease.<br /> -Creature of merry jest<br /> -And favourite near and far,<br /> -Pious with kindness blest,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Amorosissima!</span><br /> -<br /> -What broke so soon the chain,<br /> -What does your heart deplore?<br /> -And who, pray, would not fain,<br /> -If you loved him, adore?—<br /> -You're mute, but from your eye,<br /> -The tear-drop is not far,<br /> -You're mute: you'll yearn and die,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Amorosissima?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"<a name="FNanchor_6_33" id="FNanchor_6_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_33" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me!—<br /> -Now a ship, but once a girl,<br /> -Ah, and still too much a girl!<br /> -My steering-wheel, so bright to see,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>But for sake of love doth whirl.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me,<br /> -With hundred flags to ornament,<br /> -A captain smart, on glory bent,<br /> -Steers me, puffed with vanity<br /> -(He himself's an ornament).<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me,<br /> -And where'er a little flame<br /> -Gleams for me, I, like a lamb,<br /> -Go my journey eagerly<br /> -(I was always such a lamb!).<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Think you I can bark and whine<br /> -Like a dog, this mouth of mine<br /> -Throwing smoke and flame full free?<br /> -Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Once I spoke a bitter word,<br /> -That my lover, when he heard,<br /> -Fast and far away did flee:<br /> -Yes, I killed him with that word!<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me:<br /> -Hardly heard, I sprang so glib<br /> -From the cliff and broke a rib:<br /> -From my frame my soul went free,<br /> -Yes, escaped me through that rib.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me—<br /> -Then my soul, like cat in flight<br /> -Straight did on this ship alight<br /> -Swiftly bounding—one, two, three!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>Yes, its claws are swift to smite.<br /> -<br /> -"Little Angel" call they me!—<br /> -Now a ship, but once a girl,<br /> -Ah, and still too much a girl!<br /> -My steering-wheel, so bright to see,<br /> -For sake of love alone doth whirl.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -MAIDEN'S SONG<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Yesterday with seventeen years<br /> -Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair,<br /> -I am grey-haired, it appears,<br /> -Now in all things—save my hair.<br /> -<br /> -Yesterday, I had a thought,<br /> -Was't a thought?—you laugh and scorn!<br /> -Did you ever have a thought?<br /> -Rather was a feeling born.<br /> -<br /> -Dare a woman think? This screed<br /> -Wisdom long ago begot:<br /> -"Follow woman must, not lead;<br /> -If she thinks, she follows not."<br /> -<br /> -Wisdom speaks—I credit naught:<br /> -Rather hops and stings like flea:<br /> -"Woman seldom harbours thought;<br /> -If she thinks, no good is she!"<br /> -<br /> -To this wisdom, old, renowned,<br /> -Bow I in deep reverence:<br /> -Now my wisdom I'll expound<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>In its very quintessence.<br /> -<br /> -A voice spoke in me yesterday<br /> -As ever—listen if you can:<br /> -"Woman is more beauteous aye,<br /> -But more interesting—man!"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"<a name="FNanchor_7_34" id="FNanchor_7_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_34" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Cave where the dead ones rest,<br /> -O marble falsehood, thee<br /> -I love: for easy jest<br /> -My soul thou settest free.<br /> -<br /> -To-day, to-day alone,<br /> -My soul to tears is stirred,<br /> -At thee, the pictured stone,<br /> -At thee, the graven word.<br /> -<br /> -This picture (none need wis)<br /> -I kissed the other day.<br /> -When there's so much to kiss<br /> -Why did I kiss the—clay?<br /> -<br /> -Who knows the reason why?<br /> -"A tombstone fool!" you laugh:<br /> -I kissed—I'll not deny—<br /> -E'en the long epitaph.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO FRIENDSHIP<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Hail to thee, Friendship!<br /> -My hope consummate,<br /> -My first red daybreak!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Alas, so endless<br /> -Oft path and night seemed,<br /> -And life's long road<br /> -Aimless and hateful!<br /> -Now life I'd double<br /> -In thine eyes seeing<br /> -Dawn-glory, triumph,<br /> -Most gracious goddess!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O'er man and beast I grew so high,<br /> -And speak—but none will give reply.<br /> -<br /> -Too lone and tall my crest did soar:<br /> -I wait: what am I waiting for?<br /> -<br /> -The clouds are grown too nigh of late,<br /> -'Tis the first lightning I await.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TREE IN AUTUMN<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I in blissful blindness stood?</span><br /> -Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanished my golden dreaming mood.</span><br /> -<br /> -Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knock first! Where have your manners fled?</span><br /> -I threw—and fear has made me speedy—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dishes of ripe fruit—at your head.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>After a Gipsy Proverb</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Here the gallows, there the cord,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hangman's ruddy beard.</span><br /> -Round, the venom-glancing horde:—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing new to me's appeared.</span><br /> -Many times I've seen the sight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now laughing in your face I cry,</span><br /> -"Hanging me is useless quite:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!"</span><br /> -<br /> -Beggars all! Ye envy me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winning what ye never won!</span><br /> -True, I suffer agony,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for you—your life is done.</span><br /> -Many times I've faced death's plight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet steam and light and breath am I.</span><br /> -Hanging me is useless quite:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE NEW COLUMBUS<a name="FNanchor_8_35" id="FNanchor_8_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_35" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"Dearest," said Columbus, "never<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trust a Genoese again.</span><br /> -At the blue he gazes ever,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distance doth his soul enchain.</span><br /> -<br /> -Strangeness is to me too dear—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Genoa has sunk and passed—</span><br /> -Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sea before me: land—at last?</span><br /> -<br /> -Firmly let us plant our feet,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er can we give up this game—</span><br /> -From the distance what doth greet?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One death, one happiness, one fame.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -IN LONESOMENESS<a name="FNanchor_9_36" id="FNanchor_9_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_36" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -The cawing crows<br /> -Townwards on whirring pinions roam;<br /> -Soon come the snows—<br /> -Thrice happy now who hath a home!<br /> -<br /> -Fast-rooted there,<br /> -Thou gazest backwards—oh, how long!<br /> -Thou fool, why dare<br /> -Ere winter come, this world of wrong?<br /> -<br /> -This world—a gate<br /> -To myriad deserts dumb and hoar!<br /> -Who lost through fate<br /> -What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.<br /> -<br /> -Now stand'st thou pale,<br /> -A frozen pilgrimage thy doom,<br /> -Like smoke whose trail<br /> -Cold and still colder skies consume.<br /> -<br /> -Fly, bird, and screech,<br /> -Like desert-fowl, thy song apart!<br /> -Hide out of reach,<br /> -Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.<br /> -<br /> -Firmly let us plant our feet,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er can we give up this game—</span><br /> -From the distance what doth greet?<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">One death, one happiness, one fame.</span><br /> -<br /> -The cawing crows<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Townwards on whirring pinions roam:</span><br /> -Soon come the snows—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woe unto him who hath no home!</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>My Answer</i><br /> -<br /> -The man presumes—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Lord!—to think that I'd return</span><br /> -To those warm rooms<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where snug the German ovens burn</span><br /> -<br /> -My friend, you see<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis but thy folly drives me far,—</span><br /> -Pity for <i>thee</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all that German blockheads are!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -VENICE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ON the bridge I stood,<br /> -Mellow was the night,<br /> -Music came from far—<br /> -Drops of gold outpoured<br /> -On the shimmering waves.<br /> -Song, gondolas, light,<br /> -Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.<br /> -<br /> -The chords of my soul, moved<br /> -By unseen impulse, throbbed<br /> -Secretly into a gondola song,<br /> -With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy.<br /> -Had I a listener there?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_28" id="Footnote_1_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_28"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_29" id="Footnote_2_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_29"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_30" id="Footnote_3_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_30"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This poem was written on the betrothal of one of -Nietzsche's Bâle friends.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_31" id="Footnote_4_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_31"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_32" id="Footnote_5_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_32"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, -near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl -with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath— -"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_33" id="Footnote_6_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_33"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired -by a ship that was christened <i>Angiolina,</i> in memory of a -love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_34" id="Footnote_7_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_34"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same -tombstone.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_35" id="Footnote_8_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_35"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great -part of his life at Genoa.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_36" id="Footnote_9_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_36"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Translated by Herman Scheffauer.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="EPIGRAMS" id="EPIGRAMS">EPIGRAMS</a></h4> - - - -<p style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -CAUTION: POISON!<a name="FNanchor_1_37" id="FNanchor_1_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_37" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading;<br /> -<br /> -For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -With jesters it is good to jest:<br /> -Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WORD<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I dearly love the living word,<br /> -That flies to you like a merry bird,<br /> -Ready with pleasant nod to greet,<br /> -E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet,<br /> -Yet it has blood, can pant you deep:<br /> -Then to the dove's ear it will creep:<br /> -And curl itself, or start for flight—<br /> -Whate'er it does, it brings delight.<br /> -<br /> -Yet tender doth the word remain,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>Soon it is ill, soon well again:<br /> -So if its little life you'd spare,<br /> -O grasp it lightly and with care,<br /> -Nor heavy hand upon it lay,<br /> -For e'en a cruel glance would slay!<br /> -There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing!<br /> -All stark, all formless, and all cold,<br /> -Its little body changed and battered,<br /> -By death and dying rudely shattered.<br /> -<br /> -A dead word is a hateful thing,<br /> -A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting.<br /> -A curse on ugly trades I cry<br /> -That doom all little words to die!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>A Book</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back?<br /> -Is e'en for chamois here no track?<br /> -<br /> -So here I wait and firmly clasp<br /> -What eye and hand will let me grasp!<br /> -<br /> -Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath,<br /> -And under me—world, man, and death!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -JOYFUL WISDOM<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -This is no book—for such, who looks?<br /> -Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books!<br /> -What's dead and gone they make their prey,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.<br /> -<br /> -This is no book—for such, who looks?<br /> -Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks?<br /> -This is a promise, an act of will,<br /> -A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill;<br /> -A wind from sea, an anchor light,<br /> -A whirr of wheels, a steering right.<br /> -The cannon roars, white smokes its flame,<br /> -The sea—the monster—laughs and scents its game.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -DEDICATION<a name="FNanchor_2_38" id="FNanchor_2_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_38" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -He who has much to tell, keeps much<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silent and unavowed.</span><br /> -He who with lightning-flash would touch<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must long remain a cloud!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE NEW TESTAMENT<a name="FNanchor_3_39" id="FNanchor_3_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_39" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Is this your Book of Sacred Lore,<br /> -For blessing, cursing, and such uses?—<br /> -Come, come now: at the very door<br /> -God some one else's wife seduces?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE "TRUE GERMAN"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -"O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes,<br /> -To you I'm true, I wis."<br /> -He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>Went to Cosmopolis.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO THE DARWINIANS<a name="FNanchor_4_40" id="FNanchor_4_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_40" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A fool this honest Britisher<br /> -Was not ... But a Philosopher!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As <i>that</i> you really rate him?</span><br /> -Set Darwin up by Goethe's side?<br /> -But majesty you thus deride—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Genii majestatem</i>!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -To HAFIZ<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -(<i>Toast Question of a Water-Drinker</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -What you have builded, yonder inn,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'ertops all houses high:</span><br /> -The posset you have brewed therein<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world will ne'er drink dry.</span><br /> -The bird that once appeared on earth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As phœnix, is your, guest.</span><br /> -The mouse that gave a mountain birth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is you yourself confessed!</span><br /> -You're all and naught, you're inn and wine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're phœnix, mountain, mouse.</span><br /> -Back to yourself to come you pine<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fly from out your house.</span><br /> -Downward from every height you've sunk,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the depths still shine:</span><br /> -The drunkenness of all the drunk,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why do you ask for—wine?</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO SPINOZA<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Of "All in One" a fervent devotee<br /> -<i>Amore Dei,</i> of reasoned piety,<br /> -Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!—<br /> -Yet underneath this love there sate<br /> -A torch of vengeance, burning secretly<br /> -The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate.<br /> -Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -That which he taught, has had its day,<br /> -That which he lived, shall live for aye:<br /> -Look at the man! No bondsman he!<br /> -Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO RICHARD WAGNER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -O You who chafe at every fetter's link,<br /> -A restless spirit, never free:<br /> -Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered,<br /> -Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured,<br /> -Till from each cup of balm you poison drink,<br /> -Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink,<br /> -You too, you too, among the overpowered!<br /> -<br /> -For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped,<br /> -Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread,<br /> -With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread,<br /> -And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped.<br /> -But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>For I escaped!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -MUSIC OF THE SOUTH<a name="FNanchor_5_41" id="FNanchor_5_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_41" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -All that my eagle e'er saw clear,<br /> -I see and feel in heart to-day<br /> -(Although my hope was wan and gray)<br /> -Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear,<br /> -A balm to touch, a balm to hear,<br /> -As down from heaven it winged its way.<br /> -<br /> -So now for lands of southern fire<br /> -To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport!<br /> -Thither now turn the ship's desire—<br /> -No ship e'er sped to fairer port.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A RIDDLE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -A riddle here—can you the answer scent?<br /> -"When man discovers, woman must invent."——<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO FALSE FRIENDS<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -You stole, your eye's not clear to-day.<br /> -You only stole a thought, sir? nay,<br /> -Why be so rudely modest, pray?<br /> -Here, take another handful—stay,<br /> -Take all I have, you swine—you may<br /> -Eat till your filth is purged away.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FRIEND YORICK<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Be of good cheer,<br /> -Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>As now it does, I fear,<br /> -Is it not "God"? And though in error lain,<br /> -'Tis but your own dear child,<br /> -Your flesh and blood,<br /> -That tortures you and gives you pain,<br /> -Your little rogue and do-no-good,<br /> -See if the rod will change its mood!<br /> -<br /> -In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear<br /> -Philosophy—and let me now<br /> -Whisper one word as medicine,<br /> -My own prescription, in your ear,<br /> -My remedy against such spleen—<br /> -"Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween,"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -RESOLUTION<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I should be wise to suit my mood,<br /> -Not at the beck of other men:<br /> -God made as stupid as he could<br /> -The world—well, let me praise him then.<br /> -<br /> -And if I make not straight my track,<br /> -But, far as may be, wind and bend,<br /> -That's how the sage begins his tack,<br /> -And that is how the fool will—end.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">* * * * *</span><br /> -<br /> -The world stands never still,<br /> -Night loves the glowing day—<br /> -Sweet sounds to ear "I will!"<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>And sweeter still "I may!"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE HALCYONIAN[6]<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Addressing me most bashfully,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A woman to-day said this:</span><br /> -"What would you be like in ecstasy,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If sober you feel such bliss?"</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FINALE<a name="FNanchor_6_42" id="FNanchor_6_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_42" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Laughter is a serious art.<br /> -I would do it better daily.<br /> -Did I well to-day or no?<br /> -Came the spark right from the heart?<br /> -Little use though head wag gaily,<br /> -If the heart contain no glow.<br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_37" id="Footnote_1_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_37"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_38" id="Footnote_2_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_38"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> On the title-page of a copy of <i>Joyful Wisdom,</i> dedicated -to Herr August Bungal.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_39" id="Footnote_3_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_39"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_40" id="Footnote_4_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_40"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_41" id="Footnote_5_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_41"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful -friend, and a musician whose "Southern" music Nietzsche -admired.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_42" id="Footnote_6_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_42"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Translated by Francis Bickley.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS" id="DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a></h4> - - -<h5>(1888)</h5> - - -<p class="center">These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to -himself so as to endure his last solitude.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a><br /><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;"> -OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Ten years passed by—<br /> -Not a drop reached me,<br /> -No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love<br /> -—A rainless land....<br /> -Now entreat I my wisdom<br /> -Not to become stingy in this drought;<br /> -Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew,<br /> -Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness!<br /> -<br /> -I once bade the clouds<br /> -Depart from my mountains;<br /> -Once I said to them,<br /> -"More light, ye dark ones!"<br /> -To-day I entice them to come:<br /> -Make me dark with your udders:<br /> -—I would milk you,<br /> -Ye cows of the heights!<br /> -Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love<br /> -I pour over the land.<br /> -<br /> -Away, away, ye truths<br /> -That look so gloomy!<br /> -I will not have on my mountains<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>Bitter, impatient truths.<br /> -May truth approach me to-day<br /> -Gilded by smiles,<br /> -Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,—<br /> -A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree.<br /> -<br /> -To-day I stretch my hands<br /> -Toward the tresses of chance,<br /> -Wise enough to lead,<br /> -To outwit chance like a child.<br /> -To-day I will be hospitable<br /> -'Gainst the unwelcome,<br /> -'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly....<br /> -—Zarathustra is no hedgehog.<br /> -<br /> -My soul,<br /> -Insatiable with its tongue,<br /> -Has already tasted of all things good and evil,<br /> -And has dived into all depths.<br /> -But ever, like the cork,<br /> -It swims to the surface again,<br /> -And floats like oil upon brown seas:<br /> -Because of this soul men call me fortunate.<br /> -<br /> -Who are my father and mother?<br /> -Is not my father Prince Plenty?<br /> -And my mother Silent Laughter?<br /> -Did not the union of these two<br /> -Beget me, the enigmatic beast—<br /> -Me, the monster of light—<br /> -Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom?<br /> -<br /> -Sick to-day from tenderness,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>A dewy wind,<br /> -Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his mountains—<br /> -Sweet and stewing<br /> -In his own juice,<br /> -Beneath his own summit,<br /> -Beneath his ice,<br /> -Weary and happy,<br /> -A Creator on his seventh day.<br /> -<br /> -—Silence!<br /> -A truth passes over me<br /> -Like a cloud,—<br /> -With invisible lightnings it strikes me,<br /> -On broad, slow stairs,<br /> -Its happiness climbs to me:<br /> -Come, come, beloved truth!<br /> -<br /> -—Silence!<br /> -'Tis <i>my</i> truth!<br /> -From timid eyes,<br /> -From velvet shudders,<br /> -Her glance meets mine,<br /> -Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance.<br /> -She has guessed the reason of my happiness,<br /> -She has guessed me—ha! what is she thinking?<br /> -A purple dragon<br /> -Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance.<br /> -<br /> -—Silence! My truth is speaking!—<br /> -<br /> -"Woe to thee, Zarathustra!<br /> -Thou lookest like one<br /> -That hath swallowed gold:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>They will slit up thy belly yet!<br /> -<br /> -Thou art too rich,<br /> -Thou corrupter of many!<br /> -Thou makest too many jealous,<br /> -Too many poor....<br /> -Even on me thy light casts a shadow—<br /> -I feel chill: go away, thou rich one<br /> -Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Who would here descend,<br /> -How soon<br /> -Is he swallowed up by the depths!<br /> -But thou, Zarathustra,<br /> -Still lovest the abysses,<br /> -Lovest them as doth the fir tree!<br /> -<br /> -The fir flings its roots<br /> -Where the rock itself gazes<br /> -Shuddering at the depths,—<br /> -The fir pauses before the abysses<br /> -Where all around<br /> -Would fain descend:<br /> -Amid the impatience<br /> -Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents<br /> -It waits so patient, stern and silent,<br /> -Lonely....<br /> -<br /> -Lonely!<br /> -Who would venture<br /> -Here to be guest—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>To be thy guest?<br /> -<br /> -A bird of prey, perchance<br /> -Joyous at others' misfortune,<br /> -Will cling persistent<br /> -To the hair of the steadfast watcher,<br /> -With frenzied laughter,<br /> -A vulture's laughter....<br /> -<br /> -Wherefore so steadfast?<br /> -—Mocks he so cruel:<br /> -He must have wings, who loves the abyss,<br /> -He must not stay on the cliff,<br /> -As thou who hangest there!—<br /> -<br /> -O Zarathustra,<br /> -Cruellest Nimrod!<br /> -Of late still a hunter of God,<br /> -A spider's web to capture virtue,<br /> -An arrow of evil!<br /> -Now<br /> -Hunted by thyself,<br /> -Thine own prey<br /> -Caught in the grip of thine own soul.<br /> -<br /> -Now<br /> -Lonely to me and thee,<br /> -Twofold in thine own knowledge,<br /> -Mid a hundred mirrors<br /> -False to thyself,<br /> -Mid a hundred memories<br /> -Uncertain,<br /> -Weary at every wound,<br /> -Shivering at every frost,<br /> -Throttled in thine own noose,<br /> -Self-knower!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>Self-hangman!<br /> -<br /> -Why didst bind thyself<br /> -With the noose of thy wisdom?<br /> -Why luredst thyself<br /> -Into the old serpent's paradise?<br /> -Why stolest into<br /> -Thyself, thyself?...<br /> -<br /> -A sick man now,<br /> -Sick of serpent's poison,<br /> -A captive now<br /> -Who hast drawn the hardest lot:<br /> -In thine own shaft<br /> -Bowed as thou workest,<br /> -In thine own cavern<br /> -Digging at thyself,<br /> -Helpless quite,<br /> -Stiff,<br /> -A cold corse<br /> -Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens,<br /> -Overburdened by thyself,<br /> -A knower!<br /> -A self-knower!<br /> -The wise Zarathustra!...<br /> -<br /> -Thou soughtest the heaviest burden,<br /> -So foundest thou thyself,<br /> -And canst not shake thyself off....<br /> -<br /> -Watching,<br /> -Chewing,<br /> -One that stands upright no more!<br /> -Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>Deformed spirit!<br /> -<br /> -And of late still so proud<br /> -On all the stilts of thy pride!<br /> -Of late still the godless hermit,<br /> -The hermit with one comrade—the devil,<br /> -The scarlet prince of every devilment!...<br /> -<br /> -Now—<br /> -Between two nothings<br /> -Huddled up,<br /> -A question-mark,<br /> -A weary riddle,<br /> -A riddle for vultures....<br /> -They will "solve" thee,<br /> -They hunger already for thy "solution,"<br /> -They flutter already about their "riddle,"<br /> -About thee, the doomed one!<br /> -O Zarathustra,<br /> -Self-knower!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>Self-hangman!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE SUN SINKS<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I<br /> -<br /> -Not much longer thirstest thou,<br /> -O burnt-up heart!<br /> -Promise is in the air,<br /> -From unknown mouths I feel a breath,<br /> -—The great coolness comes....<br /> -My sun stood hot above me at noonday:<br /> -A greeting to you that are coming,<br /> -Ye sudden winds,<br /> -Ye cool spirits of afternoon!<br /> -<br /> -The air is strange and pure.<br /> -See how the night<br /> -Leers at me with eyes askance,<br /> -Like a seducer!...<br /> -Be strong, my brave heart,<br /> -And ask not "Why?"<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -The day of my life!<br /> -The sun sinks,<br /> -And the calm flood<br /> -Already is gilded.<br /> -Warm breathes the rock:<br /> -Did happiness at noonday<br /> -Take its siesta well upon it?<br /> -In green light<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss<br /> -<br /> -Day of my life!<br /> -Eventide's nigh,<br /> -Thy eye already<br /> -Glows half-broken,<br /> -Thy dew already<br /> -Pours out its tear-drops,<br /> -Already over the white seas<br /> -Walks the purple of thy love,<br /> -Thy last hesitating holiness....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -3<br /> -<br /> -Golden gaiety, come!<br /> -Thou, the sweetest foretaste—<br /> -Foretaste of death!<br /> -—Went I my way too swiftly?<br /> -Now that the foot grows weary,<br /> -Thine eye still catches me,<br /> -Thy happiness still catches me.<br /> -<br /> -Around but waves and play.<br /> -Whatever was hard<br /> -—Sank into blue oblivion.<br /> -My boat now stands idle.<br /> -Storm and motion—how did it forget them!<br /> -Desire and Hope are drowned,<br /> -Sea and soul are becalmed.<br /> -<br /> -Seventh Solitude!<br /> -Never felt!<br /> -Sweet certainty nearer,<br /> -Or warmer the sun's ray.<br /> -—Glows not the ice of my summit yet?<br /> -Silvery, light, a fish<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>Now my vessel swims out....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE LAST DESIRE<a name="FNanchor_1_43" id="FNanchor_1_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_43" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -So would I die<br /> -As then I saw him die,<br /> -The friend, who like a god<br /> -Into my darkling youth<br /> -Threw lightning's light and fire:<br /> -Buoyant yet deep was he,<br /> -Yea, in the battle's strife<br /> -With the gay dancer's heart.<br /> -<br /> -Amid the warriors<br /> -His was the lightest heart,<br /> -Amid the conquerors<br /> -His brow was dark with thought—<br /> -He was a fate poised on his destiny:<br /> -Unbending, casting thought into the past<br /> -And future, such was he.<br /> -<br /> -Fearful beneath the weight of victory,<br /> -Yet chanting, as both victory and death<br /> -Came hand and hand to him.<br /> -<br /> -Commanding even as he lay in death,<br /> -And his command that man annihilate.<br /> -<br /> -So would I die<br /> -As then I saw him die,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>Victorious and destroying.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE BEACON<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Here, where the island grew amid the seas,<br /> -A sacrificial rock high-towering,<br /> -Here under darkling heavens,<br /> -Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires,<br /> -A beacon for ships that have strayed,<br /> -A beacon for them that have an answer!...<br /> -<br /> -These flames with grey-white belly,<br /> -In cold distances sparkle their desire,<br /> -Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights—<br /> -A snake upreared in impatience:<br /> -This signal I set up there before me.<br /> -This flame is mine own soul,<br /> -Insatiable for new distances,<br /> -Speeding upward, upward its silent heat.<br /> -<br /> -Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men?<br /> -Why fled he swift from all continents?<br /> -Six solitudes he knows already—<br /> -But even the sea was not lonely enough for him,<br /> -On the island he could climb, on the mount he<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">became flame,</span><br /> -At the seventh solitude<br /> -He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head.<br /> -<br /> -Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars<br /> -Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens!<br /> -At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod.<br /> -Give answer to the flame's impatience,<br /> -Let me, the fisher on high mountains,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>Catch my seventh, last solitude!——<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -FAME AND ETERNITY<a name="FNanchor_2_44" id="FNanchor_2_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_44" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -I<br /> -<br /> -Speak, tell me, how long wilt thou brood<br /> -Upon this adverse fate of thine?<br /> -Beware, lest from thy doleful mood<br /> -A countenance <i>90</i> dark is brewed<br /> -That men in seeing thee divine<br /> -A hate more bitter than the brine.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Speak, why does Zarathustra roam<br /> -Upon the towering mountain-height?<br /> -Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home<br /> -Is shut so long from human sight?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash,<br /> -The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights<br /> -Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash<br /> -Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights,<br /> -Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love,<br /> -The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above<br /> -And looms with menace of a thundercloud.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide!<br /> -To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud<br /> -Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>And bastions and ramparts sway and rock,<br /> -<br /> -The lightning sears the dusky face of night,<br /> -And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock<br /> -The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth<br /> -The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -2<br /> -<br /> -This fame, which all the wide world loves,<br /> -I touch with gloves,<br /> -And scorning beat<br /> -Beneath my feet.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Who hanker after the pay of it?<br /> -Who cast themselves in the way of it?<br /> -These prostitutes to gold,<br /> -These merchant folk. They fold<br /> -Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame,<br /> -Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill.<br /> -They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep,<br /> -And let their greedy paws unhindered creep<br /> -Into its depths. So let them take their fill,<br /> -For if thou dost not offer them enough,<br /> -Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -They are all virtuous, yea every one.<br /> -Virtue and fame are ever in accord<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>So long as time doth run,<br /> -<br /> -The tongues that prate of virtue as reward<br /> -Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be<br /> -One guilty of all vile and horrid sin!<br /> -And when I see fame's importunity<br /> -So advertise her shameless harlotry,<br /> -Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin<br /> -One place alone, the lowest, would I win.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -This fame, which all the wide world loves,<br /> -I touch with gloves,<br /> -And scorning beat<br /> -Beneath my feet.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -3<br /> -<br /> -Hush! I see vastness!—and of vasty things<br /> -Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine<br /> -Them with his words? Then take the might which brings<br /> -The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea.<br /> -O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars!<br /> -And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>A shining constellation falls towards me.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -4<br /> -<br /> -O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being!<br /> -O carved tablets of Eternity!<br /> -And dost thou truly bend thy way to me?<br /> -Thy loveliness, to all—obscurity,<br /> -What? Fear'st not to unveil before <i>my</i> seeing?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -O shield of Destiny!<br /> -O carven tablets of Eternity!<br /> -Yea, verily, thou knowest—what mankind doth hate,<br /> -What I alone do love: thou art inviolate<br /> -To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate!<br /> -'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity,<br /> -Canst kindle everlasting love in me!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate!<br /> -That no desire can reach to invocate,<br /> -That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay,<br /> -Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea:<br /> -For I love thee, Eternity!<br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_43" id="Footnote_1_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_43"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_44" id="Footnote_2_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_44"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a><br /><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS" id="FRAGMENTS_OF_DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS">FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS</a></h4> - -<h5>(1882-88)</h5> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a><br /><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="parnum">SPEECHES, PARABLES, AND SIMILES</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 15%;" -> -3<br /> -<br /> -My home's in the highlands,<br /> -For the highlands I yearn not,<br /> -I raise not mine eyes aloft:<br /> -I am one that looks downward,<br /> -One that must bless,—All<br /> -blessers look downward.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -11<br /> -<br /> -Thus I began,<br /> -I unlearned all self-pity!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -13<br /> -<br /> -Not in shattering idols,<br /> -But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee,<br /> -Consisted thy valour.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -14<br /> -<br /> -See, there stand<br /> -Those heavy cats of granite,<br /> -Those old, old Values.<br /> -Woe is me! How overthrow them?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Scratching cats,<br /> -With paws that are fettered,<br /> -There they sit<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>And their glance is poison.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -17<br /> -<br /> -A lightning-flash became my wisdom:<br /> -With sword of adamant it clove me every<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">darkness!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -19<br /> -<br /> -A thought that still<br /> -Flows hot, like lava:<br /> -But all streams of lava<br /> -Build a fortress around them,<br /> -And every thought finally<br /> -Oppresses itself with laws.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -20<br /> -<br /> -Such is my will:<br /> -And since 'tis my will,<br /> -All goes as I wish—<br /> -That was my final wisdom:<br /> -I willed what I must,<br /> -And thus I forced every "must,"—<br /> -Since then has been for me no "must."<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -23<br /> -<br /> -Deceit<br /> -Is war's whole art<br /> -The fox's skin<br /> -Is my secret shirt of mail<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -25<br /> -<br /> -We of the new underworld<br /> -Grub for new treasures.<br /> -Godless it seemed to the ancients<br /> -To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures<br /> -And once more this godlessness revives,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -28<br /> -<br /> -Looking for love and finding masks,<br /> -Finding accursed masks and having to break them!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -29<br /> -<br /> -Do I love you?<br /> -Yes, as the rider loves his steed,<br /> -That carryeth him to his goal.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -30<br /> -<br /> -His pity is cruel,<br /> -His loving hand-clasp bruises,<br /> -Give not a giant your hand!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -31<br /> -<br /> -Ye fear me?<br /> -Ye fear the taut-strung bow?<br /> -Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -33<br /> -<br /> -I am naught but a word-maker.<br /> -What matter words?<br /> -What matter I?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -34<br /> -<br /> -Ah, my friends,<br /> -Whither has flown all that is called "good"?<br /> -Whither all good people?<br /> -Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods?<br /> -I call all good,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -35<br /> -<br /> -Not through his sins and greatest follies.<br /> -Through his perfection I suffered,<br /> -As I suffered most from men.<a name="FNanchor_1_45" id="FNanchor_1_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_45" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -36<br /> -<br /> -"Man is evil."<br /> -So spake the wisest<br /> -For my consolement.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -37<br /> -<br /> -And only when I to myself am a burden<br /> -Do ye fall heavy upon me!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -38<br /> -<br /> -Too soon, already<br /> -I laugh again:<br /> -For a foe 'tis easy<br /> -To make me amends.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -39<br /> -<br /> -Gentle am I towards man and chance;<br /> -Gentle with all men, and even with grasses:<br /> -A spot of sunshine on winter curtains,<br /> -Moist with tenderness,<br /> -A thawing wind to snow-bound souls:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Proud-minded towards trifling<br /> -Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger,<br /> -'Tis aye my pleasure<br /> -To be bamboozled:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -40<br /> -<br /> -A strange breath breathes and spits at me,<br /> -Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -41<br /> -<br /> -Little people,<br /> -Confiding, open-hearted,<br /> -But low-built portals,<br /> -Where only the low of stature can enter.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -How can I get through the city-gate<br /> -Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -42<br /> -<br /> -My wisdom was like to the sun,<br /> -I longed to give them light,<br /> -But I only deceived them.<br /> -The sun of my wisdom<br /> -Blinded the eyes<br /> -Of these poor bats....<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -43<br /> -<br /> -Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">a seer did:</span><br /> -Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">journeyed.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -44<br /> -<br /> -Back! on my heels too closely ye follow!<br /> -Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">you!</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -45<br /> -<br /> -"He goes to hell who goes thy ways!"<br /> -So be it I to my hell<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -46<br /> -<br /> -Your God, you tell me,<br /> -Is a God of love?<br /> -The sting of conscience<br /> -A sting from God?<br /> -A sting of love?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -48<br /> -<br /> -They chew gravel,<br /> -They lie on their bellies<br /> -Before little round things,<br /> -They adore all that falleth not down—<br /> -These last servants of God<br /> -Believers (in reality)!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -50<br /> -<br /> -They made their God out of nothing,<br /> -What wonder if now he is naught?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -51<br /> -<br /> -Ye loftier men! There have once been<br /> -More thoughtful times, more reflective,<br /> -Than is our to-day and to-morrow.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -52<br /> -Our time is like a sick woman—<br /> -Let her but shriek, rave, scold,<br /> -And break the tables and dishes!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -54<br /> -<br /> -Ye mount?<br /> -Is it true that ye mount,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>Ye loftier men?<br /> -<br /> -Are ye not, pray,<br /> -Like to a ball<br /> -Sped to the heights<br /> -By the lowest that's in you?<br /> -Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -55<br /> -<br /> -All that you thought<br /> -You had to despise,<br /> -Where you only renounced!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -56<br /> -<br /> -All men repeat the refrain!<br /> -No, no, and thrice say No!<br /> -What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven?<br /> -We would not enter the kingdom of heaven,<br /> -The kingdom of earth shall be ours?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -57<br /> -<br /> -The will redeemeth,<br /> -He that has nothing to do<br /> -In a Nothing finds food for trouble.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -58<br /> -<br /> -You cannot endure it more,<br /> -Your tyrannous destiny,<br /> -Love it—you're given no choice!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -59<br /> -<br /> -These alone free us from woes<br /> -(Choose now I)<br /> -Sudden death<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>Or long-drawn-out love.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -60<br /> -<br /> -Of death we are sure,<br /> -So why not be merry?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -61<br /> -<br /> -The worst of pleas<br /> -I have hidden from you—that life grew tedious!<br /> -Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -62<br /> -<br /> -Lonely days,<br /> -Ye must walk on valorous feet!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -63<br /> -<br /> -Loneliness<br /> -Plants naught, it ripens....<br /> -And even then you must have the sun for your<br /> -friend.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -64<br /> -<br /> -Once more must ye plunge in the throng—In<br /> -the throng ye grow hard and smooth.<br /> -Solitude withers<br /> -And lastly destroys.—<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -65<br /> -<br /> -When on the hermit comes the great fear;<br /> -When he runs and runs<br /> -And knows not whither;<br /> -When the storms roar behind<br /> -And the lightning bears witness against him,<br /> -And his cavern breeds spectres<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>And fills him with dread.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -67<br /> -<br /> -Throw thy pain in the depths,<br /> -Man, forget! Man, forget!<br /> -Divine is the art of forgetting!<br /> -Wouldst fly?<br /> -Wouldst feel at home in the heights?<br /> -Throw thy heaviest load in the sea!<br /> -Here is the sea, hurl thyself in the sea!<br /> -Divine is the art of forgetting!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -69<br /> -<br /> -Look forward, never look back!<br /> -We sink to the depths<br /> -If we peer ever into the depths.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -70<br /> -<br /> -Beware, beware<br /> -Of warning the reckless!<br /> -Thy warning will drive them<br /> -To leap into every abyss!<br /> -<br /> -71<br /> -<br /> -Why hurled he himself from the heights?<br /> -What led him astray?<br /> -His pity for all that is lowly led him astray,<br /> -And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold.<br /> -<br /> -72<br /> -<br /> -Whither went he? Who knows?<br /> -We only know that he sank.<br /> -A star went out in the desolate void,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>And lone was the void.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -73<br /> -<br /> -What we have not<br /> -But need,<br /> -We must take.<br /> -And so a good conscience I took.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -74<br /> -<br /> -Who is there that could bestow right upon thee?<br /> -So take thy right!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -75<br /> -<br /> -O ye waves,<br /> -Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me?<br /> -Do ye raise me your crests in wrath?<br /> -With my rudder I smite<br /> -Your folly full square.<br /> -This bark ye yourselves<br /> -To immortal life will carry along.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -77<br /> -<br /> -When no new voice was heard,<br /> -Ye made from old words<br /> -A law:<br /> -When life grows stark, there shoots up the law.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -78<br /> -<br /> -What none can refute<br /> -Ye say must be true?<br /> -Oh, ye innocents!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -79<br /> -<br /> -Art thou strong?<br /> -Strong as an ass? Strong as God?<br /> -Art thou proud?<br /> -So proud as to flaunt<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>Unashamed thy conceit?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -80<br /> -<br /> -Beware,<br /> -And ne'er beat the drum<br /> -Of thy destiny I<br /> -Go out of the way<br /> -From all pom-pom of fame!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -Be not known too soon!<br /> -Be one that has hoarded renown!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -81<br /> -<br /> -Wilt thou grasp at the thorns?<br /> -Thy fingers must pay.<br /> -Grasp at a poniard.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -85<br /> -<br /> -Be a tablet of gold,<br /> -They will grave upon thee<br /> -In golden script.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -86<br /> -<br /> -Upright he stands<br /> -With more sense of "justice"<br /> -In his outermost toe<br /> -Than I have in all my head.<br /> -A virtue-monster<br /> -Mantled in white.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -87<br /> -<br /> -Already he mimics himself,<br /> -Already weary he grows,<br /> -Already he seeks the paths he has trod—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden!<br /> -<br /> -Secretly burnt—<br /> -Not for his faith,<br /> -Rather because he had lost the heart<br /> -To find new faith.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -88<br /> -<br /> -Too long he sat in the cage,<br /> -That runaway!<br /> -Too long he dreaded<br /> -A gaoler!<br /> -<br /> -Timorous now he goeth his ways,<br /> -All things make him to stumble—<br /> -The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -89<br /> -<br /> -Ye chambers smoky and musty,<br /> -Ye cages and narrow hearts,<br /> -How could your spirit be free?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -90<br /> -<br /> -Narrow souls!<br /> -Huckster-souls!<br /> -When money leaps into the box<br /> -The soul leaps into it too!<a name="FNanchor_2_46" id="FNanchor_2_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_46" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -92<br /> -<br /> -Are ye women,<br /> -That ye wish to suffer<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>From that which ye love?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -99<br /> -<br /> -They are cold, these men of learning!<br /> -Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food,<br /> -And their mouths could learn to eat fire!<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -101<br /> -<br /> -Your false love<br /> -For the past,<br /> -A love for the graves of the dead,<br /> -Is a theft from life<br /> -That steals all the future.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * *</span><br /> -An antiquary<br /> -Is a craftsman of dead things,<br /> -Who lives among coffins and skeletons.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -103<br /> -<br /> -Only the poet who can lie<br /> -Wilfully, skilfully,<br /> -Can tell the truth.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -104<br /> -<br /> -Our chase after truth,<br /> -Is't a chase after happiness?<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -105<br /> -<br /> -Truth<br /> -Is a woman, no better,<br /> -Cunning in her shame:<br /> -Of what she likes best<br /> -She will know naught,<br /> -And covers her face....<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>To what doth she yield<br /> -But to violence?<br /> -Violence she needs.<br /> -Be hard, ye sages!<br /> -Ye must compel her,<br /> -That shamefaced Truth....<br /> -For her happiness<br /> -She needs constraint—She<br /> -is a woman, no better.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -106<br /> -<br /> -We thought evil of each other?<br /> -We were too distant,<br /> -But now in this tiny hut,<br /> -Pinned to one destiny,<br /> -How could we still be foes?<br /> -We must needs love those<br /> -Whom we cannot escape.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -107<br /> -<br /> -Love thy foe,<br /> -Let the robber rob thee:<br /> -The woman hears and—does it.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -110<br /> -<br /> -A proud eye<br /> -With silken curtains,<br /> -Seldom clear,<br /> -Honours him that may see it unveiled.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -111<br /> -<br /> -Sluggard eyes<br /> -That seldom love—<br /> -But when they love, the levin flashes<br /> -As from shafts of gold<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -117<br /> -<br /> -They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling.<br /> -Grasp them, they pinch you;<br /> -Leave them alone, and they walk backward.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -119<br /> -<br /> -Crooked go great rivers and men,<br /> -Crooked, but turned to their goal;<br /> -That is their highest courage,<br /> -They dreaded not crooked paths.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -121<br /> -<br /> -Wouldst catch them?<br /> -Then speak to them<br /> -As to stray sheep:<br /> -"Your path, your path<br /> -You have lost!"<br /> -They follow all<br /> -That flatter them so:<br /> -"What? had we a path?"<br /> -Each whispers the other:<br /> -"It really seems that we have a path."<br /> -</p> - - -<p class="p2">[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, -several fragments having been omitted.—TR.]</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_45" id="Footnote_1_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_45"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he -considers equivalent to harmlessness.—TR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_46" id="Footnote_2_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_46"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, -who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money -leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"—TR.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a><br /><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="HYMN_TO_LIFE" id="HYMN_TO_LIFE">HYMN TO LIFE.</a></h4> - -<p><i>For Chorus and Orchestra.</i> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</span> -Trans. <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER.</span> Arr. for Piano <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A.</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn01.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn02.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn03.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn04.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn05.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hymn06.png" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a><br /><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ecce Homo, by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECCE HOMO *** - -***** This file should be named 52190-h.htm or 52190-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/9/52190/ - -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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